Days of Thunder

Part 1

April 6th, 1920 - Detroit, Michigan

Mordecai sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at a small crate at his feet that was filled with glass bottles. One had cracked in transit. It had a slow leak from the bottom that leaked its contents into the box, drop by drop, and the bright scent of gin wafted from the spillage. There was always one like this in every crate. He had grown used to the smell permeating the air in whatever room the bottles were hidden in. His mother, on the other hand, lectured him every time she caught a whiff. She had become more and more attentive since her husband's death; for every affectionate gesture she was now unable to give to him, she fussed over her son just that much more.

Mordecai would admit he hadn't been very appreciative of her attention. He was nineteen now, twenty in a few days, and he had been acting as the man of the house since he inherited the role at seventeen. He was not a child that needed to be fawned over, and he was certainly not incapable of being the figurehead he promised his father he would be. All he needed were opportunities to show the world what he was capable of. Prohibition had created those opportunities, but they were ones she couldn't see past her religious fervor to embrace. On a typical evening Mordecai would be waving away cigarette smoke as he navigated some dingy basement bar, trying to sell bottles to the addicts and alcoholics that congregated there. Selling kept the lights on, so he continued despite her many warnings on morality. 

But tonight was different. The bedsprings on his hand-me down bed creaked as he stood up and slid the crate of illicit drinks back underneath it. His thoughts turned to the mystery of his plans for the night; he didn't know yet what he was getting into. But as he looked at himself, the clothing he had been asked to wear, he made a guess: Dark fabrics that blended into the pitch blackness of night. Heavy boots for stomping over hazards, such as broken glass. A bandanna tied in a way that partially concealed his face, and a flat cap to hide the distinctive dark curls that sprouted from his head. An outfit suited for a robbery.

He looked out of his bedroom window to the streets below. It was early enough in the morning that rare stillness had taken over the usually busy section of his neighborhood, save for a pair of vagrants desperately trying to find warmth in the frigid April weather. Mordecai considered himself lucky compared to them, but not by much better. He and his mother scraped out an uneasy existence in their tiny apartment, in a rickety tenement, crammed into an overcrowded slum, in a blighted corner of American life that had been forgotten beneath the capitalist roar of Motor City’s industrial growth. All it would take was one bad day to put them out on the streets, shivering in the cold like the poor souls outside his window.

There was worse he could do than robbery, he told himself. Some people would commit murder out of petty anger; stealing a few trinkets to feed his family wasn't sinful in the grand scheme of things. He reminded himself that there was worse life could do to his broken little family if he didn't fight to protect it. And for that matter, he wasn't even sure that he would be robbing anyone tonight - his employer simply told him to show up at a meeting point for more details. Still he lowered his head as if bowing before a king and began to mutter a prayer softly to himself in the loneliness of the cold room.

Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Through the prayers of the Theotokos, have mercy on us.

With his plea for forgiveness voiced to the heavens and moral compass neatly tucked away, Mordecai exited his room. He tiptoed as best he could towards the front door, past his mother's bedroom, but his heavy boots made it difficult to stay quiet; then there was the jangling of house keys as he fumbled and dropped them to the floor. He stopped and listened carefully for any movement from her bedroom. After a few moments of silence he snatched up the keys and made for freedom.