The engine of the ‘58 Ford rumbled underneath him. Hawkins’ Spirits was busy at this time of day, work was letting out, the men folk needed a taste of amber before they headed home to their wives. He had never developed a taste for it; being in the speakeasy for so long he had seen no end of men make fools of themselves when they’d had one too many jars. He had had every intention of storming in and demanding an explanation for his recent visit, but this was Amelia Hawkins, the Liquor Queen of O’Connor County, it wasn’t that easy. One word out of line and she could have Dawkins on his doorstep before the day was out, or worse, the Jaggers could come calling. Waylon knew his way around firearms well enough, and sure, he might be able to cap a couple of them before they filled him with lead, but then the boys would be coming home to the same thing he had when he returned from Okinawa. Still, twenty percent to the Chicago outfit, ten to the Sheriff's Office, as well as what he was already paying her? And then what happened when Chicago came calling for twenty-five percent? Thirty? Maybe this wasn’t the right way to go about it. Maybe he needed to pull in some more business from other places; Rawlins or Harlow or one of the other crooks around town?

Another fifteen minutes passed, Waylon not moving, before he put the truck back into drive and pulled away. Aunt Addie’s tenement was not far, he only had to drive a block or two before he pulled up in front of the dilapidated building. 

Addie left the front door unlocked. She always had. In the Depression, people didn’t have anything worth taking, he supposed. 
[color=82ca9d]“Addie?”[/color] he called as he entered the cramped apartment.
[color=f7941d]“Through here.”[/color] came a weak reply. Addie was sitting as she often was in front of the television set. [color=f7941d]“Have you heard?”[/color]  she asked, continuing before Waylon could reply [color=f7941d]“This McGovern is going to be running.”[/color] Waylon wordlessly filled a coffee pot and set in on the burner. [color=f7941d]“Too many damn democrats running the country these days.”[/color] she declared.
[color=82ca9d]“Bill Waller’s a democrat, you like him.” [/color]said Waylon. He’d had this conversation more times than he cared to count.
[color=f7941d]“Bill Waller’s a nice man, Waylon. A lawyer. You could have been a lawyer, you were such a smart boy.”[/color]
[color=82ca9d]“But instead I turned into a criminal?”[/color] he replied, smiling wryly.
[color=f7941d]“Well of course that’s not what I meant, Waylon. You just took up Elmer’s business, you didn’t have a choice.”[/color]
[color=82ca9d]“Men like us never have a choice, Addie. Or at least that we tell ourselves.”[/color]
[color=f7941d]“Your pappy took you up to the city to give you a better life. Boss Crump’s money paid for this apartment, you know? You sound like you ain’t proud of the life you’ve made for those boys. And you know what? If Lyndon Johnson hadn’t squared up to Hutch Man like a school boy maybe they’d be home by now.”[/color] Waylon laughed.
[color=82ca9d]“Ho Chi Minh, you mean?”[/color] he jeered.
[color=f7941d]“You know who I mean!”[/color]

Waylon poured the coffee and handed a cup to Aunt Addie, took one himself and sat in a lumpy chair, grunting annoyedly as he did.
[color=82ca9d]“Addie, why won’t you let me get you some new things for this place?”[/color]
[color=f7941d]“I’m alright, I don’t need nothin’”[/color]
[color=82ca9d]“I sat on comfier chairs in Guam. You ain’t bought anythin’ new since FDR died.”[/color] he teased. Addie fixed him with a hard look.
[color=f7941d]“You come here just to be cruel to your old aunt or you need somethin’?”[/color] Waylon took a long sip of coffee and sat back in the chair.
[color=82ca9d]“Chicago’s come callin’...”[/color] he finally said. There was a long pause between the two. Addie took a sip of her coffee from the old tin cup.
[color=f7941d]“Pass me my Luckys.”[/color] she snapped. He did. As she pulled one slim cigarette from the carton, Waylon drew his pipe and tobacco. [color=f7941d]“Tell me what’s happened.”[/color]

