Page 37 of Stronger Than Blood
“My guess is Popcorn was the moonshiner, but I don’t know. Would be worth doing some research, though.”
“You don’t think this’ll kill us, do you?” I asked, looking warily at the jar.
Madam looked over at the wall and laughed. “Your uncle’s saying it’s no more likely to kill you than anything else.”
“I think we should give it a try,” Rory said. He walked over to the wall where the mason jar was sitting and opened a box that held four shot glasses. “Wow, fancy, Uncle Eddie,” he said, and Madam chuckled like the ghost was being silly.
“He’s happy. It bothered him that this lay hidden, and he was afraid you’d sell the place and someone else would get ahold of it.”
“It’s his legacy,” I said and got nods from both Rory and Madam Bellamy.
I took the glasses to the sink, washed them out as best I could, and brought them back with me. I placed them on a big wooden barrel that sat in the middle of the room and wondered if it was full of whiskey. It was certainly heavy enough. Madam Bellamy poured each of us a shot of the clear liquid. She looked at the place I assumed Uncle Eddie was and lifted her glass. “Here’s to your Uncle Eddie. May the spirits be ever with you.”
We called out “Here, here” and each downed the moonshine. “I’ve had my fair share of shine growing up. It was common among my mom’s friends, especially in Chattanooga, but this is too smooth to be shine. This is almost mellow.”
Rory licked his lips and nodded. “Yeah, moonshine is supposed to be drunk green. That way it has a kick to it. This is aged, which is why it’s so mellow. Good too.”
I leaned back and sighed happily. “You know, I was afraid my uncle was going to have money or something from a famous bank robbery. I mean, this was illegal, too, but at least it’s a Tennessee legacy.”
I could almost hear my uncle laughing. “Can you ask him if he kept a still?” I asked and looked at Rory, who I knew was anxious to know.
“No, he’s shaking his head. Apparently, your uncle was a middleman,” Madam said.
“Wait, was this used as a speakeasy?” I asked, and again, it was as if I could hear my uncle laughing.
“Yes,” Madam said. “I think the people he trusted met here.”
“When it was a bank?” I asked, beginning to feel a little buzz even though I’d only had one shot.
“No, the bank closed before that and moved its operations to Chattanooga.”
“Wait, can you hear him?” I asked, confused because earlier it seemed like she couldn’t.
“Sometimes, but it’s more in my head than hearing him speak. He’s excited right now, so his energy is up, and it’s easier to know what he’s saying.”
“So, what is all this worth?” I asked.
She shrugged. “He said a million dollars to him, but he doesn’t know ’cause he never had it assessed. He’s been collecting this over the years. Apparently, his dad was in the business for a while too, except he got out when it started getting dangerous.”
“Really?” she asked and said, “According to your uncle, Al Capone even hid out in these parts. I guess further east was his biggest hideout, but there were several sympathizers here as well.”
“I mean, that makes sense why someone would be concerned,” I said.
Madam Bellamy poured each of us another shot, and I almost said no, but how often do you get to hang out in a speakeasy with your deceased uncle who was a bootlegger and listen to stories about Al Capone, so I cheered the toast to new beginnings and happy endings and sighed as the smooth heat coated my throat.
Chapter twenty-five
Rory
Was I affected by the warm sigh that came out of Mick’s mouth after taking the shot? Well, yes, I was. As the alcohol took effect, Mick lightened up more and more. I liked loose Mick, I decided.
“You’re not driving home,” Madam Bellamy said and grabbed the mason jar and three shot glasses and led the way out of the building. “Don’t forget to grab that combo and lock the safe,” she said.
We complied, laughing behind her. I’m not sure what was funny, but whatever it was, we were enjoying it. “Hey, wait… What about Uncle Eddie?” Mick asked before Madam went out the front door.
“He’s coming, but I’m not going to get shitfaced drunk in an abandoned old building and wake up covered in filth. The drinking has to happen in our nice hotel rooms,” she announced and headed out the door, us following closely behind.
We spent the day and into the night getting shitfaced and laughing hysterically at nothing. We all had extra bottles of water because Madam had the foresight to purchase them fromthe drug store next door to the building and had stuffed them into the hotel refrigerator, so between shots, she forced us to drink water. “You’re going to have hangovers anyway, you lightweights,” she said. “Might as well make them manageable.”
