Lighting my cigarette, I kept a brisk pace, wanting to finish the day’s work, buy a few bowls and get back to my place. Though many outfits were still running rackets, the streets felt safer than they had in years. The turf wars that had tamed after Capone’s incarceration were all but forgotten, with every crew taking care of their own business and not worrying about anyone else’s. The mostly Protestant proponents of Prohibition had believed public morality would be bettered by a decrease in alcohol consumption, but they had underestimated the culture’s capacity to rebel against oppression. Their tunnel vision hadn’t allowed them to see it was a basic study in economics. The lack of supply would create demand and those who fulfilled the demand would gain power. Unintentionally, they had facilitated an explosion of organized crime, a cesspool of depravity that fucked them right in their morally superior faces. As soon as alcohol was made legal, everything quieted enough for the government, who had been persuaded by the promise of Prohibition, to hear the sounds of their failure. The skull protected theories that would otherwise be sacrificed to the elements in practice. And in practice, Prohibition had been sacrificed to the mobs.

When I reached The Commons, I pulled the door open and strode toward the back of the bitty bar. The place was a dump, but it paid me like it was a palace. Early in my game’s inception, I had approached Ricky, who was the owner of The Commons and a pretty nice guy. I offered him five slips a game if he would let me solicit his patrons.  Initially, he had asked for a percent, but when I told him it was the free games or nothing, he’d eagerly accepted the offer. The thing about Ricky was, he had one hell of a heroin habit. Vlad had been right. Those possessed by their vices would do anything to feed them, and Ricky was ready to feast.

“Hey, Hey, Hey,” Ricky greeted, shaking my hand hard. “Long time no see, huh? It’s been a while hasn’t it?”

“Three days,” I replied, pulling my papers out of my back pocket. “Are you going with your free five, or do you want to ice the top?”

“I’ll add an extra five. I have got to win one of these times,” he said, nudging his knuckles against his nostril nervously. “I know this is my week.”

“You do?” I grinned, hoping it was. “Well, old Charlie thinks it’s his, so we’ll have to see how it all shakes down.”

“Fuck that piece of shit,” Ricky grunted, narrowing his beady eyes. “And fuck his mom too.”

“My guess is she’s been dead for a good while.”

“Yeah well,” he shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I’m going to go do my rounds. Sammy’s going to be around this afternoon to collect.”