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Summary
“Stede had finished his breakfast, daydreaming about listening to jazz in a smoky club, perhaps tucked into a corner booth pressed against a firm, warm body. Perhaps passing a cigarette back and forth with a man with dark hair and kind eyes, an almost kiss shared between them as they each placed the cigarette between their lips and inhaled. Perhaps he would meet a real ruffian, a genuine bootlegger, like the legendary Blackbeard himself. Did bootleggers stick around to have a drink after they dropped off their merchandise? Stede supposed even proper maniacs might like to enjoy some music and a cocktail in between rum running and shootouts with the police, or whatever else bootleggers and mobsters got up to.”