Bootlegger’s Errand
Crime Fiction Thriller
Jimmy Egan strained his jaw while yawning, using the edge of his fingertips to sharpen his chin during the early morning hours. He struggled to keep his eyes open, though the temperature outside was cold enough to wake the dead.
Despite the struggle to fully awaken, the biting chill still bothered Jimmy, unabashedly striking his wiry six-foot-one frame. However, he wasn’t surprised, as the Ohio weather was typical for late autumn.
“With any luck, we’ll get there before nightfall,” he said, tongue-in-cheek, speaking with a thick Irish brogue.
“Sooner than tha’,” Paddy O’Doolan replied, cracking a smirk on the right side of his face.
Paddy was a ginger-haired man of average stature, in his mid-forties and about ten years older than Jimmy. A lifetime of hard drinking had made him look much older, evident by the deepening grooves on his cheekbones and the crow’s feet around the corner of his eyes.
“The way you drive,” Jimmy responded, unable to conceal his snickering.
“Care to wager the ponies’ winnings on it?” O’Doolan half-jokingly insisted, still sour about a bet he should’ve placed with Jimmy yesterday at the racetrack.
