Author's Note: This story takes place in 1920s Prohibition. I did a lot of research prior to writing this story, but please note that all depictions of organized crime are fictional. These depictions are inspired by actual events in larger cities such as Chicago and New York (by the likes of Johnny Torrio, Al Capone, Frank Costello, Frankie Yale, etc.), but the depictions of criminal activity in this story are mostly a product of my imagination.

Please also note that for sake of authenticity, I do use some 1920s slang in this story. I try to include enough context clues so that you can understand the slang, but if it is problematic for any of you, please let me know and I can cut back on it.

The 1920s is my favorite decade to write about. I hope you enjoy this story!

September 19, 1924

Zora Brown put the finishing touches of rouge on her cheeks. Her short blonde hair was styled to perfection, and she pursed her red-painted lips at her reflection in the mirror, checking the symmetry of her carefully drawn cupid's bow. When she was satisfied with her appearance, she grabbed her purse and exited her small bedroom. She made her way past the kitchen, where her father sat at the kitchen table with a newspaper spread in front of him.

"I'm off to work, Daddy," she said.

He hummed in acknowledgment, not looking up from his newspaper. Zora carefully buckled her high-heeled shoes. She glanced back at her father and stifled an amused grin as he pulled a flask of whiskey from his jacket pocket and poured some of its contents into his cup of coffee. Daniel Brown had been a sergeant for the Atlanta police department for nineteen years, but he had never been a supporter of Prohibition. He voted for wet politicians whenever possible and enjoyed a little hooch himself now and then. Although the state of Georgia had been dry for twelve years before the Eighteenth Amendment had gone into effect, prohibiting alcohol nationwide, Zora's father had never obeyed the dry laws, regardless of his career as a law enforcement officer.

Her father's contempt for Prohibition also worked in Zora's favor in the case of her employment. She worked as a dancer in a small speakeasy, Walton's Moonshine & Wine, nearby in Atlanta's Five Points neighborhood. Her father had initially been much more opposed to her position as a dancer than to the nature of the establishment, but given time, he had come to accept it. He had raised Zora himself after her mother had died when she was very young, and she had grown up to be just as stubborn and headstrong as him. Her determination to work as she did could not be deterred. It also helped that his close childhood friend, George Walton, owned the joint, and after he had adjusted to the idea of his daughter dancing in a gin mill, he had gone so far as to offer his protection to the speakeasy. He tried his best to protect the joint from raids, and if a raid could not be stopped, he had agreed to warn both George and Zora so that they could avoid being apprehended by the law.

Zora exited the apartment she and her father shared and began the short walk to Walton's. At twenty-three years of age, she was more than ready to move out on her own. Her father liked having her close, as it had been just the two of them since she was two years old, but her desire to be independent had grown stronger in recent years. Her job at Walton's gave her the means to save up the money she needed for a place of her own. She was close to having the money she needed for a deposit on a place, and assuming business at Walton's remained steady, affording rent should be doable as well. She wouldn't be able to afford anything nice or large, but a place all to herself sounded like heaven.

She reached Walton's ten minutes later and entered the joint through the back door as she always did. Though she did her makeup and hair at home, she always changed into her dancer's get up at work. The outfit was far from appropriate for street wear, as it revealed plentiful skin and was decked out in sequins and feathers. Walton's was small compared to many of the more popular juice joints, and their clientele usually consisted of the same thirty or so regulars, but they still offered live music and three dancers each night. Zora was a real Oliver Twist when it came to dancing, and though the job didn't pay all that well, she still had fun on every shift.

As Zora entered the club, she noticed George and his usual bartender, Cecil, talking at the end of the bar with gloomy expressions on their faces. She frowned and made her way over to them. George greeted her with a nod.

"No work tonight, sunshine," he said.

"What? Why?" Zora asked. She needed the money from tonight's shift.

"Shipment didn't make it," George explained. "Got apprehended by some of those fellas in the KKK. Without the hooch, we can't open."

"Says you!" Zora exclaimed incredulously. This was the third time their shipment of booze had been swindled by the KKK in the past few months. They had been steadfast supporters of the Anti-Saloon League and Prohibition, and now they had taken it upon themselves to root out bootleggers and speakeasies and confiscate their booze. They were becoming a force to be reckoned with.