An hour later the small apartment had a thick cloud of smoke hanging below the ceiling. Addie stubbed out her Lucky Strike and wiped her hands on her skirt.
[color=f7941d]“I think you’re going to have to pay them Waylon. Unless you can make some arrangement with Mrs. Hawkins, but she’s probably getting squeezed by ‘em too.”[/color] Waylon sighed and sat back resignedly.
[color=82ca9d]“It’s not about the money Addie, it’s…”[/color] he paused [color=82ca9d]“...well, it is, but it ain’t just that.”[/color] he rubbed his hands together nervously. He had never liked having these kinds of conversations with Aunt Addie. 
[color=82ca9d]“These folk are musclin’ in on Dixie territory, it ain’t right.”[/color]
[color=f7941d]“Ain’t right?!”[/color] Addie exclaimed. [color=f7941d]“Waylon, you and these folk do plenty of things that ain’t right, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so.”[/color]
[color=82ca9d]“We do what we got to...” [/color]Waylon replied darkly.
[color=f7941d]“Hush now.” [/color]she retorted. She reached to draw another cigarette, but the packet was empty, and, nettled, she threw the packet back down. [color=f7941d]“Listen, it seems to me that you got two options: pay ‘em or don’t, but either way you need to get your ducks in a row.”[/color] Again, Waylon said nothing for a few seconds. He placed his pipe in his mouth, and the hot wood burned his tongue.
[color=82ca9d]“Agh, damn.” [/color]he threw the book of matches down angrily and rose quickly. [color=82ca9d]“Alright. I need to make a few calls around town.”[/color] and he wordlessly walked to the door.
Addie called after him:
[color=f7941d]“I need more smokes!”[/color] 

[hr]
He found himself back where he had been a few hours earlier: sat outside Hawkins’ Spirits. The buzz had died down somewhat now, but the bar was always busy. He turned the key and the eight cylinders went quiet.

The doorman, face illuminated now only by the dull, orange glow of a street lamp waved him in.
[color=0076a3]“Mr. Myers.”[/color]
Waylon tipped his battered sun hat and stepped through the open door. Hawkins’ Spirits was every bit as packed as it had sounded. All manner of folk from around town were here. Since Prohibition’s end, more and more people took to casual drinking; of course, there were still those who abstained, but they were getting fewer and fewer; these days the men were bringing their wives to places like this.

The boy behind the bar looked a little surprised to see him.
[color=f6989d]“Mr. Myers? I thought Ronnie brought the shipment this afternoon? I… I’ll talk to him, sir, make sure he don’t miss no more deliveries…”[/color] the young man stammered as he spoke. Waylon Myers didn’t come around town much these days, when he did, it was normally to deal with something he couldn’t send someone else to do.
[color=82ca9d]“I ain’t here about that.”[/color] he said, plainly, resting his forearms against the bar. [color=82ca9d]“Your boss here?”[/color]
The glass the bartender had in his hands was as clean as it was going to get, but his nervous polishing continued unabated.
[color=f6989d]“N...no sir. She out with Mr. Cokeley. Uhh, she’ll be along, by-and-by.”[/color] before Waylon could reply he continued: [color=f6989d]“Can I get you a drink Mr. Myers? We just had a shipment come by today…”[/color]
[color=82ca9d]“I ain’t much of a drinker.”[/color] Waylon cut him off.
[color=f6989d]“Uhh… I got uhh, root beer? Coca-Cola? Tab?”[/color]
[color=82ca9d]“Sure. Coke sounds fine.”[/color] Waylon replied quietly. He didn’t love the jitters that the small folk that knew his ‘business’ got around him, it only served to make others suspicious. He enjoyed the respect with which he was addressed though. The boy tending bar fumbled with the bottle opener, but it was only a few seconds before the ice cold coke was sat before him, the condensation dripping from the bottle invitingly. 

[color=f6989d]“That’s uh, two bits, sir.”[/color] Waylon reached into his front pocket and pulled out a rough dollar bill. The boy moved to take it, but it was snatched from his grasp before he could lay a finger on it. Waylon fixed his gaze on the now sweating bartender.
[color=82ca9d]“You tell her I’m here.”[/color] he said darkly. The boy took a pause before he replied.
[color=f6989d]“Yessir.” [/color]Waylon dropped the bill on the bar, collected his drink and turned on his heel before the boy could say anything else, finding a free table.

He took a single table near a window. A few of the patrons nodded to him as he passed, but he chose to forego any conversation, instead lighting his pipe and adding to the cloud of smoke that sat thick on the ceiling.