Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20A | 20B | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25-26 | 27 | 28-29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35-36 | 37 | 38A | 38B | 38C | 38D | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42-43 | 44-45 | 46 | 47 | 48-49A | 49B | 50 | 51 | 52 | 53 | 54 | 55 | 56 | 57A | 57B | 58-59| 60 | 61 | 62 | 63 | 64 | 65 | 66 | 67 | 68-69 | 70A | 70B | 71A | 71B | 72 | 73 | 74A | 74B | 75 | 76-77A | 77B | 78 | 79 | 80 | 81 | 82 | 83 | 84 | 85-87 | 88A | 88B
PART IV
IN THE DAY OF BATTLE
89
O C T O B E R 1 9 3 0
TREY ROLLED INTO his alley at seven a.m., parked behind his house, gathered his ledger and lockbox, stashed them in the swing bed, then let himself in the back door. There was a hurricane lamp burning dimly on the table, its warm glow welcoming him home. He blew it out, grabbed a bottle of whisky from the dining room sideboard, went upstairs, took a shower, sat on the edge of the bed next to his sleeping wife, tipped the bottle up, and chugged it in an effort to calm the adrenalin still running in his veins.
Yet again Solly Weissman and his men had come into the speak looking to make trouble, and Trey, having had enough of it, had given the order to have them all marched out the front door of the speak. Once out on the sidewalk, Trey had put his gun to Solly’s temple and said,
“If you ever come back here, you’re a dead man.”
Since that had happened early in the evening and was just the beginning of a bad night, Trey had forgotten all about the incident until he was summoned to Boss Tom’s office not an hour and a half ago. It was an ambush, was what it was.
“You keep your hands off Solly. I am in no mood to put up with any more shenanigans.”
Trey gaped at Pendergast in disbelief. “Boss, I have asked you time and again to keep him out of my place because he’s busting shit up, driving off my customers. You said you’d take care of it because he’s your man. But I’m your man, too. You’re going to let internecine politics tank my profits? You can’t get blood out of a turnip!”
Boss Tom’s brow wrinkled in incomprehension. “Intern— What?”
Trey shook his head. He’d been reading a lot lately, preparing himself to take college entrance exams, and he had read internecine so many times it was now ingrained. God knew if he was pronouncing it right. “Internal conflict. People at each other’s throats. Whole organization implodes. No winners.”
Boss Tom huffed in impatience and he began to thump through the paperwork on his desk. “I do not have time or patience to referee a fight between you two. Settle it yourselves.”
“My way of settling it is to shoot the motherfucker.”
That was when Boss Tom stilled and looked at him dead on. “You shoot Solly Weissman and that will be the last thing you ever do. And if you think that’s unfair, I’ve told him the same thing about you. Now get out.”
Now, lying here in his own bed, with all that whisky burning through his body, it took him almost no time to get to sleep, and the next afternoon, he arose to the smell of bacon, biscuits, and coffee, and the sound of a happily gurgling baby. He pulled on his pajama bottoms, brushed his teeth, and went downstairs to sneak up on his little wife and give her a hug and a kiss.
She jumped. “Trey! Goodness! You scared me.”
“Mornin’, Sugga,” he said huskily and kissed her—really kissed her.
She participated as much as she thought proper, then pulled away with an embarrassed smile and a red face, refusing to look at him.
Susanna was eight months old. It was time.
“What say I pull out the sweet tea when I get home?”
Her flush deepened. “Um … all right.”
“Are you just saying that or you really want to?” he asked carefully. Getting her to admit she would like to have sweet tea while she was “sober” was careful business.
She gulped and ducked her head, turning away to fuss with the bacon. “Um, I … do want to.”
He knew why she was hesitant: The last time they’d been fucking regularly, he’d stopped paying attention to her other needs, which had led directly to … He’d learned his lesson, and in the months since she’d come home, he’d been careful to court her as much as possible with a baby in the mix.
“You’re a good wife, Marina,” he said. “Extra pretty today, too. Whose turn is it?”
“Oh, thank you. Leona’s. She’ll be here in an hour.”
“Okay. Why, look at you, Button,” he said when he caught the baby craning around in her chair, whimpering at him and holding her arms out. He picked her up and let her babble at him, nodding and saying “Uh huh” at all her nonsense noises. He went to the cupboard and got an oatmeal cookie for her to chew on. She made nom nom nom noises around it as she gnawed. It was one of two things she wanted to cut her teeth on and Marina wasn’t frying up a batch of chicken gizzards at the moment.
“How is her husband doing at work?”
