09/09/2020 Snippet, THE THING IN MY HIP FLASK.



Getting an explanation took a bit of cajoling and at least one reminder of my ongoing ability to simply leave this enterprise and seek actual employment if I so desired; although that threat seemed curiously empty, at least to me. Fortunately, David did not perceive that I was bluffing. Eventually, the truth came out.

The best thing that could be said about David’s actions was that he had not gone directly to the ‘mob’ for ingredients. He had instead spoken to rough sorts who might know those who might know members of organized crime; and they had found the idea of trading raw materials for spirits intriguing. I suppose that even an unwashed hoodlum might grow up hearing about the primitive romance of moonshiners, and wish to get into the fun of the thing. And at least we were not economically in debt to potentially violent thugs. No, instead David had promised them access to the first batch of spirits. Which we had just determined was undrinkable by any standards. Including, most likely, a pig’s.

At first I contemplated simply shrugging it off, having not been involved in any part of this conversation, but a moment’s somber review suggested that any ire that might end up violently impacting David’s face would likely also impact mine as his business partner. This seemed drastically unfair? In fact, it still seems so. What did I do to deserve getting pummeled? Well, besides breaking the law in the first place. Still: even for an uncaring universe, this seems particularly galling.