Filed to story: A Bullied Boy Died: A Mafia King Woke Up In His Body
“I think the beer is fine; been drinking it for three years, you know? Better than the swill we get at the squatters area,” Damian remarked, handing the mug over to Kyle. “Don’t judge a beer by its, err… smell. Or taste. And color.”
Then what do I judge it by? The bubbles?!
Kyle grimaced, slowly sipping a mouthful and drinking it, his eyes closed. “Any other types?”
“We got ale as well.” Damian repeated the process, with Kyle taking yet another swig. The gang leader sat in silence, his eyes still closed in what seemed to be deep contemplation. Damian watched expectantly as Kyle didn’t show any further disgusted reactions, buoying his hopes of validation.
Instead, the leader opened his eyes and stared at Damian before letting out a deep sigh, his anger seemingly lost. “Remind me not to trust your taste buds ever again.” He didn’t really blame Damian for it, seeing as Damian would have never tasted better alcohol in the first place. Kyle was simply far too used to hyper-controlled alcohol, brewed in microgravity to maximize yeast fermentation, and its replicable taste.
“Hey, come on! You might be the boss, but I won’t have my taste insulted. Plenty of other folks in the district love this!” Damian took a stance. As strong as his belief in Kyle was, there were just some things he wouldn’t budge on.
“Then why are these ‘plenty of other folks’ not filling this pub?”
“Well, we pretty much serve the same thing as other pubs.”
“Really? Show me.”
Without warning, an impromptu pub crawl began, with Kyle sampling various nearby pubs run by locals. The other customers gave them a wide berth, recognizing their recent victory against the Red Lions. Even though Damian was in the midst of trying to prove a point to Kyle, he relished in the influence and reputation that he had garnered for himself.
Keith, too, was amazed at the attention and respect that they were receiving. He was never one to stand in the spotlight, but for the young man craving validation, the attention soothed his ego in just the right way, his demeanor far more upright than it had been before.
On the fifth pub, Kyle knew he had lost the argument with Damian. Every pub indeed had a similar-tasting beer and ale to what the Seductive Serpent served. However, it was a good thing.
This means I have caught a potential market.
Just as Kyle was about to conclude the pub crawl, the bartender of the fifth pub stopped him for a moment, offering a new drink on the house. “Got a new supply coming in recently. It’s leagues better than the beer. Here, give it a try.”
Kyle glanced at the drink, noticing it was a distilled hard liquor. “Moonshine? You made this yourself?”
“No, I’ve been getting it from someone else. Bunch of ragtags in the abandoned blocks.”
“What’s their name?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t know much about it…” The bartender shrugged, his palm faced upward in an obvious gesture, prompting Kyle to retrieve a few dozen rakels, placing them on the counter. With a swift motion, the bartender grabbed the coins and slid them into his pocket before leaning over and whispering, “From what I know, they ain’t a part of any gang, you know? They do their own thing. I mean everything-brewing, supply, and even scouting. Apparently, the leader is an expert in alcohol brewing. Heard he even had done proper university research on it!”
“Any ideas where they are?”
“I didn’t ask, but I’m sure you’ll find them around the area. Considering you haven’t encountered them yet, I’ll say the crew is top-notch too. Their scout is really good at observing and planning routes. I’ve never heard of them being accosted by an enforcer either.”
Intrigued, Kyle tipped the bartender again to learn more information. As soon as he got everything he needed, he patted Damian and Keith on the back, prompting them to take their leave.
“Time to go. We got some moonshiners to catch.”
Moonshine
A week later…
In a derelict warehouse, a lone man was fiddling with a basic distillation apparatus, adjusting the angle of the condensation arm running into another doubler barrel. His hair was ragged, giving him a disheveled look, and his clothes were unkempt. However, his demeanor showed some semblance of noble mannerism, with a residual tinge of upper-class behavior in his actions.
A loud bang came from one of the side entrances, startling him. With a frown, he went over to see who it was. “Fucking hell, Monica, you gave me a scare. Maybe a simple knock would have sufficed.”
“Shut up, idiot. I ain’t got no extra hands carrying these sacks.” A burly lady had kicked open a small door with her right leg, her hands occupied as she hefted two large sacks of grains and sugar, sweat dripping down her white tank top.
With a loud grunt, Monica dropped them next to a mixing container. “Where’s Adrian and the rest? You the only one left in here?”
“Yeah. The rest went out to make sure there were no Seven Snakes slithering around. They’ve been getting real nosy with this district ever since they lost to the Red Lions.”
“Sounds about right.” Monica grabbed a well-worn, concrete-crusted bucket and used it as a stool. “So, is Eric still the best distiller around here?” She motioned toward him with a mocking smile.
“It’s
Eric Dicar, and yes, he should be the best in the district. Unless someone else somehow got the freshest mountain water from the Culdao Peaks nearby, we’ll monopolize the market over time.” Eric smirked.