Madison Mosby and the Moonmilk Wars

by Jason Winn

  Veronica, a decade younger than Joey, had a more subdued demeanor. She looked like she’d been pulled away from her kid’s soccer game in shorts, sandals, and a George Mason College T-shirt.

  Jane was an ex-cop Sarah had dug up through her dad’s connections. According to Sarah, she had worked a few jobs for her dad stateside, after leaving the Arlington Police. She was plain in the face with short brown hair, and the body of a runner, lean and muscular. Madison had asked for someone to watch her back when she was out and Jane showed up a week later. She was dull, direct, worked for cash, never asked questions, and always had candy on her. Madison loved her immediately.

  Dancers crowed the sprawling floor and Madison, more than once, had to block an elbow or a hand from flying into her face. Large televisions, playing snippets of a Brooklyn street life documentary, glowed on the walls.

  The vibrations of the club heightened Madison’s excitement. This was a night of celebration after all. Finding the Shiloh Library had been her singular goal for the last six months. Ever since Langston told her about it and handed her the black compass. What could stop her now? The world was hers.

  The group sank into plush leather couches, flanking a low, glass table with a psychedelic flower pattern under the glass. Madison wondered how many lines of coke had been dusted off the glass. Football players, rock stars and fashion models had sat where they were now. She needed a drink, a lot of drinks just to settle the tremble of ecstasy in her stomach.

  “So, what can I get you?” asked the bottle girl. She placed the gold-edged bottle menu in the middle of the table.

  “Crystal,” said Dana, stealing Madison’s moment.

  Madison rolled her eyes. Dana’s taste in liquor was limited to whatever people drank in rap videos. “Ciroc, a twenty-five-year scotch, and do you still have Gran Patron?”

  The girl smiled. “We do.”

  “And one of those. And the Crystal. Plus a bucket of mixers.”

  “Be right back with those.”

  The music was mercifully softer in the VIP area. Joey pulled out a cigar and lit it. He offered his leather cigar case to the others. Jane raised a hand to say “no.” She was a bit of a health nut, save for the lollipops she sucked on. Madison doubted she would have one drink, let alone a cigar. She watched Jane for a moment as she scanned the crowd, probably looking for threats. Jane had left her pistol in the car, fearing metal detectors. There hadn’t been any, but she probably had half a dozen weapons on her, from plastic knives to a small wooden baton. Being a former cop will make a girl paranoid.

  Sarah took a cigar. The club tolerated tobacco, her weed not so much. Joey leaned over and lit Sarah’s cigar with his gold Dunhill lighter. Veronica stared at Joey, looking like she needed him to speak up.

  Joey let out a huge cloud of smoke and studied everyone before asking, “So what’s up, Madison?”

  She’d wanted to have a few drinks first, but Sarah had warned her about having a few too many before talking business.

  “You tell me,” said Madison. “Did you two make contact with your people in Miami and Chicago?”

  “We did,” said Veronica. “They are interested in selling our, I mean, your Moonmilk.”

  “How much do they want?” asked Sarah.

  Joey and Veronica exchanged worried glances and Joey responded, “Fifty gallons a week.”

  Holy fucking shit, thought Madison. She tried to do the figures in her head. That was more than twice what she and Sarah could produce a week. Jesus, she needed a larger storm brewer.

  How the hell did you do it, Grandma? There had to be another storm brewer out there, buried in the web of Blue Petal or other property in the Mosby estate. She measured Joey and Veronica for a moment. Did they know where there might be something larger, something on an industrial scale? They had worked with Nancy Mosby, but it was toward the end of her time, only a few years before she disappeared. Who else knows? Probably Langston, but wouldn’t he have told her? Why hide it? Unless there was a more nefarious reason. Like taking over after he had his “army.” So many angles.

  Madison saw Sarah looking at her, the tip of her cigar glowing as she inhaled. Her face was pale and child-like, but her eyes smoldered with wisdom, collected from years of traveling with her gun-running father. She gave the slightest nod.

