Chapter 56: Preparing to Go Straight
Wells Restaurant.
"Here's to a successful partnership."
Davey raised his glass, and across from him, Field and Jos quickly lifted theirs as well. The negotiations went smoothly, without any hiccups.
Davey agreed to supply the two saloons with his moonshine at $1.60 per bottle—a deal that promised a handsome profit for them.
In truth, most premium liquors didn’t yield large margins. For example, a bottle of whiskey cost $2 wholesale, while the retail price was only $2.50. Still, saloons didn’t sell by the bottle but by the glass. A single glass of whiskey went for fifty cents, and one bottle could pour about six glasses—seven if the bartender was clever with his pour. Some saloons even diluted their liquor to stretch profits further.
Aside from supplying them, Davey made one specific demand: his moonshine could not be watered down, and the price per glass couldn’t exceed thirty-five cents.
Faced with Davey’s intimidating presence, the two saloon owners had no choice but to agree. They understood perfectly—Davey wasn’t just selling liquor; he was claiming a share of the market and driving up overall sales.
As established figures in Valentine, both men were well aware of their ties to Sheriff Malloy. Just a few days earlier, Field had gone to the sheriff’s office, hoping Malloy would help crack down on moonshine sales.
But Malloy had refused outright, warning him not to provoke people beyond his reach.
From the sheriff, Field learned that the once-dominant O'Driscoll Gang members in Valentine were now all working under Davey.
Though Davey’s terms were tough, the $1.60 price per bottle showed clear goodwill. This was a proper business partnership—not exploitation.
After securing the two saloon owners, Davey began planning to acquire legitimate businesses in Valentine. The money from moonshine was dirty—illegal and untaxed by the United States government.
If Davey wanted to reach a larger stage, bootlegging alone wouldn’t cut it. He needed legal businesses to conceal his real operations.
Moonshine profits were black money, and he needed a way to wash them clean. Fortunately, that wouldn’t be too difficult.
Beyond laundering money, his first task was to clean up his identity.
Even if wanted lists weren’t shared across continents, the fact remained—he was still a wanted man. And no bank would ever grant a loan to a fugitive.
Davey needed a legitimate identity.
In the money-driven United States, that wasn’t too big a problem. Sheriff Malloy likely had the right connections to make it happen.
...
Meanwhile, Arthur couldn’t bring himself to refuse Mary’s request. For the woman he once loved deeply—his first love—helping her was the only choice.
When he learned that Mary’s husband had died, a faint spark of hope stirred in his heart.
Mary’s brother, Jamie, had fallen under the sway of a cult. Arthur tracked him down, talked sense into him, and brought him back to Mary.
Eventually, at the train station, Arthur saw Mary and her brother off.
The next morning, after spending the night in a cheap room in Valentine, Arthur woke and wrote in his journal:
I feel... like the luckiest man alive...
And yet I feel like a fool.
That woman drives me crazy. No one else could twist me around her finger like she does.
I keep telling myself I won’t be that foolish again, but...
For some reason, I think I still might.
Closing the journal, Arthur felt a wave of sadness wash over him. He decided to head to the saloon for a drink.
“Hey, mister! Want some moonshine? Best stuff around—better than whiskey or brandy!”
“And it’s only two bucks, sir.”
Arthur turned toward the voice and saw a boy, no more than fourteen, holding a bottle of clear, label-free moonshine.
“Oh, moonshine that’s as good as whiskey or brandy, huh? Why should I believe you, kid?”
Arthur’s mood lightened a little as he teased the boy.
“Sir, you can take a sip first. If it’s not as good as I say, you don’t have to pay. But I should warn you—this is Mr. Donal’s territory. If you try to skip out, it won’t end well.”
The boy handed him the bottle confidently. He wasn’t worried—this moonshine had a strong reputation in Valentine. Not far away, several of Mr. Donal’s men lingered, watching. A single shout from the boy would bring help in seconds. Even the patrolling officers turned a blind eye—they protected the business.
“Alright then, I’ll give it a try. But if it’s not as good as you claim, kid, you’re not getting a single cent from me.”
Arthur took the bottle, uncorked it, and drank a sip. His eyes widened slightly.
The taste was excellent—every bit as good as whiskey or brandy, maybe even sweeter and smoother.
He took another sip, then pulled four dollars from his pocket.
“Kid, get me another bottle.”
Arthur planned to bring one back to camp for Uncle to try.
Uncle was a drunk, but the gang couldn’t keep supplying him with strong liquor forever—he’d drink the coffers dry. Still, a drunk’s gotta drink, and every so often, Arthur would bring him a bottle.
This moonshine was good stuff, and at two dollars a bottle, it was well worth the price. Naturally, Arthur thought of the old man.
To Arthur, everyone in the gang—except that damned rat—was like family.
Author's Note
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