“That stupid son of a bitch,” Lance said, and I could tell suddenly that his entire confusion and anger were directed at Marshall.
“Yeah. Anyway, I warned him never to do that. I think he almost opened Grandpa’s powder room. Would have killed him, and we would have lost half the homestead,” I said, playing it up.
“What? Powder room?”
“Where Grandpa stores the dynamite for blowing rocks and stumps,” I said to him. “It’s not stable. I found him hiding in the barn when I got back.”
“Well, shit. Um… I can’t exactly call the cops on him,” he said.
“Neither can I.”
“Wait, what are you…”
“Let’s just say, if I have my phone off, it’s for a good reason. Grandpa had surgery to remove a bunch of cancerous tumors. I forgot to turn it back on. Don’t send the kiddo out ahead of time without getting ahold of me first. That’s all I ask.”
“I… wait, can we talk on this phone?”
“No,” I told him shortly.
“Marshall can fill you in, I gave him a message. Please don’t do nothing, he’s stupid, I’ll deal with him.”
“I’d appreciate that,” I told him. “Just a bit of a shock to find my dog going ape shit and finding a kid damn near hanging from the rafters.”
“That’s him?” Marshall said, walking up.
“Yeah,” I told him, handing him the phone.
“This is Marshall?”
He nodded, then said yes, then nodded and handed the phone back to me.
“I asked if he was ok. He said yes.”
I blew out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Ok, sorry about that. Got my adrenaline up,” I told them both, though only one was looking at me, and he nodded in relief.
“Good, listen… I have a question, but it can wait until after you talk to Marshall.”
“Ok, I’ll be in touch. I can meet you at the usual spot later on or tomorrow,” I told him, meaning probably tomorrow.
“Sounds good, and listen, I don’t know what he was doing, but I only asked him to get in touch with you.”
“Water under the bridge,” I said, feeling the effects of the nerves kicking in and adrenaline wearing off; my legs felt like Jell-O, and my hands were starting to shake.
I hung up the phone and turned to Marshall. “You know, this was your one free pass. Please don’t do anything this stupid again. Grandpa would have shot first.”
“I’m sorry, truly.”
“You got a message for me?” I asked him.
“Yeah,” he said, his eyes wandering from me to Raider. “He wanted me to ask if you could bring extra product or bring some early, like tomorrow?”
“Is it becoming a popular big-ticket item?” I asked him.
“Yeah, he said your idea of using it as a well drink went over great. Said your rum was a huge hit. Wants as much as you can get him.”
“How much more is he wanting?” I asked.
“I… he wanted to know if eighty gallons would work?”
I was flabbergasted. “He ran out already?” I asked him.
He nodded. “I tried some myself. It was really good, I was just curious how it’s done. That’s why I looked, I swear.”
Not this again.
“Tell you what, maybe someday I’ll show you how I do it,” I told him, lying.
“Really?”
“Yeah, let’s get you back to your vehicle; come on, Raider,” I said, and he fell into step beside me.
I was shocked, he hated walking on a leash and did NOT want to heel or walk beside me leashed, why the heck was he doing it now? Instinct? I walked up the driveway and found his car about five minutes’ walk past the driveway the other direction into our house. If I hadn’t wanted to make a short trip of this, I would have seen his, had I come in from the other direction.
“Thanks, and again—”
“You don’t have to say it, just get home safe. Watch out for the fuzz,” I told him.
“You mean…” He looked down at Raider.
I had to groan. “The police. Don’t do nothing stupid, kid.”
“Oh I won’t, and if you’re serious, I kind of want to learn how to do things. Not big, but like, for my own use.”
“Oh, well hell, look on YouTube. They have a ton of videos. Get yourself a T-500 and call it a day.”
“T-500?”
“Yeah, just remember the five hundred part. Turbo 500. Like the Indy 500 but Turbo.”
“I… ok, I can remember that.”
“Come on, Raider,” I said, patting my leg.
