Bo Grizzleback's Arc

Chapter 7 of 8

The traders left near dawn, and by noon Bo had a list of orders longer than his arm. Three ships wanted crates by the next moon cycle. One wanted a standing shipment every quarter. Bo sat at the bar and stared at the empty space where the crystal skull decanter had stood. He had eight pods left and no way to make, bottle, or ship what the traders now expected. If the crates didn't move in a few days, the orders would die and his name with them. Fat Tony came in still wearing his flowered shirt. He set two coffees on the bar and slid one over. "Grizzleback, mi see the face. You winning and losing at the same time, seen?" Bo showed him the list. Tony whistled low. "You need glass, you need labor, you need a boat. Mi rig can pull the liquid, but mi nah run crates. You want move like this, you talk to Malcolm." Bo frowned. Malcolm Whitfield ran the casinos. He didn't ship moonshine. Tony grinned. "Him ship everything. Him just don't advertise. Come, mi drive." Malcolm met them at his mansion in a white suit, sunglasses on despite the shaded porch. He read the order list once and handed it back. "Bottling line in my basement. Cargo runners in and out every night for the tables. I can have your first crate on a ship in four days." He smiled slow. "Sixty percent. That's my number." Bo felt the room tilt. Sixty to Malcolm, half of what remained to Tony. He'd be paying to make his own drink. He opened his mouth and nothing came out. Fat Tony leaned on the arm of the couch. "Malcolm, mi love you, but sixty a joke. Grizzleback carry the recipe, the pods, the name. Without him you shipping colored water. And mi already hold half through the rig contract. You take sixty, we all fighting over crumbs. Twenty, and you move volume for years." Malcolm's smile thinned. Bo found his voice. "Twenty-two. And you bottle at cost, no markup on glass." He set the list on the table and kept his hand flat on it. "You said cargo runs every night. Empty space on those runs costs you nothing. Twenty-two on full bottles is real money for empty room." Malcolm looked at Tony, then at Bo. He took off the sunglasses. "Twenty-five. Glass at cost. First crate leaves Thursday." He put out a hand. Bo shook it before his nerve broke. On the drive back, Tony laughed the whole way, saying Bo had bargained like a man who'd done it before. Bo watched the road and thought about the eight pods in his cellar. He had a shipping plan now. He had four days to fill a crate of decanters, and every skull he filled belonged a little less to him.