Pickett County, SC
February 21st, 1925


Mark's breath curled from his mouth and evaporated into the early morning sunlight. His coat was a hand-me down from Matt, who got it from their father years earlier, and had holes in the collar that made it pretty useless against a stiff breeze. He rubbed his hands together for warmth while he watched Luke pouring the 'shine from the tap and into the large clay jug. The latest batch in the still had been cooking since yesterday afternoon, with both brothers taking shifts to stir and keep the fire underneath the mash going. Luke took the jug from under the tap and killed the flow before he took a long swig of the hooch.

"Goddamn," Luke said with a violent cough. "That's some good 'shine."

Mark smiled and got the jug from his brother. He took a small sip and felt the powerful mash flow down his throat and set his mouth and chest on fire. Just a small swig and Mark, who never could hold his liquor like Luke, had his head buzzing. He shook his head and passed it back to Luke before wiping the excess moonshine from his lips. Only their third batch as moonshiners and it was stronger than even old T-Hound's concentrated hooch.

"We need to get all this bottled" Mark told his brother as he pulled a crate full of jugs from underneath the still.

"I'll head into town and talk to Coochiebug tomorrow, tell him we got a certified batch of white lightning. He'll get word out to the rest of the folks and they'll come running to the store."

Mark took another sip off the jug while Luke poured the contents of their still into the bottles and jugs in the crate. The moonshine warmed him to the point to where he could barely feel the cold anymore. The buzz he felt seeped through his whole body and made him feel euphoric. He laughed to himself, but it was loud enough for Luke to hear him.

"What?"

"Know what this means?"

"What's what mean?"

"This means, baby brother, that we are officially in the moonshine business."

Luke let out a rebel yell and picked up the pace on filling up the bottles.

William Horace Avett had always proudly announced his children -- his girl children -- had each inherited some part of their mother when she died.

It was the truest, kindest thing Bill had ever said to his oldest child and only son, and now, even three years after his father's death, Jacky Avett still knew it to be true.

Willa's trait was easy. That one had been growing on her even before their mother had died. He didn't like to think about his sister at the still too often. He could still see his twin now, in all of her resplendent teenage gawkiness, on hands and knees scrubbing out the mash basin like she was bathing a child. He'd been so angry then. Part of him still blamed himself for not just taking her away with him.

Vi's was a little tougher to place, but only until you tried to talk to her for more than a few minutes. It took her only that long to decide whether she liked you or not. If she did, she'd curse, call you a name, and invite you down to the Big River Saloon where she'd worked underage for years before it closed. He didn't know where she was inviting people now. He had an idea he was too afraid to test.

And if she didn't like you...well, she'd curse, call you a name, and invite you to do something a little less friendly, but equal frowned upon in decent society.

Then there was Kitty. Little Kitty, who it was a wonder wasn't spoiled, the way their daddy had doted on her. Then again, growing up with Willa and Vi, there wasn't much room to get prissy. If Kitty had lived with him, he'd have let her get every bit as prissy as she liked. He'd have taken her up to New York with him, would have had to beat off the boys with a stick when -- if -- she ever caught on to the new flapper style, all short hair and short dresses.

Kitty had adopted their mother's looks, dark hair, green eyes, freckles for days, and a smile that could outshine the sun. She wore it softer than their mama had, and Jack thought maybe some of that was his doing. She was gentler than Annie Avett had been, quieter, too, though that had been the breech birth, according to the doctor.

Still. Kitty Avett was pretty, sharp as a whip, and stubborn as they came. He knew full well the records he'd bought for her birthday next week wouldn't do a thing to change her attitude toward him. She was far too loyal to her daddy and sisters for that. No matter how much she loved that colored music.

"Whatcha got there, Jacky -- er, Chief?"

Jack looked up from the notes strewn across his desk to one of his Saloon City officers, a skinny kid named Thomas Shaw. Thomas was just two years younger than Jack, and had graduated the police academy a year after Jack had, deciding to leave behind his Virginia routes to join his friend down in Pickett County. Jack knew Thomas had probably only been drawn by the smaller numbers -- greater chance of earning Chief of Police if Jack didn't cut it. But the kid was loyal and hardworking, and it went a long way these days.