“Turns out Ollie’s a pretty good bartender.”
“Oh,” Marina said, surprised. “They’re Baptists. Leona didn’t say anything. Maybe she doesn’t know what he’s really doing.”
“It’s a job.”
It was more than most of the folks in the neighborhood had since the Crash. It had been a year, but nothing had gotten better; in fact, it had gotten worse. A few of the men had taken the make-work jobs Boss Tom had available, and aside from Oliver Hilliard, Trey had hired another one for the speak. Most of the rest of the men in the neighborhood would rather allow their families to starve instead of working for Boss Tom or in a speakeasy. Most of the women had taken to keeping chickens and a milk cow and tending vegetable gardens, or taking in washing and mending. Marina bought eggs and milk and butter from them, but she did their laundry because often Trey’s shirts had lipstick and blood on them.
Everybody in the neighborhood knew what Trey did for a living, but they assumed, because the Dunhams lived so modestly, that Trey was an employee. The modest living wasn’t all show, however. Trey had invested more into his operation, his army growing, if not his bank account. It kept Lazia, Carrollo, and Weissman at bay; Trey’s drug supply was protected; and his bootlegging expanding in case he needed an escape route with an income stream. His men were loyal by virtue of the fact that Trey was honest with them, worked alongside them, treated them with respect, and only expected good, honest work in exchange for a good paycheck. In that way the Crash had benefited him immensely.
But he knew folks in the Machine and Mafia were keeping an eye on him. Those folks knew what it looked like when a cat was rich but lived like he had barely enough to pay the bills and buy a new suit once in a while.
Gio was doing the same, stashing his money away, preparing for the day he could break free of the Machine and Mafia, head to Utah, establish himself doing something legal and respectable, and get baptized, all in the hopes that Albright would wear down under Dot’s incessant pleas, with evidence that Gio had gone completely straight, could hide and protect Dot, and provide for a family.
Trey looked at his little girl and wondered if he’d be such a soft cat when it came to his daughter’s wants, or even if he’d put up with a badger like Dot.
As for Dot, well, she didn’t know what she wanted to do other than be Gio’s wife, but that was the same short-sightedness that had Marina and all her contemporaries in its clutches. Trey was actually disappointed in Dot because as soon as she’d fallen in love, she’d chucked her ambitions. She was a sharp cookie, and he didn’t like her throwing her smarts away any more than he wanted to see Marina doing it.
“When are you planning to take up your studies again, Sugar?” he asked over Susanna’s head. “I think you should take your college entrance exams soon.”
“I want to review my math and history and civics to make sure I can pass those tests and maybe an English teacher to fill in whatever I’m missing,” she replied matter-of-factly. “And I want Mr. Carville.”
“Okay,” he grumbled. “Whatever you need to pass.”
“With all As,” she added.
“I’m not worried about that.”
“I am. I’ll have Miss Stanley back if she can.”
“Mm, well. Last night’s take is in the hole. Gotta go smash a hand today.”
“Ignacio’s, I hope?”
“Yeup.”
“You’re far too lenient.”
“Not if you’re just letting interest rack up,” he said as she put his plate of bacon and biscuits and a bowl of strawberries at his spot, then poured him a cup of coffee. She had a smaller serving for herself and sat. He put Button back in her high chair and let her continue to chew on her cookie.
“How was your night?”
“Fuckin’ awful.” Then he began to rant about the entire town coming to 1520 Main last night to lose their goddamned minds. “Musta been a full moon or somethin’. Busted tables an’ chairs, shattered glass everywhere. And then! Blood-curdlin’ scream comes from upstairs over all that noise, I run up there, it’s Alice, an’ her customer died on top of her!”
Marina gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Yeah! An’ he was a fat sumbitch, too, so she couldn’t get out from under him. On toppa’at, he was still inside her! Stiff as board.”
Marina closed her eyes and scrunched her face up, her shoulders up near her ears.
“And if that wa’n’t enough, that little bitch Solly Weissman went to Boss Tom to tattle on me, so I got my ass dragged into Boss Tom’s office at six on the dot—”
“That’s why you were late?”
He nodded and proceeded to rant about that, too, and by the time he finished, he was plumb worn out.
“Why don’t you go back to bed after breakfast and take a nap? You have time, and can still be at your table at eight. Be fresh for tonight.”
“I might, at that, Sugga, but it feels a little sinful, takin’ a nap in the middle of the afternoon.”
She flushed and looked away. “I do,” she murmured.
He waved a hand. “That’s different.”
“How? I don’t work as hard as you.”