"That ain't even the worst of it," George continued. "Our driver, y'know Larson? They tarred and feathered him."

Zora's jaw dropped at the news. Larson was a good man, and he certainly didn't deserve what had been done to him.

"This is gettin' ridiculous," Cecil sighed. "They're learnin' to recognize our drivers. This shit will put us out of business, and it makes us all look like saps."

"What about other contacts?" Zora asked. "Know anyone else who can bring in some hooch?"

George shook his head. "We've been getting supplied by the same moonshiners since day one. And I'm not about to bring in any gangsters. Too violent. We don't wanna get caught up in that."

There were two hot-shot gangsters who continuously warred for territory in Atlanta: Ricky Cazzola and Tom Cermak. The two were frequently stealing shipments of booze from one another in an effort to take over the other's business, and their altercations were often violent. For this reason, George liked to use his own drivers and suppliers to circumvent the gangsters' operations completely. From a safety standpoint, it was a wise move, as the territory wars between the gangs seemed to be heating up as of late.

Zora bit her lip, thinking. The problem seemed to be that the KKK were easily recognizing bootleggers and smugglers. Cars filled with crates heading to the Five Points District were a definite clue. Suddenly an idea dawned on her, and a grin spread across her painted lips.

"What're you smilin' for, sunshine?" George asked with a curious frown.

"I've got it," she said. "You need a driver the KKK wouldn't suspect. Someone they'd never think would be smuggling hooch."

"Yeah, okay, so how're we gonna do that?"

"What you need," Zora proposed, "is a woman."

George's eyes narrowed. "A woman?"

"Why not? They'd never expect a woman to play such a pivotal role in the operation."

"Are you suggesting yourself for this position?" George inquired with a doubtful expression.

"Now you're on the trolley," Zora grinned, her eyes twinkling.

George shook his head. "No. No way. Your father would never allow it."

"Who says I need his permission?"

"Well, okay, he'd never forgive me. That's for sure. It was bad enough convincin' him to let you work here."

"You let me worry about Daddy," Zora sighed. "This could work, George. Think about it. You know these moonshiners, right? You've been working with them for years. Send me out to pick up the shipments. Like I said, no one would expect a woman to be doing this kinda dirty work. I bet I could make deliveries here without any troubles."

"It's too risky," George disagreed. "I can't put you in that kinda danger. Larson was tarred and feathered for Christ's sake. If they find you out, I don't know if bein' a woman is enough to stop them from hurtin' you."

"I'm not saying it isn't risky," Zora shrugged. "But it's worth a shot. And I'm ready and willing. Besides, the unfortunate truth is that you're short a driver."

George ran a hand over his weathered face, doubt still etched into his expression.

"I don't know, sunshine. It just seems like an awful lot of danger to put you in. I've watched you grow up, I don't know if I'm comfortable throwing you into all this."

"You aren't throwing me into anything," Zora countered. "I'm volunteering! I think it's a solid plan. It's worth a try. I'll strap a gun to my gam and everything. I'll take every precaution. You watched me grow up, sure. So you should know that I'm smart, and when I put my mind to something, I do it."

George heaved a sigh, knowing she was right.

"If you can convince your old man to be on board with this, then fine," he conceded. "But only if he gives the okay. If he says no, then that's that."

Zora's face burst into a wide smile, and she bounced a little on the balls of her feet in triumph.

"This is serious business," George warned. "These moonshiners live about an hour outside of the city. They're not bad men, but they're rough around the edges, rag-a-muffin sorta fellas. I don't know how they're gonna react to a woman being brought in. You gotta keep your wits about you and don't let them see you as weak. We want to keep this alliance with them strong. Can I count on you to do that?"

"Absolutely," Zora promised.

"Good. Now go talk to your old man. I don't want to push this plan any further till he gives the go ahead. And don't be lyin' to me about what he says neither. You know too well that I'll be checkin' with him later."

Zora grinned. "Lying won't be necessary. I'll convince him." She walked toward the back door and paused, turning on her heel. "And George? I expect to be paid better than a dancer for this."