  “We can probably do that,” said Madison. “But, I want to wait a few weeks before we get back to them.”

  “Okay,” Joey said, raising his eyebrows.

  “Where are they going to go?” Madison asked. “They can wait. They’ve waited this long—a few weeks won’t hurt.” And it wouldn’t. Maybe that would buy her some time to sort out how she’d continue selling to the current customers, and somehow make more Moonmilk with the current setup.

  Joey sighed. “But there’s a bigger problem.”

  “What?” asked Madison.

  Joey stole a look at Veronica, as if he needed her permission to continue. “Overall, Veronica and I don’t think this is such a hot idea.”

  “Oh?” Madison could sense the bad news coming—something was going to pull the rug from under her.

  “You’ve got no distribution channels to get the stuff to these guys,” said Joey. “We’d have to get trucks which is dangerous, because it creates a paper trail outside of your control and you can’t trust the drivers. You’ve got no one to bring the money back here. The other cartels are sure to find out what’s going on and move against you. And, while Miami and Chicago are good markets, the real money is from here in DC to New York, which used to be the core of Nancy’s operation. Basically you’re looking to expand south and west, without securing the north. And those guys in Philly, Baltimore and New York aren’t going to go along quietly.”

  “We can just use Blue Petal trucks,” said Madison. That seemed obvious.

  “Under whose authority?” asked Joey. He let out a laugh. “You don’t own Blue Petal. Your father does. You can’t just walk up to a Blue Petal truck, hand the driver a couple buckets of product and tell him to haul it, along with his other cargo, down to Miami.”

  “You’re not exactly giving me a lot of solutions,” snapped Madison, “just more problems.”

  Jesus Christ, couldn’t these two see the value in expanding?

  Now it was Veronica’s turn to chime in. “Madison, the last six months have been good for all of us, but if you expand, you also open yourself up to treachery in the ranks. More money means more greed. If the local couriers see you making moves out of the area, they’ll want bigger roles. You haven’t spent time with them like you have us.”

  “So?” They were all making money. Who cared? Besides, most of them had sounded ecstatic, when she called them out of the blue. Their names were in an old address book Langston dug up. It contained a list of couriers he’d done business with, while working for Nancy. A few hung up on her, after cursing Nancy’s name. A few led to disconnected numbers. But, the ones that worked for her now, had jumped at the opportunity to get back into the game.

  “So?” replied Joey. “So, the prospect of money drives people to do things in their interest, as opposed to yours. Nancy’s organization took decades to build; you’re looking to do the same thing in months. You have to build trust, but also worry about one of them double-crossing you.”

  “I’ve got Jane. She’s ex-law enforcement, she can handle the dirty side of the business.”

  “She’s one person,” said Veronica. “Nancy probably had fifty Janes. But here’s the most important point. If you don’t get some security in place, and soon, you’re going to see people evaluating other options.”

  “Oh yeah? Like who?”

  Joey put his hands up. “Look, look, look, I’m just offering advice, not trying to tell you everything is about to fall apart. Things are kind of stable from what we can tell right now, but take it slow. That’s all.”

  “I get it,” Madison replied with a little too much spite in her tone.

  Fuck. Why couldn’t anything be easy? Wh
y couldn’t everyone just be cool? She fell back in her seat, looking out over the dance floor, and Langston’s words came back to her: “to build an army.” That’s what she needed—an army, apparently.

  “Where’d she get her protection?” asked Madison.

  Joey and Veronica looked at each other and back to Madison. And Joey replied. He was serious now, not his normal smiling self. “With the help of the White Union and through years of building relationships.”

  The White Union. The league of magical assassins had lent their protective services to Nancy. Trask came along and killed them all, along with scores of other sorcerers.

  Madison studied Joey for a moment. Was he showing disrespect? She couldn’t tell. He probably didn’t think she had what it took to be the boss. She would have to listen to him and Veronica, about taking it slow. She remembered all the trouble she got into for not listening to Langston, like almost getting killed by the Preens, when she stole their totems.

