"My daddy used to be a butcher,"

Ernest "Coochiebug" Waters didn't look like you'd imagine him to look, given if you knew his reputation. He was only 5'5 and had gray hair cut short. He always wore a cheap, dark colored suit, and a straw boater. Large glasses on his face magnified his eyes to where they looked giant and insect-like. If he were in the city someone would assume he was a bank teller or an insurance salesman. He wasn't either of those things. The fact of the matter was that the man with the unassuming appearance and the silly name was without a doubt the most dangerous man in Pickett County. James Andrews learned that the hard way back in '08, when he tried to come at Coochiebug with a knife. Two shots from Coochiebug's derringer later and James was flat on his back, a few extra holes in his head. 

Now he held court in the backroom of his feed store with Luke Norman listening intently. Like Mark and Luke's general store out in the country, Water's Feed & Seed was a poorly run feed store, but a very well run and profitable bootlegging business. Every white man from the city, county, and the nearby counties came to Coochiebug's for a taste of the good stuff. If a 'shiner got in good with him then they were set. If they fell out of favor or tried to cheat him, then they ended up like James Andrews all those years ago.

"Before my daddy was a butcher, he was a farmer who went off to fight in the War--" he held up a finger before continuing. "Not that goddamn war your brother fought in, but [i]the[/i] War. He was part of General Hampton's Legion, served at Second Manassas, Gettysburg, the Wilderness, even at the end when that son of a bitch Lee surrendered. The War is why he came back to Pickett and became a butcher. All that carnage, all that mayhem and bloodletting... it did something to him. I guess when you've seen your friends and neighbors butchered like animals, what the fuck difference does it make to do it to a hog?"

A long silence fell between the two men for several seconds before Luke cleared his throat.

"So... about our 'shine?"

"It's good," Choochiebug said as he snapped back to the present. "Real good. You got, what? A dozen jugs out of a batch?"

"Baker's dozen, sir. Thirteen."

The old man grunted and stared off into space for a few seconds before replying.

"I want ten gallon jugs worth every three days. I'll pay three dollars a jug--"

"That's all?"

"That's all. It's pisswater, son. It's good pisswater to be sure, but it's still pisswater. You can take my deal, or try to compete with me. But I warn you, son, that if you do compete with me then what my daddy saw in the War will look like a goddamn picnic compared to what I'll do to you and your brother. Fuckin' Normans. We got a deal?"

"Yeah, we got a deal."

--

Luke walked out of Water's Feed & Seed light the thirteen jugs of hooch, but thirty-six dollars richer. It wasn't much, but it covered the cost of the still and the other expenses. Luke could always lie to Mark, tell him that old bastard only would give 'em two dollars a jug and pocket thirteen dollars, but no way he could get away with it. Mark would know. Somehow, he always knew. Regardless of the money Luke felt good when he walked off the steps of the store and down the compact dirt road of the town of Pickett. The courthouse was just up the road. He thought about dropping in to see his uncle, but he decided against it on the off chance John might be in the office. He had no desire to see him ever again.

Instead, Luke got something worse than his brother and uncle combined. Driving towards him in a car almost as rundown and shabby as his own truck was Jacky Avett.