Concrete Boots

Jimmy Ray was a Langley. His ma, pa, and his eight brothers and sisters was all Langley's. His clan had been around for a long time - probably since Noah and his bunch climbed off the ark. They had lived in the same set of ramshackle buildings for generations. Close to the river but still off in the woods. There was plenty of room to stretch out and not feel like someone was looking at your nose hairs.

The Langley's were known for their Shine. They used Jimmy Red corn, a blood-red, flint-hard 'dent' corn with a rich and oily germ. And they didn't take no shortcuts - no automotive radiators for stills. Hell, he drank his own Shine and didn't want to drink no antifreeze. He knew folks who had gone blind from lead or got them the gout.

He worked mainly at night. It was too durn hot during the day to do anything except lie in the shack with his wife, dog, and clan of Langley kids. They had them a good time, cutting up and cussing. His wife was a fine cook, and there was always plenty of pig meat and greens from his father-in-law.

There was a saying where he lived. "Mine, moonshine, or get on down the line." He sure as hell didn't want to work in the mines. No sun for ten hours a day. Come out of the mine smelling like stench gas, and you never knew when you was going to get trapped in a cave-in.

He started out growing corn, but it was way too hard to move it on the dirt roads. He and his brothers quickly figured out they could earn ten times as much by hauling corn liquor. Once he made the Shine, they moved it all over the county in his souped-up V-8 1940 Ford. His runner weren't fancy - no chrome pipes, loud muffler, or flashy paint job. He was a loose hauler; he carried his Shine in mason jars, making it easier to settle up with the customer and faster unloading. Also, when he had to give the deputies their share, they weren't as likely to get greedy.

The main problems in his life were Jimmie Matthews and Hoyt Shepherd, who ran the red-light district in the nearest town. They provided one-stop shopping for the soldiers, including prostitution, taverns, and crooked gambling. Most of the police were on their payroll.

He sold to them in the past, but they had gotten greedy - wanted an exclusive at way below his costs. He told them they could shut their pie holes and drove off kicking up gravel in their faces. His wife was worried, but he figured they wouldn't bother him too much. There was plenty of other Shiners, and Jimmie and Hoyt were busy men.

So that night when he heard a noise, he figured it was just a mealy-mouthed possum making trouble. He walked out from behind the still, and suddenly everything was black. He could barely breathe with the canvas bag plugging his nostrils. Someone wrapped his body tight and threw him in a car trunk.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on the ground by the river. Two of Jimmie's thugs were attaching concrete blocks to his legs. He'd heard of the Chicago Mafia placing people's feet in 5-gallon buckets and then filling them with wet concrete. Once, in the river, they didn't float up. He guessed it took a long time for concrete to set up and admired the resourcefulness of Jimmie's thugs, who didn't want to waste hours on a minor annoyance like him. He just hoped it would go fast.

— opelikakat