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alittlehinkyUp until Jack got ambitions, most of the Bondurant brothers' product was sold within the county, delivered direct to neighbors or driven as far as Rocky Mount to be sold to connections there. If someone wanted to take it as far as the big city, they were welcome to do it themselves, but they'd have to come to Franklin to get started. Not so, now. The real money has always been in the selling of the product up north, in New York, in Chicago, in Baltimore. Forrest would have rather kept close to home and earned his money without getting mixed up with the big-time distributors, the Floyd Banners and Al Capones of the world, but Jack...well, Jack's feelings on the matter are different.
There are limits to what his ambitions can accomplish for him, of course. He's not crossing state lines, but county borders are nothing. Not in a souped-up engine designed and kept in working order by Cricket (but they don't try to run it on moonshine, not when there are better options). And now, they'll go to Lynchburg as a matter of course to sell, or even further up, to Charlottesville, if the price is right.
It's Jack that fancies himself the glamorous bootlegger, and he likes to drive when the crates are full. Cricket doesn't begrudge him that, though he's perfectly happy to harass him about the airs he's putting on, in private. He's content to let Jack be the spokesman of the operation, and he stands back by the car while he haggles. Cricket's an easy figure to miss and an even easier one to underestimate, even with a rifle held loosely in his hands. It's not hard to see the braces on his legs, and there's something about his face and body language that speaks of a young man all too used to the thin end of the stick. He's always polite, though, soft-spoken and calm unless there are weapons drawn, and when an exchange of goods for cash seems to be safely underway without treachery on either side, he's willing to chat.
He'd be hard-pressed to call himself an expert on human nature or body language, but on this particular occasion, out of the folks they're meeting up with, Jasper strikes him as not very different from himself and Jack. Someone come from the working class, just trying to get by, like you do. And he seems friendly. So when there's a pause in loading and unloading, he gets a thermos out of the front seat of his car and tilts it toward the other man. "Fuckin' cold out tonight. You want coffee? Might still be warm."
There are limits to what his ambitions can accomplish for him, of course. He's not crossing state lines, but county borders are nothing. Not in a souped-up engine designed and kept in working order by Cricket (but they don't try to run it on moonshine, not when there are better options). And now, they'll go to Lynchburg as a matter of course to sell, or even further up, to Charlottesville, if the price is right.
It's Jack that fancies himself the glamorous bootlegger, and he likes to drive when the crates are full. Cricket doesn't begrudge him that, though he's perfectly happy to harass him about the airs he's putting on, in private. He's content to let Jack be the spokesman of the operation, and he stands back by the car while he haggles. Cricket's an easy figure to miss and an even easier one to underestimate, even with a rifle held loosely in his hands. It's not hard to see the braces on his legs, and there's something about his face and body language that speaks of a young man all too used to the thin end of the stick. He's always polite, though, soft-spoken and calm unless there are weapons drawn, and when an exchange of goods for cash seems to be safely underway without treachery on either side, he's willing to chat.
He'd be hard-pressed to call himself an expert on human nature or body language, but on this particular occasion, out of the folks they're meeting up with, Jasper strikes him as not very different from himself and Jack. Someone come from the working class, just trying to get by, like you do. And he seems friendly. So when there's a pause in loading and unloading, he gets a thermos out of the front seat of his car and tilts it toward the other man. "Fuckin' cold out tonight. You want coffee? Might still be warm."
