Senoia, Georgia 1935
Philip "The Governor' Blake looked over the polished oak desktop at Merle Dixon and nodded across the room at his triggerman Caesar Martinez. Caesar shut the door then poured three glasses of scotch from the matching oak liquor cabinet that occupied part of the wall of the spacious luxury office. His footsteps on the plush burgundy carpet were silent as he distributed the drinks and settled into the leather chair next to Merle's. The Governor held up his lead crystal glass and the two men raised theirs in response. The Governor smiled. "To your health," he said, tipping his glass and the two men responded in kind, smiling. They savored the alcohol for a few moments then The Governor spoke. "Gentlemen, it seems we have some recalcitrant businessmen who just don't seem to understand the importance of their monthly contribution to our organization for the purposes of their own welfare and security. It pains me to see the toll that this...'Great Depression' as it's being called...is having on our fair city and most of all on the businesses that form the heart of commerce in the region. Now I don't have to tell you how important it is that these businesses be protected from petty crime, overzealous bankers, and excessive taxation during these tough financial straits. But these businessmen must understand that our services of protection come at a price. I fear that the time has come for the noncompliant to pay the piper, and I need you to provide the...persuasion...to these individuals. Caesar, you'll be visiting your associates at the Rhee family restaurant and Horvath Auto Repair on the north side. Merle, I want you to visit Club Peletier. I believe that Mr. Peletier is a former business associate of yours, perhaps you can persuade him to see the error of his ways? Yes, and Greene's Laundry, the business on the West side where the old Senoia Laundrette used to be."
The three men finished their drinks and The Governor stood up behind the desk. Merle and Caesar came to their feet and The Governor appraised them while adjusting his striped wool suit coat and straightening his tie. "And Merle," he warned. "Tell Hershel to starch my shirts properly next time."
TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD
Merle Dixon combed his hair in the restroom of The Governor's office building as he mulled over his plans for the day. No surprise Peletier welched out on his payments, he thought. Asshole's as crooked as a dog's hind leg. He beats the fuck outta his wife too, kinda hoped she woulda poisoned him by now. It'll be a real pleasure to rearrange his face fer him free a charge to remind him Ole Merle Dixon came out on top. Merle turned on the faucet to rinse off his comb, then wiped the comb with a towel and placed it back in his suit pocket. He hadn't forgotten the robbery that he and Ed Peletier had committed in their younger days. Peletier squealed and turned witness against Merle and his brother Daryl, sending them both into the hoosegow for a few years. When Merle got out he found employment with The Governor, who had given him steady work, money, and a place in the organization. Peletier began an uneasy truce with Merle when he borrowed money from Blake to start his gin mill that he called Club Peletier but now Merle was about to cash in serving Ed a little revenge as a dish served ice cold.
Merle splashed a little water on his face, dried it with the towel, and straightened his tie in front of the mirror. His curly brown hair was long on top and slicked back at the sides, a dapper cascade of curls hung over his forehead. His steely blue eyes were hard and his twisted nose and lined face told the story of a life on the streets. He was 39 years old and had the broad shoulders and tapered waist of a boxer – he was definitely sexy in a rough kind of way. Only the loose dames that hung on his arm at the nightclubs then ended up in his bed knew of the scars that crossed his back, but none of them were dumb enough to mention them afterwards. Though he had the gift of the gab and could raise hell with the best of them, everyone knew that Merle Dixon was a dangerous man, and he didn't make close associations with anyone.
Merle put on his fedora then headed to his car. He'd heard of old man Greene at the new laundry, some stubborn old ex-drunk who just needed his bell rung to get the message that Blake was the boss in town. Dealing with him would be a nice easy end to Merle's day.
TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD TWD
Merle sported a wide smile as he maneuvered his car through traffic. Leaving Ed Peletier in a bloody heap on the club floor had been a rare pleasure. The fat asshole sobbed for his wife and daughter to help him up when Merle was done. A momentary pang shot through Merle's chest when he recalled the fear and confusion in the little girl's eyes when she saw what was left of her daddy. She couldn't have been more than 12 years old, just about the age Merle's daddy had started leaving those scars on his back. Merle shook the memory off and appraised his split knuckles resting on top of the steering wheel. He was looking forward to finishing the day's work and getting soused at The Governors exclusive gin joint.
