We left home to catch the bus to go back to work at the grill an hour earlier than usual on Friday morning. We wanted Mr. Cunningham to see how eager we was to get back on board. That was why we didn’t want to miss another day, even though we could have both used more rest. But we needed the money more than we needed rest.

We didn’t mind working hard because we’d been doing that since we was kids. Milton and I had worked on farms, and I’d even cleaned houses and done other chores for rich white women. There was no way in the world I wanted to go back to that kind of work. Our bootlegging business was a lot more fun, and we made a heap more money.

There was a bunch of other colored bootleggers and jook joints in town where folks could drink and have a good time. But in just two years, we was so popular, we had almost put them out of business. And it was no wonder. We served much better free snacks, we lived in a house with a indoor toilet—not a stinky outhouse like them others—in a safer neighborhood, and we always had the latest records for our guests to dance to. We had lured a heap of our customers away from them other bootleggers, which was the reason they hated us now. Them bad-mouthing us had backfired and most of the few customers they had left, was gradually trickling over to us. I was worried that our arrest had scared some of our customers off, though. But some of our regulars was so loyal, I expected a decent crowd tonight.

Me and Milton had left our house in silence. But when we got to Odell’s car parked in front of his house, we couldn’t hold back our comments. “He sure spends a lot of time and money keeping that car spit shined.” I laughed.

Milton was quick to respond. “Humph. Prince Charming can afford it.” That was the nickname we called Odell behind his back. We called Joyce Queen of Sheba. “Him and Joyce act like they got royal blood, but their shit is just as stinky as ours.” I was about to laugh some more until I noticed the sad look on Milton’s face as he gazed at the house Joyce and Odell bragged about so much. I knew he was thinking about how he’d bled like a stuck pig on their front porch last Tuesday on Halloween night.