Wade had married his high school sweetheart, Mary, also his sixth cousin, and even she’d left him once for a week after he struck her. The story went that when Wade showed up at her father’s house to retrieve his runaway bride, he was met with a shotgun and a death threat if he ever struck Mary again. Royal always wondered why Mary went back to him. Maybe she was already pregnant with Ned. In any case, Mary never spoke about the incident, so it would remain just one of many family mysteries Royal would never solve.
Royal agreed to keep running liquor as long as her grandfather needed her, but the minute Wade took over the operation, she had decided she was going to leave her post behind the wheel. As much as she liked driving fast cars, she liked dealing with Wade even less. The trade-off wouldn’t be worth the emotional duress.
“Do you know what he wanted to tell me?” Royal asked as she threw a satchel into the car and stood in the open door.
“Had something to do with payment I think, but he wouldn’t tell me.”
“Well, then I’ll just be asking the usual price, won’t I?” Royal climbed in and cranked the car. “Is this going to 306?” Juke joints usually went by an address rather than a name. She wasn’t sure why.
“Yeah, that’s the place.”
“Why don’t you ride with me tonight?” She pulled the door closed and spoke to Ned through the open window. He shifted his stance, moving his weight from one foot to the other. He was not much taller than Royal, with a slim, boyish build. They were close in age, but she somehow seemed older.
“I best not. Pop will be lookin’ for me shortly.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to do what you want to do once in a while, Ned. It would do you good to get out every now and then.” She knew it was pointless to encourage him. He was beat down, and more often than not just looking to avoid a fight with his father. Ned’s solace was the barn and his engine parts. He was always cooking up some modification or experimental enhancement for Royal to try. They’d always been close. Like twins separated at birth, or like two halves of the same brain. They made a good team. Most of the time she felt closer to Ned than to her own brother.
“I’ll tell Pop you asked after him.” He banged his hand lightly on the roof of the car as he stood beside it. “She should run good for you tonight.”
“Thanks, Cuz. I owe you one.” With that, she waved and pulled out of the barn and onto the road heading south.
The car was heavy-laden and a bit sluggish in the turns. But even as heavy as it was on the straightaways, with the speed, she’d lose her stomach as it topped a few hills, the springs in the undercarriage cushioning the auto as it crested each rise. Royal breezed through Dawsonville, heading southwest. Thoughts of Lovey caused her to lose track of time and forget where she was at one point. She was so lost in reliving their late afternoon kisses from the day before that she’d almost missed the last turn. If she didn’t snap out of this lovely Lovey fog, she was going to end up all the way in Atlanta proper, with a load full of corn liquor and too many curious eyes.
She slowed and took the last turn down a darkened dirt road; ramshackle wooden structures lined the lane on each side. She slowed and pulled alongside of the last building, its warm light seeping around the edges of the loosely hung front door and a small side window. Music and voices carried well through the pine board walls. She parked and walked to a back entrance.
Royal knocked twice and someone opened the tiny square hole, shuttered from the inside in the upper half of the door.
“Hey, gotta delivery.”
“It’s about damn time.” Royal heard the bolt slide, and the wide door swung open onto a smoke hazed scene of merriment. A muscled, dark-skinned man held the door ajar.
“Hi, Big Earl, want to help me bring it in?” Royal headed back toward the car as two large fellows followed Earl out to assist with the liquid cargo.
Royal opened the trunk to reveal four wooden crates stuffed with hay and glass jars. Each of them took a crate with Royal grabbing the last one. After carrying the delivery inside, she came back for her satchel and closed the trunk. She accepted a roll of bills and then shoved it into the shoulder satchel that was now strapped across her chest. She’d just accepted Earl’s offered hand for a shake when a young woman approached and tugged at Royal’s arm.
“Hi, Rose.” Royal smiled and allowed herself to be pulled away from Earl’s hulking frame. Rose was about Royal’s age, her brown skin showing a light sheen of perspiration, no doubt from her exertion on the dance floor. She wore a dress covered with a lavender checked pattern, cinched closely around her tiny waist to accentuate her hips. Rose was a beauty, with dark sparkling eyes that usually hinted at mischief.
“Royal, let’s dance…we’re celebrating. Ella May got married today.”
“Is that what all the noise is about?” The dance floor was crowded with black folks, young and old. Dance clubs were segregated, which seemed silly to Royal. The black joints had the best music. In her line of work, Royal could socialize on both sides of the color line with full acceptance.
Everyone was in full celebratory mode—dancing, clinking glasses, and talking in loud
