The Many Deaths of the Firefly Brothers by Thomas Mullen

them into the raw materials of a
life’s adventure, et cetera, et cetera. Talking to him wasn’t so
much having a conversation as giving him new opportunities to make old points.
“You need to keep moving if you want to stay ahead. Like what I’ve
done at the store, expanding and moving forward.”
“I’m just saying maybe there are other things.”
“Such as?”
He told Pop he had some buddies from school, a few years older than him, who
worked for a shipping outfit based in Cincinnati, delivering goods across the
Midwest. He’d been offered a job and could move in with his friends. Even
though truck driving might not sound glamorous, at least he’d get to take
a step outside Lincoln City and see something.
“Maybe it’ll only be a few months,”
Jason said, playing his trump. “And then I’ll feel like the
time’s right to take over the store.”
He didn’t mention the illicit nature of this particular shipping outfit,
or that some of these school friends were related to one Petey Killarney, the
owner of Lincoln City’s finest speakeasies, to which Jason had begun
winning admission in the past few months. After some delicate lobbying over the
next two weeks, Jason won Pop’s reluctant blessing to take the job, Pop
likely figuring that his headstrong kid soon would learn the hard way about the
tough, cruel world.
But did he? He loved bootlegging: the late nights, the secrecy, the cool cats
and code words. When you walked through that back door, you were someone
special, part of the select group. The man in charge of the operation, Chance
McGill, was a few years older than Pop but existed in a different realm. Chance
was wise and hardworking, sure, but he didn’t lord it over you. He showed
Jason how to talk, how to move, whom to impress and whom to ignore. When Jason
spotted a trap on the road one night and managed to elude it, Chance talked him
up in the important circles, doubled his pay. Had Pop ever acknowledged
anything Jason had done right? The speakeasies were loud and dark and Jason
could disappear inside them or do the opposite—be the man of the show,
smile at the ladies, who couldn’t resist smiling back. He wasn’t
far from home but he felt a lifetime away from Pop’s criticism.
And he was bringing in decent money, which, even then, he wasn’t shy
about displaying. His clothes became sharper and tailored, he wore Italian
shoes and silk socks, and one night when he rolled into town for a family
dinner he was behind the wheel of a shiny new Hudson.
Pop confronted him that night. He had been oddly silent during dinner, but just
when Ma was about to serve dessert he finally spoke up.
“I know what you’re driving back and forth across state lines.
Machine parts, huh? I suppose, if Petey Killarney’s booze machine is the
one you’re talking about.”
Jason shifted in his seat and smiled awkwardly.
“That’s funny to you? Why don’t you tell your brothers what
you’ve been peddling?”
Jason glanced across the table at his brothers, who were clearly oblivious.
“I haven’t been peddling anything, Pop. I’ve just been
driving.”
Ma asked him to explain, but something in her voice
betrayed the fact that she had feared this all along. Jason couldn’t take
the disappointment in her eyes, so he looked at his father. Pop’s
disappointment was more bearable; Jason had so much experience with it.
“Go ahead, impress your brothers,” Pop said. “That’s
what this is all about, isn’t it? Looking good, looking tough? It’s
always been about looks to you.”
“Pop, everybody’s still drinking it, laws or no laws. All I’m
doing is … administering a public good. It’s like being the
milkman.”
“So be a milkman!”
Everyone seemed waxed in place. Jason waited a beat. “It’s not like
what the movies and magazines make it out to be. It’s all perfectly safe,
and we’re smart about it.”
“You, smart? I find that difficult to believe.”
“For God’s sake, there’s some in