A Black Market LitRPG-Chapter 17: Moonshine and Plans

In a derelict warehouse, a lone man was fiddling with a basic moonshine distillation still, adjusting the angle of the condensation arm running into another doubler barrel.

A loud bang could be heard at one of the side entrances, causing the man to be slightly startled before calming himself down as he saw who it was. “Fucking hell, Monica, you gave me a scare. Maybe a simple knock instead would suffice.”

“Shut up, idiot. I ain’t got no hands carrying these sacks.” A burly lady had kicked open a small door with her right leg, her hands occupied as she hefted two large sacks of grains and sugar, the sweat dripping down her white tank top.

With a loud grunt, Monica dropped the sacks next to a mixing container, panting slightly. “Where’s Adrian and the rest? You the only one left in here?”

“Ye, the rest went out to make sure no Seven Snakes slithering around. They’ve been getting real nosy with this district ever since they lost to the Red Lions.”

“Sounds about right.” Monica grabbed a well-used concrete-stained bucket and used it as a stool. “So, is Eric still the best distiller around here?” She motioned towards him with a mocking smile.

“It’s Eric Dicar, and should be the best in the district. Unless someone else somehow got the freshest mountain water from the Culdao Peaks nearby, we’ll monopolise the market.” Eric smirked.

“Well, cook it slow. We ain’t rushing for time. If we make too much of a bang, who knows if Kyle will show up.”

“Bah, it’s been three days since he was last seen negotiating with the Red Lions. Probably cooped up and huffing away at Euria seeds with the way he’s been buying them off the market. His whole base is probably one big smoke cloud by now.”

Monica chuckled before standing up and ripping the sacks open, mixing them into a mash in a container as Eric continued to complain on the side. “Honestly, we should have gotten a much bigger pot. Our production scale is miserable with this, it’s barely ten gallons per batch at this rate.”

“Gotta stay portable, don’t want to be pinned by the Seven Snakes. We agreed on this before.” Monica warned.

Eric didn’t reply, obviously unsatisfied as he continued to tailor the temperature of the arcia stove before firing it up. Instead of asking Monica to dump the mash into the pot, they both waited, standing near the walls and peeking out of the boarded-up windows of the warehouse.

“They are taking far too long. Something’s up.” Monica muttered as a few more minutes passed. She was about to ask Eric to pack it up when Adrian ran into the warehouse hastily.

“Fuck, they are prowling nearby. If they so much as catch a whiff of the moonshine, we’ll be in trouble!” Adrian gasped for air as he tried to catch his breath. “I had the other two walk in separate directions to pull off their trails, so we got maybe ten or fifteen minutes to move.”

“Alright, just like we practised.” Monica and Eric were not bothered at all. They had already moved through the various districts of the South Sector multiple times, exploiting the territorial gaps and derelict buildings in the vicinity. It wasn’t the first time they were hunted by the ruling gangs, who obviously would not tolerate others subverting the alcohol production and smuggling business.

They packed up the equipment nicely, placing the pots and condensation arms into nice cardboard boxes before loading them up onto separate trollies. “Split up, meet at Point 23, got it?”

They had already premarked a series of locations where the operations could be run from. Even if squatters had moved in, simple intimidation or negotiations would usually suffice, a routine procedure.

Eric donned a felt cap with a flat top and put on a factory worker’s garments, making it seem like he was pushing basic supplies and scrap metal around. He slowly pushed the trolley through the streets on the side of the pavement, keeping his head down.

The streets were crowded and filled with business. Construction and food supply wagons rattled by, while people loitered on the side of the streets. Schoolboys played punk and playing football in the alleyways while buskers strummed a sad song for rakels no one could afford to give.

Eric blended in nicely, acting like he was pushing supplies to another factory. He saw three Seven Snakes gang members head in the opposite direction, seemingly attempting to corner off their last-known location. Hah, dumbasses.

The relocation went off without a hitch, with Eric reaching the pre-determined meeting point easily. It was a run-down office-style building with large factory floors per level.

Eric pushed open the boarded-up doors, hearing a loud scrambling inside and some whimpering. I would say ‘fucking squatters’, but I’m not any different now, am I?

The first floor was an obvious slum, with makeshift barrel heaters blackened from the use of any flammable material. He saw five squatters in separate locations, keeping a wide berth from each other as they huddled up in as many clothes as they could, the stink unbearable from the pile of clearly unwashed linen stained with puke.

“Alright fellas, we’ll be here for a few days. In exchange, we’ll get you some moonshine, how about that hmm? Maybe you guys can do a few deliveries for us too.” Eric asked from outside, peeking his head through the door. His voice echoed and wafted through the empty floor, easily reaching the ears of the squatters.

The squatters all immediately nodded. It was a common occurrence in the city of Raktor, and they wouldn’t say no to some free moonshine and extra cash.

“Good.” Eric did not enter the building yet with the equipment on the trolley. Who knew if the squatters would suddenly decide to turn on him and take his equipment? Better wait for Monica and the others.

Soon, Monica and Adrian arrived, both safe. “Anyone followed you?” Eric looked behind them, trying to spot anything suspicious.

“No, they were all checking out the last location, so we’re safe. I counted more than eight of them moving there. I really miss the days of Ulon. We could go unharmed for weeks.” Adrian sighed.

