Chapter 53: The Hot Moonshine
Valentine.
The day after Davey left, Donal rented a wagon and headed to the distillery to pick up 495 bottles of moonshine.
The reason it wasn’t an even 500 was simple—Benedict insisted on keeping three for himself.
By right, Donal should have paid Davey $742.50 upfront, but he didn’t have that kind of money. Fortunately, Davey had allowed him to sell the stock first and settle the payment afterward.
Following Davey’s instructions, Donal’s first stop was the Valentine Police Station.
“Oh, Donal, how’s it going working for Mr. Callander these days?”
Deputy Sheriff Graf was lounging by the entrance, enjoying the sun. Truth be told, the Valentine Police Station rarely had much to do. Other than keeping order in town, most of their work involved posting bounties on wanted outlaws.
“Deputy Sheriff, it’s an honor to be working under Mr. Callander,” Donal said with a polite smile.
“Mr. Callander’s new batch of moonshine is ready. He specifically asked me to bring some over for the officers to sample—just a small token of his goodwill.”
“Trust me, sir, once you taste it, you’ll love it.”
As he spoke, Donal pulled two bottles from the wagon and handed them over.
Graf took them, examining the liquid against the light. “Well, that’s a fine color. Looks like Mr. Callander really put his heart into this. It almost looks like whiskey.”
“Perhaps you should give it a try,” Donal said lightly. “By the way, is the Sheriff in?”
Graf nodded. “Yeah, he’s in his office.”
Donal motioned for two men to carry several crates inside—one holding twelve bottles, the other two holding twenty-four each.
He then made his way to Sheriff Malloy’s office, offering Davey’s regards and explaining that the moonshine was a gift for the department’s officers.
“Nice color,” Malloy remarked, glancing at the bottles. “Let’s hope it’s not that cheap moonshine, Donal. You know how that stuff kills people.”
“Of course not, Sheriff. Mr. Callander’s working with Calloway now—he’s got reliable channels for medical-grade alcohol.”
Malloy nodded at the three bottles set on his desk, though he didn’t open one. Both the old Valentine Saloon and the newly opened Smithfield Saloon regularly sent him quality spirits, so he was never short on fine liquor.
Still, he reminded Donal, “Make sure Mr. Callander doesn’t use industrial alcohol for profit. The last thing we need is people dying from bad booze.”
“Yes, Sheriff,” Donal replied simply. There was no point arguing—one sip was all it would take to prove the purity of Davey’s moonshine.
With the Sheriff’s approval, Donal stepped back into the main hall.
“Hey, fellas, take a break for a second!” he called out.
“Listen up—this is from the generous Mr. Callander himself! High-quality moonshine, smooth and rich. Believe me, once you taste it, you’ll never forget it.”
“And today, every one of you fine officers gets a bottle. Let’s all thank Mr. Callander for his generosity!”
For most of the officers, their wages didn’t allow them to drink regularly, and moonshine was a familiar indulgence. Someone offering free liquor was always a welcome sight—and none of them were shy about offering a few kind words in return.
Soon, the station was filled with calls of, “Thank you, generous Mr. Callander!” as each officer received a bottle. Even the ones out on patrol had bottles set aside for them.
“Holy hell, is this really moonshine? You sure this isn’t some fancy top-shelf spirit? My God, I can’t believe it!”
One officer, known for his heavy drinking, popped his bottle open immediately—and after one taste, he couldn’t help shouting in amazement. His reaction sparked curiosity all around as others uncorked their bottles and took their own sips.
“Good Lord, this flavor, this aroma—it feels like I’m drinking whiskey!”
“No, no, this isn’t whiskey—it tastes just like Kentucky bourbon!”
“Is this really moonshine? If it weren’t for the blank bottle, I’d swear this was some new high-end brand!”
“Incredible—I can even taste a hint of brandy in this!”
The room filled with excited chatter and astonished praise. Even Deputy Graf, hearing the commotion, stepped inside and opened one of his bottles. One sip was all it took for him to understand the fuss.
From his office, Sheriff Malloy listened to the growing noise. Curiosity finally got the better of him. He picked up one of the bottles on his desk, pulled the cork, and immediately a strong, rich aroma filled the room.
As someone who drank fine liquor regularly, he recognized quality the moment he smelled it.
Taking a sip, he was struck by the smoothness—none of the harsh burn common in cheap spirits. Instead, it was mellow and full-bodied, warming his chest as it went down. There was even a faint sweetness lingering on his tongue.
It was clean, pure, and left no bitter aftertaste—just a crisp, satisfying finish.
“Three hundred dollars a month…” Malloy murmured. “Maybe that’s a bit low.”
He quickly realized just how big this opportunity was. If Davey could keep producing moonshine of this caliber, the profits would be enormous—without question.
But remembering that Davey had promised even greater rewards once the business expanded, Sheriff Malloy leaned back in his chair with a satisfied grin.
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