Once again, he came to my side and walked between the shoulder and me the way back to the homestead. I heard Marshall drive off and wondered if things were like he really said after I got him talking some truth. I hoped so. There were reasons people kept their stills out in the hills, and none of us ever had. Not once, and now I understood why other people did.
Raider followed me back to the barn where I locked up again. I wanted a drink, and I wanted to consider what he was asking of me. Eighty gallons? Wanted more right now? I mean, the money was always green, but on a hobby scale, I was just about maxed out. I could get more batches and more barrels fermenting. I could add another person to watch the moonshine flowing and make the cuts if Grandpa wasn’t up for it. I didn’t want to. I was already feeling uneasy, and I only wanted to get involved with this bigger run for a while to pay for Grandpa’s surgery.
I let both of us in and pulled the large jug off the counter. I’d labeled it ‘infused vodka’, but it was from a batch of ‘Uncle Jessie’s Sour Mash.’ I’d watered it down to 55% alcohol or 110 proof after filling the bottom of a one-gallon glass jug with two inches of rinsed Jack Daniel’s smoking chips. The oak chips were from former barrels used by the distillery and sold at about every store nationwide, and when rinsed and liquor poured into the same barrel, it had a tendency to mellow out the corn liquor and impart a flavor to it in a span of two or three weeks. It also gave it the caramel color. If you added a touch of glycerin and a few drops of really good vanilla extract, you made a pretty good imitation of the real thing.
Once it soaked, I would taste small batches until it was just right, then pour it out and filter it with a coffee filter twice and put it back into a fresh, clean, clear glass jug. Since the oak chips had been used already, they didn’t leach tannins out that added an undesirable flavor. I poured about a finger’s worth into a tumbler and then almost an equal amount of water and swirled it with my finger. Proofing it down sometimes unlocked the flavors after infusion and, depending on the batch, I had to give the guys who blended whiskeys props for their superior pallets.
I took a sip and sighed in contentment. Like everything about this, it was both fun and a hobby that paid well. I put the shotgun back in place over the door and took my drink out to the front porch and sat down in Grandpa’s rocker. Raider sat down next to me, careful not to let his wagging tail get in the way. I hadn’t noticed it’d gotten so late though. The sky was dark, and it was getting hard to see as I sat there, sipping the whiskey and petting Raider’s head.
At some point, I dozed. The day had been stressful, and the adrenaline dump of finding Marshall in the barn left me wiped out. I woke up to feel Raider's muzzle against my hand, then he jumped up and licked my arm.
“I’m up, just more tired than I expected,” I told him.
I considered the half an inch of alcohol left and flicked it into the dirt of the driveway. That was when I noticed the sky. I’d never seen the northern lights except in pictures and TV specials about Alaska. It was faint, but large as life.
“That’s not something you see every day.”
Raider barked and then jumped up on my side, both paws on my arm as he snaked his head under my elbow in a dog hug. I obliged him and put my arm around his head and then scratched his ears before pushing him back.
“Don’t jump up, boy, you’re getting too big. You do that to Grandpa or Grandma, you’re liable to
hurt them.”
He barked, though less enthusiastically. I heard his stomach rumble.
“Oh, buddy, I’m sorry, let’s get you inside where you can get your food.”
This time, he was enthusiastic, his tail becoming a dangerous weapon.
9
Grandpa was due to come home near suppertime. I’d gotten the call from them while I was at the Gillespie’s Bakery. I’d dropped off the twenty-two gallons I’d held in reserve with Lance and told him I’d see what I could do the rest of the week. We both dodged around the issue that almost happened. He’d assured me there wouldn’t be a repeat, but I could tell there was an undercurrent of anger. I’d pulled a shotgun on his family and scared the crap out of him. In a way, I wasn’t sorry, but it definitely made things uncomfortable.