  The bottle girl showed up with a basket full of liquor. She placed everything in the center of the table, along with glasses and the mixers. A second girl placed a bucket of ice next to the evening’s lubricant.

  “I’ll be back to check on you in a bit,” said the second one.

  “Thanks,” said Madison and passed her a couple of hundred-dollar bills.

  Dana wasted no time in opening the champagne. Glasses were filled and as the last one was handed out, Madison raised her glass. “To Nancy!”

  As she did, the group in the next VIP table over started arguing.

  “Madison,” said Veronica. “We’ve lost some people, in the last few weeks. And not just us—everyone has.”

  “Lost? As in dead?” said Madison.

  “No. No,” said Joey. “They quit.”

  “What happened?” Madison poured a tall glass of Ciroc, thought about a mixer and decided to go neat.

  “Let’s cut to the chase,” Joey interrupted. “It’s that little Preen bastard intimidating people. He’s out there, and suddenly he’s trying to cut his way back into the market. His family’s shit product was nowhere to be found until about a month ago and now he’s back to selling his Moonmilk. Something’s changed. He’s told a few sorcerers that our stuff is poisoned, and that was what killed everyone over the last few years.”

  “What?” said Sarah. “That’s bullshit.”

  Joey’s eyes locked onto Sarah. He acknowledged her, because she was with Madison, but she was so young he didn’t respect her—he probably wouldn’t even respond to her comment, if she wasn’t sitting right next to Madison. “It’s true. People, no matter who they are, can convince themselves of anything. If they think Nancy’s Moonmilk had something to do with the deaths and disappearances a while back, then they’ll stick with his stuff.”

  Never mind the fact that it was probably the Preens who were giving up sorcerers to Trask for execution, thought Madison.

  “I thought he was out of the picture after his parents died,” said Sarah.

  “He was,” said Joey, “until he decided to go back into business. This is going to have to be dealt with eventually.”

  “How many people go to Preen?” asked Madison.

  “Couple dozen, would be my guess. There’s no telling, really,” said Joey. “That’s a fraction of who used to use those clowns, but the problem is that some of them are old school, elders you could say, and they carry weight in the community. If they start convincing others that your Moonmilk is bad, then your whole operation could go south.”

  “He’s right, Madison,” said Veronica. “Preen is a real problem, aside from the fact that he could start a shooting war. His parents weren’t above that.”

  “Fucking punk,” said Madison under her breath. Madison felt her Shiloh Library victory fading as if it had happened years ago instead of less than a day.

  “Just fucking shoot him,” said Dana. “Use her,” she stabbed a finger at Jane. “Isn’t that your job?”

  Madison found herself digging her thumbnail into her palm. Thankfully, no one saw it because she was also holding a drink. She took Dana’s forearm in a firm but silent “shut the fuck up” gesture.

  “Does he have protection?” Madison asked.

  “He’s got some people,” said Veronica. “But they look like gang bangers.”

  “I’m not turning DC into the Wild West over that little shit.” She looked up to Jane. “See what you and Sean can find out about him.”

  Jane nodded. This needed the silent touch of Jane’s digression.

  “I want to get everyone together at my place in a few days. Go over the latest developments. Also, maybe see if anyone else has lost people to Preen.”

  She stared across the table at Joey, who was looking at the dance floor. His glass was almost empty. She drained hers and placed it on the table with a clatter. Joey turned to see her empty glass. He up ended his and poured another.

  Chapter 16

  An hour later, half the liquor was gone, consumed mostly by Madison and Joey having an unspoken drinking contest. Joey didn’t know what he was up against. Veronica had sensibly stopped after two drinks and found solace in her phone. Madison wanted to tell her she could leave, but a little voice of reason said that would make Veronica think she was trying to get rid of her.