"Nothin' much," Jack answered with a yawn. He and his other officer, George Gable, had been out late the night before investigating rumors from some of the church wives across the river, who swore up and down they'd seen stills in the woods. "It's my baby sister's birthday next week. She's turnin' seventeen, and I can guarantee you, Vi and Willa ain't -- "

"What're you doin' with negro music?" said Thomas, instantly skeptical as he arrived at Jack's desk and picked up one of the records -- An Evening Duke Ellington and Friends. The other was the newest record by Bessie Smith.

Jack shrugged, somehow equally apathetic and defensive. "Kitty loves it. She'd carry Mama's old gramophone around with her everywhere if she could." He said nothing about trying to buy back his younger sister from the life she was being led into.

Thomas studied the record a moment longer, then shrugged and dropped it back down on the desk. "Kids these days," he tutted. "You and Gable get anywhere last night?"

"Nowhere that counts," Jack said, tucking the records and an unsigned card into an empty drawer. "Might have a new lead for today, though. You up for a drive?"

Tom grinned, showing tar-stained teeth. "Always."

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.

The still was alone, no one in sight, when Willa reached it, and she grunted, sucking her teeth in mild annoyance, before she heard Kitty whistling somewhere through the trees. Kitty was always whistling, usually tuneless big band and swing stuff, though it'd changed a bit since she'd started hearing new colored music back in town. Jack had taught Kitty to whistle early, real early, before even Vi had gotten the hang of it -- another thing she resented the only remaining Avett boy for -- right about as soon as they'd all learned she'd never learn to talk. As far as Willa was concerned, teaching Kitty to whistle was the last good thing her piece of shit twin brother ever did.

Cupping her hands around her mouth, Willa walked up to the still and gave a short, sharp whistle of her own. The answering whistle stopped almost immediately, and a few seconds later, Kitty came traipsing out of the woods, grinning, skinny arms loaded down with a pile of sticks.

Willa frowned. "You out here alone?"

Kitty stopped smiling and hesitated, which Willa took as a yes. The willowy brunette cursed under her breath and watched as Kitty began to go on the defensive.

"Don't start with me," Willa interrupted impatiently, walking over to relieve her teenaged sister of her load. "I told you you ain't allowed to stay out here on your own no more. Just like I told Vi not to leave you out here on your own no more. The hell is she, anyway?"

Kitty pouted for a second before shrugging, stooping to shove a few bundles of skinny twigs under the basin of fermenting mash. Willa watched, suspicious for a moment before relenting.

"No, guess you don't," she muttered. Her youngest sister was smart as a whip, but she'd always been a shit liar.

She was hardly surprised Vi had cut and run again. Kitty was always more than willing to prove her use, staying entire nightlong shifts out at the still on her own if she could -- though even Vi was cautious on that end of things. And their red-headed middle sister sat still about as easy as coal turning to diamond. Really, Willa'd have been more worried if she returned to find the other girl ready and waiting.

But that was neither here nor there. Vi was flighty and irresponsible, but even she was careful -- and angry -- after the still explosion a few years back.

Willa must have had her nostalgia face on, because after a moment, Kitty elbowed her with an apologetic smile, and pointed to where she'd had a row of clay jugs already set up and labeled -- three Xs and a rose sketched in charcoal -- for filling and running, if Vi ever got back. Kitty was clearly proud of herself, and Willa found herself smiling nonetheless.

"Yeah, yeah, alright. Listen, I'm gonna trust you to get back home on your own?" Kitty made a face, and Willa laughed aloud. "Alright, then. You been out here since dawn, girl. Git. Go get some sleep -- and get to school on time for Crissakes. I'm not tellin' you again, you ain't got nothin' else to decide until at least summertime."

Kitty considered arguing, then decided she was too tired. Standing up on her toes, she pecked Willa once on the cheek before disappearing back through the way she came, her repainted bicycle crunching along through the underbrush.

"There you go," John said with a forced smile.

His khaki colored shirt and black tie were spattered with mud from the road. Eli Turman and his three boys were giving the final push to their wagon to get it out of the mud. The thick red mud from the other day's rain made this part of the road like quicksand. When John rode up on his horse, Eli and two of his sons were pushing the wagon loaded down with farming equipment while the youngest son held the reigns to the single horse that pulled the wagon. John tied his horse up to the wagon with the Turman's before he slung off his coat and helped the three farmers with their wagon.

"Thank you, Johnny," Eli said with a nod. "We woulda been stuck here to nearly noon if you hadn't come along."