“Got a few squatters in there. We’ve reached a temporary agreement so far for a bit of swill and some movement.”

“Right. Let’s get the stuff in before we’re spotted.”

The three of them shifted the equipment and set it up just like before. Adrian scoped out the area, using a crowbar to smack one of the old rusty doors to ensure they had a secondary exit in case of a raid.

Monica huffed as she lugged the heavy equipment back into place. “Shouldn’t have put the mash in first…” She complained while carrying the mixing container back, slightly stumbling as she shifted it across from the trolley.

“We should be good for a few days, so we can start right now. Gotta deliver some before night.” Eric and Monica dumped the mash into the pot, before Eric started the fire. “Now we just have to wait.”

The three of them took a rest, rotating watch duty as they sat and lay on the floor. Eric took out a logbook, noting down the specific temperature, the type of condensation arm he used and so on. It was important to note as it helped him improve his method of manufacturing. It was his livelihood, after all.

“Scuse me, good sir.” One of the squatters found the courage to talk to Eric after a good hour, while Monica and Adrian stared at the approaching squatter warily. “If you don’t mind me asking, what does this setup do?”

Eric’s eyes lit up brilliantly like never before. With a slight cough, he stood up to his full bearing, assuming the gait of a university professor of sorts. “Glad you asked! This setup distils liquor in a deceivingly simple method, using pure Cornia, malt and sugar. Mixing them and heating them allows us to distil the vapour which is concentrated through the doubler and subsequently through the worm…”

Monica rolled her eyes. “There he goes again, can’t help explaining this shit to everybody.”

“Ah, just let him it. Not every day he gets to act like what he used to be.” Adrian shrugged his shoulders.

The other four squatters were enamoured by the lecture provided. The questions asked were exceedingly childish and obviously uneducated, but Eric was more than happy to answer them.

“Sir Dicar, this is amazing!” One of the squatters stood next to Eric, staring at the setup with amazement. “With such a simple setup, we’re able to be free of the Sanctum of Yual’s inane prohibition bans. You could produce for the entire district!”

“Indeed, I heavily disagree with the prohibition ban on alcohol. A mature man should be allowed to drink whatever he so desires. Such a ban implies a common lack of ‘trust’ from the authorities in the citizens, who are better than… Wait a minute, how did you know my surname?”

In a blink, the squatter next to him grappled Eric expertly, pinning him to the ground using his body weight, while the other four squatters who had gradually got closer to Monica and Adrian lunged towards them.

Monica and Adrian barely stood a chance against the surprise attack, completely caught off-guard. “What the?!” Monica struggled, but the squatter on top of her had expertly locked her limbs down in a martial art style grapple. He took out an arctech radio, speaking fast. “Damian here, we’ve got them. Move in now.”

Eric instantly recognized the name. The vice-leader of the Seven Snakes?! They fucking disguised as squatters?! Eric was dumbfounded. He had never seen a gang go to such extremes to catch them in his many years of being a moonshiner. “Is this even a gang anymore? You’re more like undercover enforcers!”

Damian didn’t reply, only holding a small smirk on his face. Soon, the eight Seven Snakes members entered, joining the five disguised squatters and capturing the three moonshiners. They hauled them and the equipment back to the Seven Snakes’ base, tossing them into the office.

As Eric struggled to get back upright onto his knees with his arms bound, he already knew that there were two more captured in the office. They were the other two of his operation, having been caught long before they even relocated.

Before the five of them could start blaming each other on who snitched or was caught first, the office door swung open with Kyle and Keith entering.

Kyle strode up to the office desk, his demeanour fierce. A domineering presence washed over the five of them, causing Eric to gulp internally. This was not his first time being caught, but it was an eye-opening experience. Somehow Kyle seemed to exude this sort of confidence and leadership Eric had never seen before, the well-ironed formal suit Kyle wore further emphasising it as he leaned against the front desk, standing in front of the grovelling five members.

“Prepare a message to Wrent thanking him for his detailed information.” Kyle motioned to Keith, who bowed and sat at a new desk prepared just for him, slightly away from Kyle at a perpendicular facing.

“Professor Dicar, what a pleasure to finally meet you. I have heard many rumours about your incredible skill from your time at the University.” Kyle looked down.

“If you truly find it a pleasure, perhaps you should consider my level of comfort being bound like this.” Eric scoffed as he lay like a worm on the floor, unable to lift his own body up.

“Apologies. You two, untie him and have him sit in the guest’s chair.”

Eric gingerly rubbed his wrists as the rope was undone before he sat and leaned back into the luxurious velvet chair. “Interesting that you put that much effort into capturing me and my crew. Getting bored of the potion business after a mere few weeks since being a leader?”

“When building an empire, it is better to diversify and hedge one’s bet. Also, casinos and brothels hardly run on potions alone.”

“Ah, so entering the slavery business, I see.”

“I don’t intend to enslave you, Professor Dicar. Instead, I have an offer.”

“I doubt you have anything to offer than can weigh against my freedom.” Eric spat. He was well aware of how gangs wanted to use him to make their moonshine. Brutes and grunts playing at nobility, ignorant of the true essence of brewing alcohol.

Kyle didn’t reply any longer, instead motioning to the two guards to grab Eric off the velvet chair, who struggled in vain.

“Please, follow me. I guarantee you will be interested.”