by Oldrac the Chitinous » Fri Apr 24, 2009 11:14 pm
It's the tenth of July, 1935. Kansas City, Missouri: The town that finds a new definition for the word dry every week. Chief imports: illegal hooch and displaced Okies. Chief exports: dust, and last year's displaced Okies. At least the trains still run in and out of the city, if you had any reason to think things would be different elsewhere.
The Queen of Spades, located maybe two miles outside of the city proper, is among the favorite places for the Kansas city elite to gather to celebrate. It's no secret that this is the place to come for liquor that doesn't taste like the inside of somebody's tractor. The state police say it's a city matter, though, and the city police say it's out of their jurisdiction, when they happen to meet each other at the bar.
Most of the tables are empty; the show's not for another couple of hours, and two weeks of temperatures over the hundred-degree mark haven't left many people in the mood to celebrate. A few couples are eating supper, and a few men who refuse to take off their jackets are standing in a group under the air conditioner. There's a mother sitting in the corner with her son, probably four years old, nursing a glass in silence. The Mexican bartender is smoking idly while a couple of cherub-faced girls, probably about six or seven, move between the tables delivering the latest drinks.
Police said they spent some time working out if they could charge the man with being armed with a weapon, as technically he was armed with part of a fish.