George arched his eyebrows, but didn't argue. Zora flashed him a wink and backed out the door, letting it swing shut heavily behind her. Excitement rose in her chest as she walked quickly home. She knew her father would likely be against the idea at first, but she hoped that the persistence she had inherited from him would win out in the end. Being a dancer was fun, and she had no qualms about her current position. But to be a delivery driver, a smuggler of bootleg booze . . . it sounded so much more exciting. It was a chance to play an important role in the operation of Walton's as well, not just a decorated Sheba who entertained ossified strangers every night.

Zora's walk home ended quickly, and as she bounded up the stairs to the apartment, she realized she had no idea what she was going to say to convince her father of this idea. She took a deep breath as she entered the apartment and tried to calm her nerves.

Her father was still seated at the kitchen table where she had left him, his newspaper still spread out before him. Zora found herself hoping that he had downed more than one whiskey-laced coffee so that he would be more easygoing, but she knew she hadn't been gone long, and that was unlikely. Her father looked up when she entered and frowned in confusion.

"Not working tonight?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Shipment got stolen. KKK. And they tarred and feathered Larson."

Her father drew in a breath in a hiss. "Yikes. That's not good."

"No, it isn't," Zora agreed. She leaned against the kitchen counter. "They're figuring us out, you know. Who our drivers are. And since Walton's doesn't work with any of the gangs, they aren't intimidated."

Her father nodded. "It's a problem. Down at the station, they're seen as doing some good since they're helping to enforce the law, but I don't think it helps anything. It gives them too much power. They don't have the right to be doing what they're doing."

"Mmhm," Zora murmured. "So, listen . . . George and I, we were thinking. Well, I was thinking. What we need is a driver they won't suspect. Someone they'd never imagine would be smuggling hooch."

Daniel Brown frowned at his daughter. "Yes, that would be useful," he said carefully, wondering where she was going with this.

"So, I got to thinking, maybe a woman would make a good driver. They'd never suspect a woman to be doing the deliveries, and I'd be able to slip right past them—"

"Wait, you would be able to slip past them?" he interrupted.

"Yeah, me," Zora said. "It was my idea and I think I'd be perfect for the job."

"Absolutely not," her father declared. "Smuggling booze is dangerous. Look what happened to Larson! You do not need to be putting yourself in harm's way like that."

"Daddy, it will be fine," Zora said firmly. "George knows the moonshiners pretty well; he's been working with them for years now. And like I said, the KKK would never suspect a woman to be doing the smuggling. I think it's a perfect plan."

"And I think you're being short-sighted. There are so many things that could go wrong with this plan. I can't condone this."

"I'm not a helpless little girl anymore," Zora snapped, suddenly feeling angry. "I can take care of myself."

"Okay, well, dangers aside, did you stop to think about how illegal this is? About what position this puts me in? You dancing in a juice joint is one thing, but you smuggling hooch is another. You're putting my duties as an officer of the law on the line—"

"Your duties?" Zora cut him off. "You're just as much of a scofflaw as the rest of them. You partake in the illegal booze, too. So don't tell me this is about your duties as a police officer, because that's bushwa."

"Zora, would you just stop and think about this? About what you're getting yourself into?"

"I'm well aware. And I don't need your approval or your permission," she lied, even though she knew George would back her father up if he refused to consent. "I'm gonna do it with or without your support. So if you wanna pinch me for smuggling hooch, go ahead. I dare you."

Her eyes flashed with passion, and her father studied her through narrowed eyes. Finally, she saw his face fall with resignation. He knew his daughter, and he knew how determined she was when she wanted something. He didn't want to be a pushover, but he realized he couldn't win.

"Fine," he spat, feeling defeated. "But I want to talk to George about this. You're gonna need my protection if you're gonna do this, and I want to know all there is to know about these moonshiners."

Zora's anger vanished and her face lit up.

"Thank you, Daddy," she smiled. "You won't regret it."

Maybe not yet, Daniel Brown thought as his daughter happily bounded away to her room. But someday, I might regret this with everything I have.

Daryl will make his debut in the next chapter, which is why I will be posting chapter two later today! Keep an eye out for it and let me know what you think so far!