"Just doing my job," John said as he untied his horse and slung his jacket back on. "Now, ya'll be careful farther down the road, there's a fair bit of mud down near Pollar'd Corner."

"Obliged," the old man said before climbing into the wagon with his sons.

John watched them leave and waited until they were down the road and around the next corner before he looked at the mud on his shirt and sighed. The red clay of the Carolina mud was damn near impossible to get out sometimes, at least for him. One of the few downsides to no longer living at home was that he didn't have his mamma doing the wash for him. Mrs. Bonds, his landlady, would wash his clothes once a week as part of his rent agreement, but she couldn't get stains out worth a damn.

He got back on his horse and headed back down the road in the opposite direction that the Turmans had went, heading south towards the McCormick County. John clicked his tongue and worked his horse up into a steady trot that had him bouncing down the dirt road at a pretty brisk pace. He pulled back on the reigns and slowed the horse down when he saw a bicycle speeding down the road towards him. His throat nearly closed up when he saw who it was riding the bike.

Kitty Avett had been one of John's playmates as a child, the Normans and Avetts practically thicker than thieves when the kids were all coming up. Matt, Mark, and Luke ran around with Jacky when they were boys and on into their teenage years, Matt and Jacky even enlisted together and went over to France during the War. Ruth and Sarah were just about the right age to form their own pack with Willa and Violet. John and Kitty were the two youngest of the ten kids, so they always got stuck together. John didn't mind it, especially when he got to a certain age and started to recognize Kitty's beauty.

Then, that thing that always happened with the old man happened. The problem with Harold Norman was that anyone who spent enough time with him realized he was a worthless son of a bitch, everyone always came to that conclusion. It just took Mr. Avett longer than most to see that, and the families had their falling out just a year or two before the old man ended up dead. They said he drank himself to death, but John always figured he nastied away, all that meanness and hatred eating him up inside like the worst kind of cancer.

John took a deep breath and started to steadily ride towards Kitty, doing his best to look official and respectable... even with the mud all over his shirt. He silently cursed Eli Turman for picking today of all days to get stuck in the mud.

Kitty had been yawning, lazily pedaling through the thinning woods when she looked up to see John Norman. She brightened at once, straightening to wave, before remembering where she was coming from. She'd spent the night in the woods with Vi -- not that Willa knew that -- watching the mash and making sure the police didn't get too close to the still. They'd been making a few busts lately, primarily under the watch of the newly instated Chief of Police...who also happened to be Willa's twin brother. The thought made Kitty scowl, though she relaxed again after running a few numbers in her head. She'd been biking for almost fifteen minutes now, putting her just within Saloon City limits again. The old still had been located within the city before Jack had betrayed them all, before Daddy had died. The new one all but toed the city-county line -- in an effort, Willa said, to keep it hidden from both.

In any case, it was unlikely John would find anything, even if he tracked her meticulously planned bike track back through the woods. Her trail had taken her back through city territory, just in case. She'd be in trouble if she ran into Jack later, but that seemed unlikely. She didn't see him much anymore if she could help it, though she'd heard from school friends he dropped by the schoolhouse almost every day to make sure she was there. It was the one thing he and Willa still had in common, aside from their looks.

She slowed her bike as she drew closer to John, knowing he'd want to talk, and more than willing to humor him if it kept him off their trail. The Normans were bad news on either side of the law, but Kitty and John had never quite fallen into the preset paths their families had carved and walked for them. Kitty chalked it up to being the youngest -- they were always farthest from the action...though it didn't escape her that John now sported a (slightly dingy) badge even as she was on her way back from her family's still.

It seemed some things were just meant to be.

Still. She considered John a friend, as much as she could. And she couldn't deny he looked handsome in his uniform, even mud-stained as it was. Vi teased her endlessly about old schoolgirl crushes on John -- and most of his brothers -- but they'd never amounted to much, and Kitty was glad to be just friends with the youngest of the Norman boys.

Or so she thought.

Now, Kitty grinned up at John atop his mount, one hand shielding her eyes from the sun, the other stifling another yawn. She grinned at him, then smirked at his appearance. Reaching out, she drew a fingertip hard down his pant leg, tracing a straight line through the caked red mud there. She held the digit up for inspection, one brow raised imperiously.

What happened to you?

