The year is 1926 and Brendon Urie is struggling to live up to the demands of his wife. To escape the stress, he sings at a jazz club downtown with his band, Panic! At the Disco and they gain popularity extremely fast.
Brendon then finds it challeng...
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You and God both got the guns When you shoot I think I'd duck
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A twenty minute walk led Brendon to another house in a quiet, quaint little neighborhood. He opened the gate and peeked through the windows to see if anyone was even home. When he knocked, the door creaked open. Tilly's words of warning played on repeat as he entered the house and searched for a table with money on it.
Brendon entered the kitchen and spotted a roll of money on the small dining table. He switched the basket of milk bottles for the cash and pocketed it as quickly as he could. Now all he had to do was get out of there.
"What do you think you're doing?" a gruff male voice interjected as Brendon turned toward the exit. "Did you think you could just take the money and run?"
"I-I don't know," Brendon replied. He remembered the deep concern in Tilly's eyes as he took the money out of his pocket.
"Only an idiot would pay for liquor he didn't taste. I'll let you have the money if this tastes like Moretti's." He held his hand out and Brendon returned the cash.
The man popped open a bottle and took a sip. He let the taste marinate before looking at Brendon.
"I'm pretty sure that's Moretti's," Brendon said as the man put the top back on the bottle. "Can I have the money now?"
"No."
"Why not? What's the problem?"
"This isn't Moretti's," the man said.
"Yes, it is. He gave it to me and told me to deliver to your house," Brendon countered. "Maybe he's making it different or something."
"Making it different?" he snapped taking a step toward Brendon. "Why the hell would he start making his alcohol differently? Do you think I'm stupid?"
"No, but anything's possible."
"You thought you could give me some shitty watered down whiskey and say you were working for Moretti to get some money? If you're gonna swindle me at least make the damn liquor right," the man laughed, reaching for something in his belt.
"I didn't try to swindle you. Moretti gave me the liquor and the address, see?" Brendon showed the man the piece of paper with the address on it. "Maybe he gave you someone else's order."
"Listen, kid, I'm not sure who you are but I'm sure no one will miss you if I put four bullets through your skull for this," he said, pulling a gun from his waistband. "Maybe this will teach you and your friends not to interfere with the liquor business."
Brendon swallowed a lump in his throat. "Don't shoot me. I swear this is just a mistake."
"We don't make mistakes in this world. I'll save Moretti some time and shoot you myself."