I finished loading empty frosting buckets and then started packing the dried goods I’d ordered. Since I knew I was going to be a little bit ahead and my costs to return on investment were pretty good, I hadn’t felt bad about picking up more supplies for prepping. I’d gotten more cornmeal this time, but I’d also gotten quite a few bags each of wheat berries, steel cut oats, three bags of pink salt on Curt’s recommendation and the most expensive single item of the group: a commercial size bag of mixed nuts.
I remember telling him I wasn’t sure if I could eat all of that in a year’s time, meaning the nuts, and he told me I might be surprised. He gave me a hand again, and when we were done, I pulled a quart of shine out from behind and under my seat as a thank you.
“I almost forgot! You got room?” he asked, eyeballing Raider sitting in the front seat, waiting impatiently.
“What you got?” I asked him.
“Empty jars and lids, about four cases worth.”
“Pile them on.”
I’d had a bungee net for the back of my truck for instances like this and saw I’d need it now, regardless of adding a few cases of jars. When Curt came back with four cases in his arms, I took two and piled them in behind the cab on one side, and he did the other. I tossed him the strap to the far side of the net, and he clipped his end on, then we both stretched the back out, clipping it at the corners.
“That’s handy,” he said.
I grinned. “Gift from my grandma. I think she ordered it from Amazon or something. It’s pretty useful.”
“You going to help out when they discharge your grandpa?”
“Yeah, I’m going to make sure he doesn’t fall from the wheelchair to Grandma’s car, then I’m going to follow them home.”
“Your grandma still driving good?” he asked me, a little surprised.
“Yes, but I don’t think she’s reached speeds over forty miles an hour since I was a baby.”
He had a polite laugh for that, and we said our goodbyes. I went to the hospital to wait.
“You should be in bed,” I told Grandpa.
“Wanted to see these damn lights for myself,” he told me.
“I watched them for a little bit last night—”
Raider barked, having picked the spot between Grandma and me with Grandpa near the far end.
“Ok, I fell asleep for a bit out here, and Raider woke me up. Then I watched them some. They’re brighter tonight than last night.”
“Hand the flask back over,” Grandpa said, and Grandma let out a pained sigh.
Still, I handed it to Grandma who passed it over, Raider’s head following the movement of the silver flask. Grandpa took a pull of it and put it between his knees.
“I’d rather take a small slug of that than those pain pills. They made my stomach sour, and the doc said I might have a hard time using the bathroom.”
“How bad’s the pain?” I asked him.
“My appendix hurt worse when it burst when you were a kiddo,” he admitted, “but this is in a couple spots. Most of what they cut out they did with a little scope thing. Said it would heal faster, but I feel bruised, and I feel like I was worked over by a few brutes.”
“Gonna have to get you a nurse to come out who’ll give you sponge baths?” I teased, taking a sip of my whiskey.
Grandma’s smack to the back of my head had me spraying whiskey and Raider sitting up, looking at me with his head cocked.
“I deserved that,” I said as Grandpa roared with laughter and Grandma looked at me cross like, before she smiled and shook her head at me.
The radio had been playing a ball game quietly on the floor near Grandpa’s chair as we watched the northern lights.
“...The solar storm is still expected to pick up in intensity. As far south as Arkansas and parts of Texas are reporting seeing…” Grandpa reached down and turned the radio up louder, “…the effects. Rolling blackouts have started in portions of Canada, and one or two substations in the USA were overloaded. Conspiracy theorists claim this could be worse than the Carrington Event of 1859. Scientists say a Coronal Mass Ejection or Solar Storm of that magnitude would have unknown effects as technology has advanced—”
The radio turned to static and Grandpa turned the knob, getting a ton of squelch and white noise until he found a station in the AM band. It was the one that played Christmas music, all year, all the time, no commercial breaks. No DJs, just Santa Clause and Rudolph 24/7, 365.
“I hit the dial on accident, it’s such a pain in the ass to get signal down here,” Grandpa spat.
“Maybe I should put up an antenna like I did for the cell phones?” I asked.
“That would be lovely,” Grandma said.
“I got my HAM radio antenna in the beams of the barn,” Grandpa said.
“Beams? How big is your antenna?” I asked.
