Let's Roll- Larry Stylinson

Chapter XV

A sleepy Louis sways as the car makes a left. Bright and early, Harry had jostled a still exhausted Louis, telling him to get dressed and be ready. Louis followed orders- though his socks were currently two different colors and his shirt was half untucked, Harry having to tuck it in for him. Harry had then situated the droopy eyed boy in the passenger seat, making sure he was safely secured for the ride. Louis remains half asleep for most of the ride, minimally listening as Harry mumbles something or other. It's only when they arrive that Harry wakes him up fully. He says that he can't be watching him all day and he'll have to stay awake for this. Louis huffs as he reluctantly blinks his eyes to try and wake himself up.

He follows Harry up the dirt path, the fresh air a sharp contrast to the smog of the city. Fields of the season's harvest cover the land, a farm house built beside it. Louis can hear the cows in the pasture. The barking of a dog catches his attention and he peers over the hill. Flocks of sheep run as the dog herds them to their pens. Louis has never visited the countryside and everything about it is so new to him. From the pigs eating from the trough to the horses trotting behind the fence, it's all like another side of the world to him.

Harry, though, has done his time on the farm. From the moment he could walk, he was waddling after his father, learning the ways of a farmer. When he turned eight, his father decided Harry was old enough to have his own share of responsibilities. He started small, feeding the chickens and collecting their eggs. Over time, he was given more to do. He would help herd the sheep, milk the cows, tend to the crops, bathe the pigs, and brush out the horse's hair. It was the same routine for six years until tragedy struck.

On the night before his eighteenth birthday, his father suffered a heart attack. His mother wept for their loss, having no idea what they were supposed to do. Harry was only just an adult, he still had so much to learn about being a proper farmer, but he took what was coming like the fighter he was. He became the man of the house, hoping to keep the family going as long as possible. No sooner had he finally developed his rhythm when a man came to visit. He had a sales pitch ready for him, promising a wonder of a life if he sold him the farm. Harry had wanted to decline, but when his mother heard how much the man wanted to pay, she begged him to take it.

Naturally, the guy kept the charade up. Big talk for a small guy, he remembers thinking. The man told them to pack up as a truck would be coming in the morning to drive them off to their new home, a much grander place than their farmhouse. He remembers his mother chatting excitedly, so happy that they would be able to live the life she and his father had dreamed about. They waved to their home for the last time the next morning, Harry scared for the future. Something felt wrong about leaving, about the man who had bought their farm. When he handed over the cash his smile was too sweet, not a hint of sincerity as he bid them ado.

Harry should have declined. Just after they hit the city, the truck stopped at a saloon. They told them it would still be another day before they arrived, so they would book a room for the night. His mother was still ecstatic, voicing her thoughts on their new house as they drifted off to sleep. Sadly, that coming morning, the men who had driven them there had disappeared. The man at the front desk said he heard noises at night, then the roar of an engine. When the man had gone outside, the car was gone. If that wasn't bad enough, they didn't pay the bill which at first didn't seem like a problem. After all, he just got paid for selling out. He handed the cash over to the man for their night's stay and to his- and his mother's- dismay was told the money was a fraud.

Harry nearly brought the man down in anger. He had asked how he'd known and the man showed him that the numbers at the bottom should always be different. They weren't different. On every bill was the same number and Harry ground his teeth as the reality of the situation came into effect. That bastard had double -crossed him. Harry went on a rampage, running out of the establishment and heading back the way he came. He ran as far as he could, but when his legs gave out on their own accord, he knew there was nothing he could do. His mother waited for him back at the saloon and she was crying, panicked. What were they supposed to do now, she cried. Harry cried with her. He was only twenty then, he still had no idea about the world. And it wasn't for another year that the answer to his question came.

It came on a particularly rough afternoon; right after Harry had gotten sacked from another job. Business was getting scarcer in the town he was stuck in. It was like everywhere he went was shutting down or going bankrupt. Harry was at his last breath, everything seemingly harder by the day. He was tired and drowsily walked the streets in search of the saloon. The front desk man was kind enough to extend an invitation to their family after he was told the story.

At some point, he had mistakenly taken a right turn when he should have made a left. He ended up at the doors of a bar. Not even aware of his actions he opened the door, startling when the buzz of chatter met his ears. He surveyed the building, getting lost in the way people were so happy. Even through these troubling times, they were smiling. He had never had alcohol before that night. That night was the night that changed everything. He was entirely intoxicated when he went up to the man he believed was having the most fun, asking him why it was that he was so happy.

"It's because I never have to worry about security kid. I'm set for life." Harry had gone starry-eyed, prodding as to why that was. "Kid, I'm going to let you in on a little secret." The man had leaned in, mouth right at his ear as he whispered, "I'm a criminal." First, Harry laughed. Then, he gasped. Then he asked what he meant. "What have you been drinking kid?"

"Lager."

"Ever wonder where it came from?" He shook his head. "It's mine, born and bred. This stuff was all made at my barn. Stupid politicians thinking they could stop all production of alcohol. It ain't going to stop corrupting families. Men are to blame, not booze. Still, with that law in place, there ain't big companies producing the stuff." Harry nods along earnestly, swept up in the man's story. "That's where I come in kid. I make big profit by making something everyone wants to buy. People spend dozens of dollars on this stuff. I'm making a fortune." Somewhere along the story, Harry has sobered up. Now, he was just listening with rapt interest.

"I want to make big money."

"Tell you what kid, I'll let you stick with me, see if it's really something you want to do." He emphasized the word really and though Harry didn't know what he was in for, he was sure he would be up to the challenge. From then on, he stuck by the man's side, learning the ways of the trade. He gained status, power, and money. Two years ago the very man that taught him all he knows passed away due to alcohol poisoning. Harry lived on in his legacy, creating a bigger name for himself. Before he was just the sidekick, now he was top gun. He still is.

With a shake of his head, Harry comes back to present time. It's not the time to think about how it used to be. Instead, he opens the large barn door, entering the behind the scenes of the operation.