Old No.7 | An Alastor x Reader Story

That's the Crop

I lived by the saying "If you want something done then you better do it yourself."

With the brim of my hat pulled down low, I discreetly patted my hip to make sure my pistol was there. This was Hell after all. The two hulking forms of Ian and Lester flanked me on either side as I walked through the warehouse doors towards the waiting box truck.

"Let me see it," I said to the bored looking imp standing at the tailgate. He opened the truck door, revealing a slew of crates. All I had to do was motion towards one and Ian stepped forward and cracked the crate open. 

Amongst the bed of straw was jug after jug of clear bathtub gin. I grinned, pleased by the clarity. The last batch had looked like watered down milk. I had sent a few of my boys down to have a chat with the supplier. They had returned with several of the supplier's teeth. 

"That's the crop. Best gin in all of Hell," The imp said, closing the lid once again and storing it back safely into the truck. 

"I'll be the judge of that," I replied, then said to Lester, "You can drive the truck, Ian can stay with me. Let's get a move on."