"Comes with the job. Had to help ole Eli Tillman and his dumb as dirt boys get themselves pulled out the mud a good bit back from where I was coming from. That's mostly what I do out here this time of year. Heck, they didn't even give me a gun when they swore me in."

John realized he hadn't seen Kitty since back before he became a deputy, or at least she hadn't seen him. He saw her a few months ago right after he got deputized, coming out of Strom's Drugstore down at the square. He waved to her with a wide smile on his face, but she hadn't seen him and he felt a bit embarrassed when his uncle snapped at him and said he looked like a damn idiot, waving and smiling like that.

"Umm..., so, how have you been? I've seen Jack around town, we kind of travel in the same circles nowadays, but I haven't had a chance to ask about you. You been keeping well?"

Kitty made a face at the mention of the Tillman boys. The middle boy, Ralph Tillman, had come up in some of the same classes Kitty used to take and had spent hours torturing her outside the school house. She was old enough now to know it was his way of flirting, but he'd sent her home crying one too many times for her to feel apologetic.

Of course, when Vi found out, she'd hit him so hard, he'd lost a tooth. So maybe they were about even.

She rolled her eyes and grinned at John, but the grin vanished as soon as he said her brother's name. Jacky Avett was too good, too damn noble to really despise anyone, but he'd started being real bitter about the Normans around the same time Daddy had started teaching Kitty how to clean the still.

Except John Norman. He'd always liked John. And that made Kitty absolutely crazy.

But she made herself smile, because it wasn't John's fault her asshole older brother respected him. She nodded once, avoiding the topic of Jack completely. It was easier that way, for all three of them.

There was more she could have said -- sort of -- but how was she supposed to say what else had been going on? Even if John suspected she'd been at the still, it wasn't like she was going to just out and tell him about it. She could drop hints about skipping school, maybe. She was pretty sure he wouldn't make her go. It wouldn't make a difference, anyway. But if that got back to Willa, she'd be barred from the still for a week, and she'd already promised to help Vi run the new batch.

Instead, she pointed to his badge and shrugged, her haze half playful, and half concerned, asking a question she wouldn't have known how to word even if she could.

"Well, my uncle's sheriff," John said in a sheepish tone. "He took me on as a deputy when Bill Scott had his stroke last year. I had to do something to..."

John was suddenly back to two days before Christmas, when the only thing that stopped him from killing Luke was Mark putting the business end of a shotgun against his back. The stiff feeling of the gun in the small of his back, the cold metal against his shirtless body, even the strong iron taste of blood in his mouth.

"I left the family business, Mark and Luke are running the general store by themselves now."

He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to avoid blushing as he continued on.

"Look, I have to get back to patrolling... Are y'all still living where you used to live? I was wondering if I could... uhh, call on you sometime. Catch up some more with you. That is, if it's all right with you..."

Kitty stifled a smile by biting down hard on her lip. She'd seen the flash of bitter nostalgia wash over his face. Even if she hadn't known him, it would have been easy. She recognized it herself.

But he moved on quickly, like everyone learned to do, pretending to ignore the faint pink flush that peeked out from the collar of his uniform. She waited until he'd sort of kind of finished stammering before raising and expectant brown and nodding. She wouldn't tell Willa, probably not even Vi. But both of them were gone often enough she was pretty sure she could hack it. Still. She'd have to be careful. Keep the old clay jugs out of sight, make sure Willa didn't pass through on her way to or from the still. She knew John's 'family business' wasn't any more credible in his eyes than her own was. But if he could pretend to ignore it, so could she.

She nodded again, her smile a little warmer this time, if still teasing, and nodded down the road before pushing off on her bike again. She waited a full five seconds before turning to wave over her shoulder.

John couldn't help but let a goofy smile escape his lips when he saw Kitty waving back. He waved back and watched Kitty disappear over the hill that led back into town. He laughed and sat taller in the saddle while he picked the drying mud from his coat and shirt. John squeezed his horse with his thighs and started trotting back down the road. He knew exactly what his uncle and brothers and sisters would say if he started courting Kitty Avett, but he knew exactly where they could all go if they had any problems with it.