An overhead bell tinkled when Merle opened the door to Greene's laundry. He walked to the unattended counter and leaned against it. He heard shuffling in the back and a white-haired man came out from behind a curtain. The old man was missing his lower leg below his right knee, and he moved clumsily on crutches to get past the curtain sideways. He looked at Merle and said, "Welcome to Greene's Laundry sir, may I help you?" Merle smiled. This may be too easy.
Three minutes later Merle had Hershel up against the wall in front of the counter. Merle's fist was knotted in the collar of Hershel's shirt, and Merle's face was only inches from Hershel's as he reiterated Blake's terms of protection. He had to give it to the old man, he was stubborn as hell, and surprisingly articulate – obviously this laundry owner was no run of the mill chump. "I'll tell you what old man," Merle rasped. "Because I'm havin' a good day, I'ma gonna let you choose – you pay up now or you pick which fingers I break to get my point acrost." Hershel's chest heaved as he stared into the slate blue eyes of his attacker. There was not an ounce of mercy in them.
Both men were distracted by movement of the curtain, and by a soft female voice saying "Good afternoon sir!" Merle turned his head to see a young woman standing behind the counter. Her bright smile lit her eyes until she took in the scene. Merle watched as her puzzlement developed to shock and fear. She was wearing a worn conservative dress that had gone out of style years ago, along with darned socks and patched brown shoes. "Daddy? Who is this?" she gasped. Merle eased his grip on Hershel's collar and stepped back to put a few inches of space between them. He fixed his unflinching gaze on her and slowly took her in, then used his free hand to tip his hat towards her. "My name's Merle Dixon, Miss...?" Her large violet eyes shifted uncertainly between Merle and Hershel and she answered haltingly, "Beth. Beth Greene." One side of Merle's mouth twisted up, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Well well, Miss Beth," he replied. He turned his icy gaze back to Hershel and snorted softly through his nose when he saw the fear on the old man's face. Hershel said, "She's an innocent child, Mr. Dixon. Please leave her out of this." Cynical amusement crossed Merle's face as he regarded his prey. The worn mended dress didn't hide the willowy body beneath, and the soft swell of her hips and firm rounded breasts didn't escape Merle's attention. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail but the strands that escaped curled in lustrous strands around her face. She didn't have on a trace of makeup or jewelry but she was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. Oh she was young and she was innocent, no doubt about it. But way out in the mountains where Merle was from, she was old enough to already be married and have a couple of pups on her. That was a woman's body under those rags, and maybe the best he'd ever seen.
Merle returned his attention to Hershel and in a low voice said, "You owe $10. You give it to me now, or I choose your collateral." Hershel's eyes filled with tears as he whispered, "Please no." Beth clasped her arms around her middle to stop herself from shaking. "Ten dollars," she asked. "Is that what this is about?" Both men turned to look at her and she spun and disappeared behind the curtain. Soon they heard things being pulled off of shelves and dumped on the floor, and Hershel called out "No Beth!" But Beth returned with two coffee cans that she dumped on the counter. Pennies, nickels and dimes rolled out and she firmly put the empty coffee cans on the counter as she started to silently count.
Merle released his grip on Hershel's collar and pushed him back against the wall as he turned and walked to the counter. He silently watched her as her trembling hands counted the coins. Her hands were long and graceful, artists hands, but they were red and scaled from boiling clothes in bleach water. Tears dripped silently down her cheeks but she didn't make a sound. As she finalized the counting she dumped the coins back into one of the coffee cans and pushed it towards him. She looked up into his stony face, he could see that her body was shaking with fear, but she nodded and said, "That's $7.28. It's all we have." Merle laughed mirthlessly as he grabbed the coffee can full of change. "Well, it's a pleasure doing business with ya Miss Beth. I'll be back next week for the balance." Merle nodded to Hershel who was slumped against the wall with his hand on his forehead, and jauntily walked out of the door. As he got into his car he smiled widely. If that was the Greene family savings, then it would only be a few weeks before he got himself a nice sweet piece of that collateral.