  Dana was off dancing with three different men, all of whom had very busy hands. Dana didn’t seem to care. Madison looked at her and sighed. Her younger sister was old enough to make her own mistakes, and Madison wasn’t their mother, who would no doubt charge across the dance floor to bat away the evil men from her freshly molested snowflake.

  Sarah puffed on what was left of her stogie, content to just sit and people watch, taking sips of the tequila and OJ, which was more water than liquor now with all the ice she kept adding to the same drink.

  Veronica put her phone away and yawned. “I’m going to get going, if you don’t mind. I’ll call you in a few days, Madison.” She said her goodbyes and ambled her way toward the front door.

  The group next to them burst out into shouting again. Joey craned his neck for a better look. He started chuckling. “Holy shit. That’s Alexi Pushkin.”

  “Who’s that?” asked Sarah.

  “Who’s that?” Joey was grinning ear to ear. “You don’t know?”

  “Let me guess,” said Sarah, cigar clinched in her teeth. “From the looks of him, he makes millions throwing a ball around.”

  “No,” said Joey. “He’s a hockey God. He plays for the Caps. Scores about eighty goals a year. And, I don’t think that’s his wife he’s with. Damn, I want to get an autograph.”

  “Be right back,” said Madison as she got up to go to the bathroom.

  Club Sage went the extra mile with VIP restrooms, opened with a chip embedded in the entry bracelet. It was a cool feature, one that at this moment, Madison was eternally grateful for. The door swung open and she was alone with only the dull thrum of the dance music outside. She chose one of the two stalls and fell more than sat on the toilet.

  Memories of her becoming invisible for the first time came flooding back. The night she almost died and Langston’s courtier, Z, saved her life. What was the shooter’s name? Madison thought for a moment. She could see him, tall, long hair slicked back and that smug look on his face. Caymen.

  The one that got away, or at least that’s what she assumed. That blonde bitch, Patricia, was in the house when she blew up Trask and most of his men, but had Caymen been in there? If not, he needed to go on the “to kill” list. If for nothing more than to get justice for Z. The man who’d died for her, and she never got to say thank you. She wondered if Joey or any of the other couriers knew him. It was possible. The Moonmilk community was small and everyone seemed to know everyone else.

  Madison flushed and went out to the sinks.

  “Hey, Maddy.”

  Madison jumped seeing Dana there. She hadn’t heard her come in.

  “Hey Dana. Having fun?”

  Dana slapped a fresh coat
of powder on her cheeks. “Yeah.” She sounded sad.

  “What?” asked Madison as she washed her hands.

  “I want to do more than just sit in that store.”

  Christ, not this again, Madison thought.

  That’s all Madison needed right now, another argument over Dana having to sit in one of the front companies, the Blue Dreamz bakery. She never seemed to grasp the importance of the bakeries, laundering the cash from the Moonmilk sales. All Dana saw was a store she minded for hours on end.

  “I mean,” Dana continued. “I watch you sit there in charge, telling people what to do, making decisions.”

  Madison fought a sneer. She didn’t want Dana to see how stupid that remark was. Typical Dana—she only saw the upside of everything, never all the shit you had to put up with to make things happen. Had she even been listening to Joey and Veronica? No, she was off getting felt up on the dance floor.

  Dana snapped her compact closed and turned to face Madison. “And I want to play a bigger part. I want to learn how to do some of these things you and Sarah do.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Dana snapped. Tears welled up in her eyes. “You take Sarah with you everywhere. Give her things to do, important things, I’m sure.”

  Madison was really getting sick of this tactic—trying to use her relationship with Sarah to guilt her into giving Dana more responsibilities. They’d had several fights over this in the past few months. Sarah looked like a fifteen-year-old, but she’d proved herself over and over again. That’s what getting dragged around the world with your gray-market arms-dealing father got you. Sarah took her work seriously and didn’t ask for anything in return, but that was probably because she idolized Nancy Mosby and wanted to be a part of her secret world.