Deputy John Norman stood just outside the tar paper shack and listened to the sounds of struggle easily passing through the thin walls. He kept his eyes forward and looking impassively at the dirt road while glass bottles broke inside. The shack belonged to Theo Tatum, a local colored moonshiner that supplied the colored people in Pickett with their hooch. Theo had the misfortune to keep his still and 'shine two miles outside the town limits of Pickett, make his whole operation fall under the jurisdiction of the Pickett County Sheriff. 

"You got my money, boy?" a voice asked from inside the shack.

"Yessir," Theo said breathlessly. "Look underneath the stove over there, sir, you'll find it."

"This ain't enough. You do know math, don't ya boy? Half of what you earn goes to me, you get it? You make a dollar, I get fifty cents? You shortin' me, boy?"

"No, sir, I an't shortin' you. That's all I got, business is just slow."

"You better not be lying to me, Theo. You lie or cheat me, then you're gonna goddamn hang."

A few minutes later the door to the shack swung open. A middle-aged man with gray hair and a large gut ambled out with a roll of money in one hand and a bottle of homemade liquor in the other. He wore the black and khaki uniform that John was wearing, but with a gold badge on the chest that announced his job title: Sheriff. 

"I'll be back next week, boy," Sheriff Henry Norman said before shutting the door to the shack. "Try not to be so uppity then. You know what happens to you when you get uppity, right?"

"Yes, sir," Theo mumbled from the floor, blood dripping from his mouth.

"That's a good boy."

Henry closed the door and ambled towards John as he stuffed the cash into his pocket. He winked at his nephew and took a long swig off the bottle. John stayed silent and watched his uncle while he polished off half the bottle in a few gulps.

"Goddamn, that's some shitty liquor."

"Well, he's paying you to take it off his hands," John said with a grin. "What you expect?"

Henry grunted and started towards the dirt road where the Sheriff's Department's lone car, a black 1922 Durant Model A-22, was parked next to the bay colored horse John rode. The sheriff tossed the half-full bottle of hooch into the car and climbed inside of it while John mounted his horse. Henry talked to John while he started the complex process of starting the car up.

"Heard a rumor, Johnny."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"Heard that Mark and Luke might be getting into the 'shine business."

John shrugged his shoulders and looked down at his uncle. 

"If they is, they ain't told me."

"Uh-huh." Henry spat a long line of tobacco out of his mouth that spattered on the dead ground by the car. "Well, I want you to have a talk with 'em when you see 'em again. If they're in the business, they know the rules. You gonna need to have a come to Jesus meeting with them two boys."

John nodded but didn't say anything.

"Alright, I'm headed back to town to the office. Just keep on patrolling til your shift's over, Eli will relieve you this evening."

With that, Henry Norman started the car up. John had to hold his horse in check and keep it clam as the loud machine sped off down the dirt road towards Pickett. He didn't like the prospect of confronting Mark and Luke about what they were doing, even when he hid behind the badge of his office. The whole reason he took the job offer from Henry was to get away from them, his sisters, and his momma. He rented out of a house in town so he didn't have to go up to Jardin to see them. That whole family was poison. It was bad enough having to take Uncle Henry's corrupt bullshit at work, and now this. Only six months as a deputy and he was already wading back into the family cesspool. John shook his head and started down the dirt road away from town.