by B R Snow
“Yes, among other things,” Milo said, smiling. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”
“The hotel doesn’t know I bring it in. It’s only for special customers,” the bartender said, wiping his hands with a fresh towel. “But when you’re working for tips, you do what you can, right?”
“Yeah, I get that. By the way, I’m Milo Razner.”
“Nice to meet you, Milo. My name’s Tom. Tom Collins.”
“Tom Collins. After the cocktail? That’s a good name for a bartender I would imagine,” Milo said, nodding.
“Actually, my name is Jerry Collins. But a buddy gave me the nickname when I was working in a joint that only sold moonshine. Most women can’t stand the taste of it, so I started messing around with different juices and fruits you could use to make the shine go down easier. I got kind of a reputation for my concoctions.”
“And the nickname stuck?”
“Yeah. And the name’s a real conversation starter,” Tom said.
“And good for tips, right?”
“You’re a quick study, Milo.”
“You have no idea, Tom Collins.”
Tom reached below the bar and poured clear liquid into a shot glass.
“You want to join me?” Milo said. “I’m buying.”
“Thanks, but I’m working,” Tom said, shaking his head. “This stuff will set your brain on fire. Two of those and I wouldn’t be able to make change.”
“What is it?” Milo said, holding up the shot glass and staring at it up against the light.
“Billy calls it his Midnight Miracle,” Tom said. “A hundred and fifty proof but smoother than Daisy’s skin right after she gets out of the bath.”
“Should I ask how you know that?” Milo said, still staring into the shot glass.
“It’s no secret how Daisy makes her living,” Tom said, shrugging. “I learned about her soft skin a long time ago. But that was back in the days when I could still afford her.”
“I see,” Milo said, holding the shot glass to his nose. “I’m getting the scent of something sweet.”
“Billy won’t tell me what that is,” Tom said. “But I think he uses a touch of maple syrup.”
“Interesting,” Milo said. “Well, here goes nothing.”
Milo tossed the shot back and felt the warmth surge through him, then it subsided and left him at a loss for words.
“Good, huh?” Tom said, nodding.
“Remarkable. Who’s Billy?”
“Billy Crankovitch. He’s a local. We go way back. And when it comes to making shine, I think he’s a genius.”
“And he makes moonshine for a living?”
“Nah. It’s only a way for him to make a few extra bucks on the side. I do my best to help him out by selling some of it here.”
“What does he do for a living?” Milo said, gesturing for another shot.
“Well, he’s a dairy farmer. But as his wife keeps reminding him, he’s just not a very good one.”
“Ah, farmers. Salt of the earth. I’d like to meet this Mr. Crankovitch,” Milo said, holding up the fresh shot to the light again. “It’s crystal clear.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Tom said. “He’ll start cooking this year’s batch as soon as he gets his corn harvested. But if he’s got any of last year’s batch left, you can buy a quart for three bucks.”
“Twelve dollars a gallon?”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just doing some math in my head.”
Milo and Tom both looked toward the lobby when they heard the swelling noise that was punctuated with shouts and protests.
“Somebody’s not happy,” Milo said, glancing around at the crowd.
“Beulah must be here,” Tom said. “She’s speaking tonight in the ballroom.”
Milo looked at Tom and waited for more.
“Beulah Peppin. She’s the head of the local temperance movement.”
“Ah, yes,” Milo said. “The Women’s Christian Temperance Union. The WCTU seems to be everywhere these days. Which one is Mrs. Peppin?”
“Miss Peppin,” Tom said. “And she’s the one in the white dress.”
Milo studied the young woman who continued to casually give instructions to several people who were surrounding her even as the shouts of protests continued to swell.
“I take it she has her detractors,” Milo said.
“Yeah, and I’m one of them. What is it with some people? They’re always on a mission to ruin everybody else’s fun. The way the winters are around here, if you take away people’s right to drink, they’ll be nothing to do six months out of the year.”
“Yes, I’m afraid the Dries have gotten a lot of traction,” Milo said, downing the second shot and again having the same reaction. “This is truly a remarkable concoction.”
“Lucky for us, the President vetoed that stupid law, huh?” Tom said.
“Congress is getting ready to override his veto,” Milo said, taking a sip of beer.
“But they won’t be able to pass it, right?”
“Oh, I’m certain the veto is going to be overridden.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve been told that by some people I know in Washington,” Milo said.
“You have friends in Washington?”
“Oh, my, no,” Milo said, laughing. “I would never call the people I know in Washington friends. They’re just lawyers who managed to convince enough voters they’re worthy of making decisions on their behalf.”
“I take it you’re not much of a fan of politicians,” Tom said.
“I dislike politicians,” Milo said. “But I detest lawyers. Combine the two, and you get a very nasty product.”
“Like bad moonshine,” Tom said.
“Yes. If it doesn’t kill you, the odds are it will leave you blind,” Milo said, gesturing for a third shot.
“You want another?”
“One more.”
“Be careful. This stuff sneaks up on you in a hurry.”
“Let’s call the third one additional field study. Sort of a personal research project.”
“It’s your funeral,” Tom said, pouring the shot. “By the way, what are you doing in town?”
“Actually, I have just relocated to your wonderful town. This is my first day here.”
“Really? What do you do for work?”
“I’m currently in transition, and I’m looking for a change. Something in my head is telling me that it’s time to do something different.”
“Like what?”
“I thought I might give dairy farming a shot,” Milo said, tossing back his third shot. “Whew. I see what you mean about it sneaking up on you.”
“Uh, no offense, Milo,” Tom said. “You could have given me a hundred guesses, and I wouldn’t have come up with dairy farmer. You know much about cows?”
“Other than they have four legs and produce milk, not a single thing.”
“Okay. I guess you gotta start somewhere, right? Look, Milo, dairy farming is no picnic. And there aren’t any days off. You do know that cows have to be milked twice a day every day, don’t you?”
“I did not know that,” Milo said, shaking his head. “I’m glad I stopped by, Tom Collins. Not only have you provided me with some of the best alcohol I have ever tasted, but you’ve also taught me something.”
“Why on earth would you want to be a dairy farmer?”
“Well, there’s just something calling me to it. When booze is outlawed, I have a gut feeling that my milk is going to be in very high demand. And I always try to go with my gut instincts.”
Milo shook his head to clear it and glanced back at Beulah Peppin who was still chatting with several people milling around her.
“She is a very striking woman,” Milo said.
“She is. Too bad she never seems to put her looks on better display. It’s like she does everything she can to hide them,” Tom said. “But I do like her hat.”
“Yes, I agree. And she wears it ve
ry well.”