He huffed. “Don’t make me think that hard. I’ll go ahead and take a nap then, since you’re so dead set on it.”
“Good.” Then Marina did something very strange and unsettling. “Trey, could we … I mean, do you think we could say grace?”
His eyebrows shot into his hair.
“Well,” she said defensively, “I … I keep thinking about the Grandparents and their things and I liked that, liked going to church with them. And the Comstocks down the street.”
“You like going to church with Dot, too,” he pointed out. “Are you saying you want to join up with one or another?”
“Maybe. I … I don’t know why,” she confessed. “I like Catholic services, but I don’t like the idea of going to confession and purgatory and hell and— It’s so complicated. I don’t like Mormon services, but they don’t have a hell and they do fun things. The Lutherans and Presbyterians seem like a nice combination of the two.”
“Why’n’t you try a Methodist church?” he asked testily.
“All right, but would you go with me if I did? I don’t know any Methodists.”
“I’m not going to church. I’m a lot of bad things, but I won’t be a hypocrite.”
She said nothing to that, but bowed her head and prayed silently.
“What god are you praying to?” he asked when she finished.
She shrugged. “The one in the sky who helps people, I guess.”
“Yeah, look around at how he helps them when they’re down’n’out,” he said dryly. “Still going to tent revivals and filling the collection plate with what little they’ve got to fund some cat’s expensive tastes.”
Marina sighed. “The husbands in this neighborhood don’t seem to know you and Boss Tom are God’s way of helping them out, if they’d take it. Boss Tom does offer honest work.”
“You’ve been talking to the wives?”
She nodded. “I prayed to be rescued from Mother. The Jewel Tea man came right then. I prayed for help when you, um, over Gale— Anyway, then you came home just before I died and sent me to a lovely place to get well. God had to have done that, didn’t he? It can’t be just coincidence.”
“This somethin’ your priest filled your head with?”
“And the Albrights. They can’t both be wrong, can they? Would a Methodist minister say anything different?”
“I didn’t see God when my family died,” Trey said tightly. “I don’t see God anywhere in my world, so God must pick’n’choose who to help, which probably depends on how much he likes ’em, and clearly he didn’t like me.”
“But maybe if we ask … ” She trailed off with one look at Trey’s face.
“You can have all the religion you want, Sugga,” he growled, “but don’t expect me to go along with it.”
“All right.”
The silence between them was fraught with tension. Then Trey cleared his throat. “A’ight,” he mumbled, “enough of that. Whatcha been reading?”
And they grabbed their notebooks, pencils, and began their morning book club meeting.
89
If you don’t want to wait 2 years to get to the end, you can buy it here.
Donations can be made here, if you so desire.
Trey can blame God all he wants, it won’t change anything.
He doesn’t blame God for the bad so much as he doesn’t really credit God for anything good.
Mojeaux’s volume of output is impressive. I think math fosters brevity of thought, hence my terse writing style.
The whole saga reminds me of my 2nd favorite Simpsons episode:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zsr-0sp6C7I
I made $83 today from my online AI job. Yay me. Looks like a winner. Also got some negative feedback which I thought was unwarranted. I got dinged for using an SAT question that can easily be found on the internet. It should be noted that the AI got it wrong, as I suspected it would (thus my reason for picking it). Everyone else including the test-makers themselves got it wrong too. To me, that means the AI learned something from encountering it. I wouldn’t have learned about the coin rotation paradox either had I not learned about it by chance.
I wrote this years ago. It’s just that I write long books because normal-length books and tropes I like require editing I’m not willing to do.
I can’t do what SugarFree does.
I think it’s good practice to write a 1,000-word short story in 2 or 3 hours. At least, it seemed to help me after I did it a few dozen times.
Most of what anyone writes is crap, but if you write a lot, some of it is guaranteed by simple probability to be great. Sturgeon’s Law says hi.
I should return to my daily poetry exercises. There are a lot of things I should be doing but haven’t gotten around to yet. Tomorrow is another day and today was good enough. Onward through the fog. Ad astra per aspera.
Most every novelist has an under-the-bed/back-of-the-drawer novel or two. Takes a few tens of thousand of words to start getting the swing of it.
but if you write a lot, some of it is guaranteed by simple probability to be great.
Bullshit, sure a million monkeys hammering away at a million typewriters for a million years might one day produce “Dead I may well be” but only one of those monkeys did it, the rest spent there lives writing gibberish. Fuck, Brian Wilson wrote 260+ songs and every single one sucks balls.
God Only Knows ain’t bad but he’s no Ray Davies (or even Dave Davies).