--

Luke Norman kept his foot on the accelerator as the truck bounced down the dirt road towards Pickett. The green truck was a rust bucket he and Mark had to work on nearly every other day to keep it running, but it was fast when it needed to be. To the outside world it appeared to be the truck they used to make store deliveries in, even now the back of the bed was loaded down with boxes filled with groceries and other sundry goods. But underneath the boxes was a false bottom that had their crates of 'shine. A baker's dozen of jugs all to be sold to Coochiebug. Coochiebug owned the Slab House, a juke joint on the outskirts of town near the old man's old place. Like Harry's, the Slab House closed its doors when the Volstead Act went into effect. But just because the Slab House was closed didn't mean Coochiebug went out of business. Between the Coochiebug keeping the whites in Pickett wet and Theo Tatum doing the same for the coloreds, it was like prohibition didn't exist.

Pickett was nicknamed Saloon City for a reason, Luke thought to himself when the town came into site around the corner. And there wasn't anything the government or law could do to change it. It was just the natural order of things, he reckoned. And who was he to change that? Especially if he could get paid well for not changing it. Luke slowed down as he entered the town limits and cruised through the city streets with a cocky grin on his face.

Violet Avett gave a sleepy, indulgent sigh and reached over without looking to her pile of clothes beside Leo Thomson's bed. She sifted through layers of cotton stiff with sweat and...other things until her fingers found cool metal. Grinning, she rolled over, unscrewed the lid of her flask, and took a long, hard pull. She swallowed, grimaced, and shook the thing at Leo.

"Thirsty?"

"What is it?"

"Mother's milk," she replied drily, rolling, naked, from the bed to pull on her dress. Northern flapper fashions hadn't quite his Pickett yet, but then Vi had never been one to wait for permission. The forest green skirts nipped close, floating almost three inches above her knee. She pretended not to notice Leo staring in equal parts lust and admiration. The kid was three years young than her twenty-five and thought he was head over heels in love.

Vi just happened to agree. Boys could be stupid like that.

"You gonna drink, or you just gonna watch me get dressed again?" She turned her head abruptly, the green of the dress making her eyes all the more verdant.

Leo went six shades darker and took a too-big gulp, coughing half of it up over his bare chest. Vi rolled her eyes, but didn't laugh. Boys could be stupid like that, too, and she needed this one on her side.

"You okay, cutie?" she said, doing her best to sound genuinely concerned.

Leo nodded, still not quite able to speak. When he could, he dragged his hand over his mouth, eyes watering. "Y-yeah. This the stuff? It's kinda...um..."

"It's real," Vi finished for him with a shrug. "And it's real strong, too."

"And where'd you say you got it?"

Vi smiled and sat down on the bed, curls of red hair falling down over her bare chest. Leo moved under the sheets. Again, she pretended not to notice. "I didn't. But don't you worry, honey, it's fresh from the source. How much do you want for you and your boys?"

"Couple jugs, I guess, but Vi, that price -- "

Vi gave him her perfected pout. Willa had made her runner for the 'shine a year and a half ago, and she was good at her job. Maybe not quite the way Willa wanted, but she made the sales.

"It's only fair, baby. We're getting it fresh from the source and carting it all the way out there to Erskine for you..."

"I'm doing the driving, Vi."

She grinned and looped her arms around his neck. Her breasts nuzzled his shoulder, and he went red under her touch. "Yeah, but I'm coming with you."

Leo's face, skeptical, brightened at once. "Really? You're coming to the party? I--I mean the Winter Gala?" He'd already told his fraternity brothers about the 'older woman' he was seeing, he'd never be able to show his face again if --

"You're buying the 'shine?"

"Baby, if you'll be my girl, I'll buy the whole damn load."

Vi giggled and clapped her hands excitedly. "Leo Thomson, you are my Prince Charming."

Of course, she'd have to find her way to that stupid 'gala' now. But Leo never could hold his liquor. Chances were she could sneak out not twenty minutes after walking in the door.

"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 the 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.

Jack had been working almost three weeks to gather enough evidence even to confront the Norman boys, and that was a big stretch. He didn't think anyone had ever told him outright the Normans ran and owned their own still, but they didn't have to. Most of the time, he was almost sure he wasn't just biased against them. Hell, little John Norman -- though the kid had grown since Jack had left for New York, little wasn't quite the right word anymore, even if he was the youngest of his family -- had joined the count police...though of course, that was under his piece-of-shit dirty sheriff of an uncle, so Jack wasn't so sure that counted.

