The Whiskey Baron by Jon Sealy

Author:Jon Sealy
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Hub City Press
Published: 2014-03-19T00:00:00+00:00

Someone knocked on the door of the Hillside, and Depot opened the door. Two men came in, one in his thirties and the other maybe sixteen. Judging from the crisp clothing they wore, they looked like they lived in town, and they walked over to the pool tables like no one owned them and no one would dare try to stop them. Depot brought them a half-empty mason jar and two glasses. The older one looked familiar to Joe. He had a buzzed haircut and bald triangles above his temples that were spreading back high on his forehead. His skin was tanned, and he had gray-blue eyes, a sharp jawline, a puffy nose. Joe stared, and after a moment he got up and walked to them. “That you, Lester?” he said.

The man looked up, squinted. “Goddamn, Joey Hopewell. How you been?” They shook hands and Lester looked at his friend and said, “This is an old army buddy of mine. We were in Germany together.” To Joe, he said, “This is Moses Cope’s boy.”

“Little young, ain’t he?”

“I’m eighteen.” The boy’s voice was hoarse and on the verge of cracking.

“I’m sure you are.”

“Hell, Joey, long time.” Lester lowered his voice and leaned in: “I heard about Mary Jane yesterday. Damn shame.”

“It is that.” Joe refilled his glass from the jar of whiskey, said, “Hell, let’s get a game going.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Lester said, already reaching for a pool stick.

They started a game of pool but didn’t finish before another knock at the door interrupted them. Depot let another man into the tavern, his back dim in the shadow cast by the light at the bar. Joe leaned onto the pool table and shot. The cueball popped and sank the seven fast, and Depot said, “Evening, Sheriff. What brings you out?”

Joe leaned against his stool as the kid took his shot.

The sheriff sat at the bar, a big man, one you’d expect would be a lumberjack before a sheriff, broad shoulders stooped over, a thick beard covering the front of his neck, an olive green felt hat atop his bizarrely rounded head. He said, “I’m looking to talk to Larthan some more about them boys. He around?”

“He’ll be here directly.”

“How bout a drink while I wait?” He took off his hat and added, “Relax, Depot.”

Joe sipped his whiskey and stepped back up to the pool table. The room was starting to spin on him, the table unmoored on the barroom floor. The kid stood behind him and pushed at his shoulder. He was drunk and slurring that Joe shouldn’t miss this shot or else he was going to step up and whoop ass on him.

“Whoop ass,” the kid said. “You ain’t even going to get another shot. I’m a run the table.”

He shoved off Joe’s shoulder and stumbled back to the stool, missed, and fell into the wall.

“Hellfire, boy,” Lester whispered. “You better straighten up fore that sheriff decides to take a closer look at you.”

“Let him come. I ain’t scared. Let him come.

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