Trey and Marina’s mornin’ chat hit me in a couple good and real ways. Managed to combine having a kid, which I’m aware I know nothing about, along with ‘normal’ relationship chatter that…as always connects with each reader’s own.
I’ve never tried to write fiction. Dad is certainly, admittedly incapable, and Mom semi-flirts with it. Bro ain’t a writer-writer, but he certainly writes/ creates code. I’m sure I could, but I’m guessing it would be more in the creative non-fiction realm. I certainly have plenty of those stories along with ways to elevate ’em. *kicks pebble knowing now isn’t the time to experiment there*
Relationship chatter in fiction is always going somewhere. It’s not there just ‘cuz.
At first I thought Boss Tom was being wise. But on further thought, I think he is setting up his business for big problems.
Boss Tom is only interested in what’s coming into his bank account. He feels that the triangulation between Trey, Carrollo, and Weissman is damaging or could damage his bottom line.
Thanks Moj.
A couple sentences that SugarFree could be plagiarizing .
Looks like Trey is thinking about moving on in life, college, etc. Marina doesn’t expect that the Depression will be ongoing for another 10 years nor do many of those affected by it.
Wait another week to see if the Kansas City Duo takes the SAT.
Writing stories set in the past is always interesting. Soooo tempting to make your characters wiser than they really are.
I watched a few minutes of Trump tonight. He hasn’t changed.
The audience looked like regular people but they liked what they were hearing
If you get to the big leagues don’t change how you hold the bat.
Archaeologists at George Washington’s Mount Vernon have unearthed an astounding 35 glass bottles from the 18th century in five storage pits in the Mansion cellar of the nation’s first president. Of the 35 bottles, 29 are intact and contain perfectly preserved cherries and berries, likely gooseberries or currants.
https://www.mountvernon.org/about/news/article/archaeologists-unearth-35-glass-bottles-from-the-18th-century-at-george-washington-s-mount-vernon-during-mansion-revitalization-most-containing-perfectly-preserved-cherries-and-berries/
That’s fucking cool
Another good find
https://abcnews.go.com/Travel/ernest-shackletons-100-year-whiskey-recovered-antarctica/story?id=9758898
Welp, likely no sweep for the Celtics. The Mavs were due for a game like this though.
I will root against Mark Cuban 100% of the time in all cases ever
The I-40 situation has been resolved, and the freeway reopened. My uncharitable hopes for the perpetrator go unanswered, as are all hopes.
If only eveyone felt the way I do
The German version of that is pretty good too. Die Kaetze Heinrich…es ist wirklich spitze.
I hate you so much Derp because you were what I wanted myself to be, but I love you so much because, well.
My connection dropped, so I left the Zoom abruptly. Sorry about that. I’m trying to rejoin now. If that fails, it was a pleasure to talk with everyone there. Special thanks to KK for setting it up. I’ll be back there tomorrow night.
You only live in one language, I think.
It’s all thanks to Nephilium, even though he hates us now 😉
Well hey hey, look who’s back: My favorite politician that resembles a Monty Python extra (only a mild jab, I like the guy).
https://www.zerohedge.com/geopolitical/farages-reform-uk-party-overtakes-sunaks-conservatives-poll
Godspeed and good luck Mr. Farage, you’re going to need it.
Friday Funbags After Dark.
https://archive.is/1xdZf/3bcf18af45cc4a7e364a5b216018b67d2656d4cb.jpg
NSFW.
https://archive.is/Qu9JB/f5d9ec86a63b069215df6c94a0b09b9ddad6c612.jpg
NSFW.
https://archive.is/iXJ6G/a15ea4855ebb019c2b3b1311d1fdbcf5e27a5c63.jpg
NSFW.
https://thumb-p9.xhcdn.com/a/2bKElBP4Bcyr4ZEVNuUOfw/000/089/670/059_1000.jpg
NSFW.
And best for last.
https://archive.is/UFNMn/8a8df6be1e7123ab1ea8488fc16b689b6722189a.jpg
NSFW.
Well hello there.
NSF ANWHERE
Put her in the freak show
She’s going to have lower back problems.
Proving there can be too much of a good thing.
“LA City Council Removes U-Turn Signs In Gay Neighborhood Because They Are “Homophobic””
https://www.zerohedge.com/political/la-city-council-removes-u-turn-signs-gay-neighborhood-because-they-are-homophobic
Well good, every time I picked up some random guy walking down the road and blew him I had to pull a U-ey and I’d hate to get a ticket next time.