Still. If John really was the good apple Jack though, he'd fallen far from the tree. His older brothers had been reported by some 'anonymous tip' left in town (usually from the only church left in Pickett) to have been seen out in the woods carrying those infamous clay jugs. Now, on its own, that didn't mean nothing. But Jack had been by their old store, and they didn't make dirt. If that was the only way they were keeping food on the table, then Jack'd eat his hat.

Besides, Tommy had told him a couple weeks ago he'd seen John chatting Kitty up outside her school. John was a good boy. But he wasn't that good.

Jack and Tom had been driving around the far side of town for a solid twenty minutes before they finally spotted the Norman's car. They'd parked half a block down from Water's (another establishment that ought to have crumbled to dust by now but still seemed to scrape by) and waited, Tom feeling antsy somewhere between boredom and frustration.

"Aw, hell, Jacky -- Chief -- we know 'least Luke's in there, why cain't we just go bust 'em?"

Jack hadn't turned his heavy gaze from the window. He felt his jaw twitch slightly, but he kept his tone patient. "Don't wanna spook 'em too early. We're looking for something can put 'em away, not just scare 'em."

Tom sucked his teeth. "Well, shit, Jacky, I don't see why we cain't do both."

Jack looked at his partner with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "That's why you're the Lieutenant and I'm the Chief."

Tom looked back like he wanted to say something, unsure of whether he should play off Jack's joking tone, or his more serious expression. Something dark passed across his face real quick, and then it was gone, and Jack wondered just briefly whether he'd made a mistake. Then Tom was leaning over, squinting up the road.

"Look," he said evenly. "Luke Norman. Got 'im."

Jack started up the truck without a word and met Luke at the steps of the feed shop. He turned off the engine and he and Tom stepped out in practiced unison.

Jack spoke first. "Luke. Evenin'. Don't think I've ever seen anyone leave a store empty-handed before. Mind if I ask what you're doing here?"

"Well, well," Luke said with a wink. "Jack Avett himself. Goddamn, ain't this a special occasion. What have I done to warrant the attention of the Chief of Police?" Luke stretched police out so it sounded like po-lease.

"Shut up and answer the question, shitbird," Tommy said, shooting a wad of tobacco stained spit at Luke's feet. "What was you doing at Choochiebug's?"

"Looking for a screw, alright?" Luke said defensively. "They didn't have the screw I was looking for..."

Now of the four Norman boys, Luke was without a doubt the one with the least intelligence. He was smart when it came to fixing cars, but when it came to simple things he could be stumped. One of those things that stumped him included social conversation and saying things that popped into his head before he thought better of saying him. For instance...

"Well, I guess I'm looking in the wrong place. I want a screw, I probably should see Violet about that. Am I right Jack?"

That was something none of the other boys would have said to Violet's brother, the chief of police in Pickett, out loud. Luke would eventually learn the error of his ways, but like a lot of lessons Luke learned in life this one would be very painful.

In general, Jacky Avett prided himself on being the coolest head of all his siblings. If it had been Kitty or Willa standing there, things would have turned out differently. To a point.

Their daddy had taught Willa how to fight when she was just eight years old, right around the same time she learned she wouldn't ever be happy playing dress up with Kitty and Vi. And for all the chaff there was between him and Willa, the one thing they agreed on was Kitty and Vi. Willa had always been a hell of a lot more spontaneous than Jack. She'd have had Luke Norman on his back before he even finished speaking.

Kitty? Well, Kitty would have done her best. She was a tiny thing with no real taste for violence, but she was smart as a whip, and if she didn't like you, she wouldn't let you forget it. Give her half a day, she'd have everyone in Pickett stealing sidelong glances at Luke, giggling and whispering behind their hands about his newly discovered impotency and his apparent lust for menfolk.

But Jacky Avett didn't have Kitty's foresight or Willa's temper. What he had was a badge and a gun and an LT and a reputation as the one un-crooked officer in his city. So, it wouldn't do to beat on the guy like Willa, or spread petty rumors like Kitty. And yet neither could he let Luke Norman tear down his little sister and just walk away. It was as much a point of honor as the badge.

Jack stared at Luke for a long moment before that eerie handsome smile crept across his face. He squared off, hauled back, and leant hard into a right hook that sent Luke stumbling back against the wall, lip split.

Jack shook out his hand with a wince and turned to Tom, who stood with an expression that was half gape, half grin.

"I smell liquor on Mr. Norman's breath, Tommy. Oughtta get him downtown before he becomes any more of a danger to himself."