December 21, 1915

“Julius, welcome to the Oasis! I’ll buy you a beer. It’s on the house. I’ve wanted to talk to you. But first I want to show you the sign I made,” August Durbin exclaimed.

“You’re in a jovial mood,” I responded.

“Why not? There’s no sense in pouting. I’ll be right back.” He ran to the back room of the bar and returned with the white cardboard sign with the carefully drawn letters saying, “The First of January is the Last of August.”

“That’s gallows humor. It’s funny but no one is going to laugh,” I snickered.

“I’ve been in the business of booze,” and he continued softly, “and sex. I must be careful about saying that. I’ve been too close to conviction of white slavery. It was very profitable, but it provided service and indirectly community safety.” He pushed a dark beer across the bar.

“Go on, “I said.

“With the start of Prohibition, that business model isn’t going to work. Men need the alcohol to have the courage to buy a woman. Forget the men who work hard labor all day and just want to get blind at night. Think of the respectable gentlemen with wives with no interest in a roll in the sheets. They have their children and don’t want any more. That’s where the money is.”

“I’ll grant you that.”

“Those gentlemen have no interest in the sordid, guilty horror of an affair or intrigue as you British say. The final solutions are losing your wife or lose your life. I’ve learned that from experience.”

“Me too, I’ve never married and was saved from my actions by my position in the social hierarchy,” I said nodding. “I feel self-pleasure is also a solution. Do you think women do the same?” I asked.

“Probably,” he pondered and continued, “Julius, I’ve invested my money.”

“Your new brick motor garage is A-1.”

“I’m your landlord, too.”

“Yes,” I replied, certainly with a curious expression.

“I may want to be a snowbird and visit my brother in California this winter. You are an honorable and dependable man. Would you consider being my solicitor or manager and collect rents? Your rent would be free, and we can work out a percentage or incentive for increased trade for you, which would work for both of us.”

“Mate, I’m dumbfounded. It’s a ripping concept, and I could help Corina pay off JJ. I will. It would be a second job and a way to use my mind to complement my mundane duty of serving food.”

“You will consider it, or will you take the job?”

“I’ll take the job.”

“Excellent, finish your beer and I’ll take you for a tour of my properties.”

I took a sip, “Dark beer on a cold day, satisfying, filling like a pork-chop, but in a glass.”

“Ha, right you are. Du Bois had too many last night while he moaned about leaving.”

“He hasn’t decided yet.”

“He told me he bought a train ticket to Denver and mumbled that Angela said, ‘No, too big of a change,’ whatever that means.”

Du Bois asked Angela to run away with him. She refused and in remorse, he travels. Perhaps it was better that way, then JJ has one less attempt at prosecution. He was a good mate, and I will miss him. As I write this evening, I may just have a respectable, lucrative future in Steamboat Springs. Gus has offered me an opportunity to help Corina pay for the rogue to disappear.