When I retired from a state mental hospital I was hoping to never have to listen to and see this kind of shit anymore.
A cop was arrested for stealing weapons and ammo at a “gun buyback” *spit*:
https://www.sacurrent.com/news/san-antonio-police-officer-fired-over-allegations-he-took-weapons-turned-over-at-gun-buyback-34738001
My favorite:
“He also said nine boxes of ammo found in the vehicle were there so he could later destroy them at a firing range,”
Morning all.
Who sells a gun at a buyback that is worth stealing?
Some people will steal anything.
…and without going through the proper paperwork/waiting period to determine if the police are allowed to take them? Sounds like a scam to me.
Good morning, Suthen, GL (are you up late or incredibly early??) and 4(20)! Came out to Tranq Base as soon as I could get myself moving this morning so as to get in as much tranquil as I could before it got too hot!
Good morning! Up late, work schedule has been kind of messed up and carried over to sleep as well. Should be up in another two to three hours to get cracking on fixing the deck but the rain has started as well.
Good morning glibs, gabs, grubs, whatever-ye-be.
Good morning, JI! Several Glibboys and one Glibbroad, by my cursory count.
Sounds so crass phrased that way.
I’ll work on that, but the only alternative I’ve thought of for “broad” was even worse. 😳
Apparently my mind doesn’t think the way yours does.
“Glibrette”?
That would be the “b word” frequently and unflatteringly applied to women of a certain…disagreeable nature (and sometimes to any woman.)
Not bad, cav! I’ll take that one into consideration!
Barren? 😉
…and good morning, U and cav!
There is a Bee article screaming to be written about Sotomayor decrying the definition of woman using some obscure technical detail (like XX chromosones). It can include her pointing to a turkey to support her definition of a duck.
You’d think a lawyer would know that just because something walks like a duck, that does not make it a duck for legal purposes. Maybe she should consult an expert on Bird Law?
Good morning Glibs!
🌞☕😏
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=YYoJY79obwA
🎶🎶
Good morning, Sean!
😁
https://www.msn.com/en-us/travel/news/dozens-of-oregon-amusement-park-guests-left-hanging-upside-down-after-ride-malfunctions-on-opening-day/ar-BB1ofQTV
Yikes. 😵
Shades of Poland’s “provocations” (per Nazi propaganda) in the summer of ’39.
Good morning! It’s a beautiful morning, if a bit behind schedule.
I haven’t looked outside yet.
Lily doesn’t wake you to let you know the sun is up like my dogs do?
She’s actually quite mellow about that — probably because I get up at 5:30.
This morning’s tardiness are because the Millennial Girlfriend stayed over. The delays are good ones to have.
bow-wow-wowwa
Good morning, NA! I like my weekends as minimally scheduled as possible – just my weekend morning “serious” music shows on the satellite radio and the occasional minor league baseball game.
I like getting to the diner before it goes on a wait. I hate waiting for breakfast.
And then at the park, Lily’s best friends are gone by 9:00-9:30.
Congressional Republicans remind me why I’m no longer a Republican:
https://www.thegatewaypundit.com/2024/06/mandatory-military-registration-house-representatives-passes-bill-automatic/
The bill was approved in the House with a vote of 217 to 199. Among the votes, 211 Republicans supported the measure, while Marjorie Taylor Greene (GA), Thomas Massie (KY), and Matt Rosendale (MT) voted no.
196 Democrats voted against the bill, with 6 breaking ranks to vote in favor. The legislation now advances to the Senate for further deliberation.
It makes registering for the Selective Service automatic.
For wimmenfolk too?
The article didn’t say.
For the record, I advised my firstborn to register when he turned 18. One of those stupid things that the government wants us to do, like jury duty. Making it automatic just makes things a little easier.
My objection to this is based on the possibility that they are doing this in preparation for reintroducing the draft.
I’m surprised it hasn’t already been automatic, tied into getting your birth certificate filed, or your SSN.
Don’t be silly, some of them don’t even have war-boners.
https://headlineusa.com/disneys-new-star-wars-features-lesbian-witches-using-force-to-get-pregnant/
Apparently, the witches call the Force “the Thread”.
I’ve not seen the show, and probably never will, but I’ve been listening to the Drinker and others angst over it as “the death of the Star Wars franchise”.
But, I infer from their discussions that the force witches are pretty bad people, and are destroyed by one of their own. There may be some nuance that I’m missing by not watching the show, however.
Besides that, the Star Wars franchise consists of three movies, and a bunch of toys made in the 1980s. Everything else is fan fiction.