Grandma snickered, “He had delusions of running his own pirate radio station at some point.”
“Yeah, yeah. When I was good and liquored up, having a station called ‘Still Surviving’ sounded like a great thing until I found out how easy it was for the feds to find what direction the transmissions were coming from, so I mostly used it to just listen, ‘til people quit talking so much. Got the radio in the old rolling tool chest on the bottom. Don’t get no batteries for it and I shorted something out last time I played around with it, but I figure that antenna… you might not get to buy anything if you can rig that up, and we can wire it up to the house radio someday.”
“You worried you won’t make it out to the porch or something?” I asked him.
“Nobody lives forever,” Grandpa said quietly.
Grandma patted my arm, and I took a swig of the whiskey, feeling the burn, the warmth spreading from my stomach out.
Raider got up slowly and walked over to Grandpa, putting his head on his leg, almost asking permission.
“You can’t get up here fella, but if you want your ears scratched, I can manage that,” he said, and Raider pushed his head deeper into his lap, letting out a contented sigh.
“You know, if I’d had a dog like this when I was a boy…” Grandpa said to Raider softly, his words trailing off.
“He’s a good one,” Grandma said, petting his back, right on the spot over his tail he liked.
His tail went faster, and the dog let out a groan, torn between wiggling his front end to give Grandpa more ear scratching area and trying to back up and lift a leg as Grandma got the spot that made his leg twitch on the back. I grinned and took another swig and watched the colors in the sky.
“What are you going to tell Lance from the Barred Rooster?” Grandpa asked after a moment.
“I don’t know that I want to do this for him forever. I got a job lined up to start in the fall. I guess I’ll do it as long as we can and build up a little bit of money to make sure we can cover your deductibles, but we’re over the hump.”
“Plus you’re worried about the law. Especially with him running a Texas-styled Honky Tonk.”
“Yeah, he’s got the labels of a distillery. I don’t think it actually exists, but he’s telling people it’s shine, and apparently, it’s selling good.”
“Almost makes you wish we could sell to the gen
eral public, in the open, don’t it?”
“Yeah. The sad thing is though, he ever gets busted, he’ll get a slap for turning on me, and I’ll get the real time in the tank.”
“Ain’t nobody going in the tank,” Grandpa said grumpily. “It was me, I did it!” he said theatrically then took another pull on his flask.
“You don’t need to take the fall for me if I get busted,” I told him.
“They got insurance in there. Probably better than that crap we pay for out of pocket.”
He had me there, and I suddenly wondered if he’d ever considered doing something so he could get his medical problems covered. Then I thought about Grandma. She’d never held a job outside the home other than the market stall, so if there had been anything holding him back, it would have been her. And me, but I was grown now and could take care of myself.
“Not going to happen. I’m going to finish things off and be done if you don’t have any objections,” I told him.
“We’ve gotten along without the money before. You do another week or so, and we’ll be all set for a long bit. Longer than you’d think.”
“Medicine gets expensive,” Grandma said.
“Yeah, but they say they got all they could. Even if it comes back… They first told me I was too old to survive the surgery. Here I am, getting lit with my grandson while watching the purty lights… but yeah, I survived, and I wasn’t as sick as they thought. I might only have to get the radiation once or twice then I’ll be on these pills for six months. We done paid enough for the deductible, so the insurance has it from here on out.”
I took a swig, and Grandma surprised me by taking the bottle I’d been using to keep a pinch in my tumbler and upended it. I watched as she took a couple swigs and then put it down, pounding on her chest, letting out a cough.
“That’s got some heat,” Grandma told me, coughing again. “But it’s good like that. Not quite Jack, but a good sippin’ whiskey.”
“Yeah, took it off the oak,” I told her. “Going to let it bottle age a bit, but I wanted to try something different out tonight.”
“Well, you couldn’t have picked a better night to share it. Would you look at that?” Grandma said, patting Grandpa on the knee.
Blackout: Still Surviving Page 7
