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Marc Williams had never been wealthy. He was absolutely not suffering from anything like a lack of food or water or health but he just wasn't upper class. His pursuit was to simply get p in the morning, go to work and pay the bills that arrived in his small apartment. He woke up every morning at the same time and so he did that morning again. If he had known this day would change his life for the worse, he would rather have stayed in bed.

Marc worked as a chemist. He had taken over when he turned 25 and his father died from an awful influenza and thanks to that he owned the little pharmacy in the south of Brooklyn. It wasn't exactly the best place to live at but he knew how to stay out of trouble. Until, of course, that incident occurred.

It was just past 6 pm that day when he locked the door of his pharmacy with a small bag in his hand. In that bag was a little box with Valium pills that needed to be taken to Mrs Torres. She had wanted to come herself and pick them up but Marc feared she might have not been able to do it herself and since her husband Peter died just a couple of weeks ago in an awful gang battle he felt he should keep an eye on his grieving widow.

It was remarkably chilly that evening and the wind blew through his ash blond hair as he pulled his collar tightly around his neck and crossed the street. All the way down Leonardo avenue past the warehouse that meant to be fatal that night. The 5ft 11 tall man heard voices that did not sound too friendly and he clutched on to his small bag ...

"Heavens!", he gasped, seeing a person coming out of the warehouse, shouting things he did not understand or did not want to understand. He turned around and hid around the corner in an alley that probably wasn't the best place to be around but rather that than getting shot right away.
While he was catching his breath the picture of that man's back came to his mind. The tall body and the fit shape and the feeling of danger surrounding him. He had to confess to himself that is was utterly attractive and the small rebel inside of him loved to tease him with these thoughts.

Marc remained silent for some time but a couple of minutes later the hobo that was staring at him made him feel a lot more uncomfortable than the thought of running into a gang member so he exited his hideout heading straight to Mrs Torres house. Out of curiosity he glanced over his shoulder, seeing two men carrying a most peculiar looking sack out of the warehouse. It was a body of that he was very certain.

Mrs Torres had been incredibly thankful for the delivery. Marc usually didn't do things like this but he couldn't just leave that poor lady without her Valium. She had invited him into the house but he declined with a very lame excuse and he was certain she wouldn't have believed it.
But after all that excitement Marc was in need of a proper drink. Just a couple of days ago two men came into his pharmacy and told him about a newly opened speak-easy that was still selling booze from their own operating distillery. And after the prohibition it was almost impossible to get a proper drink.

He wrapped his coat around himself tightly and strode down the street to that exact place. He checked his left and his right before entering the inconspicuous looking building. and as soon as he was inside he could smell it ... like the ethanol he used at work.

Marc looked around for some moments, feeling quite lost. He had no idea what to say to the bartender but made his way to the bar counter anyway.
He said down on an empty stool and looked around shyly, hoping that man would attend to him without him having to say anything. The bartender, however, seemed to realise it was Marc's first time, so he rested his elbows on the counter and grinned at him. "What can I get you, fella?", he asked and as he stood back up properly he grabbed a glass from a shelf.
"Errr .... a drink, please?", he said, looking at him. "If you have to money, friend, I have the drinks", he poured a glass of bootlegged whiskey and put it on the counter.
Marc took 20 bucks from his pocket and secretly put it in the bartender's hand. The man grinned, knowing he had paid way too much. He put the required amount under the counter to give it to the boss later, while he put the rest into his own pocket, without Marc noticing.
The chemist had turned his attention to the drink and sipped on it, felling the relaxation that it brought with. Finally now, he was able to have a proper look around the place and that's when Joey caught his eye.

The bartender grew visibly nervous at that question and took the money from out of his pocket. "I'm sorry, boss. Really", he put the money on the counter and Marc picked it up. He looked at the stranger a little wide-eyed and a bit nervously. "Err ... I just ... needed a drink, sir. This place belongs to you?", he asked with a frown, trying to hide the fact that he found Joey extraordinarily attractive. He ran his fingers through his ash blond hair, pushing some stray bangs aside. "Thank you for standing up for me. It's my first time after the prohibition and I didn't know how much to pay for a drink", he said, sipping on his whiskey nervously.

The bartender apologised again and refilled Marc's drink without saying anything. Marc, however, barely realised this. His eyes rested on the man sitting next to him, who's bare presence made him feel tingly inside. He did his best not to show his fascination, hoping Joey wouldn't notice or feel offended.
"To be fair, I haven't drank much since the prohibition. Apart from some cheap whiskey I still had at home", he said softly, trying his best to hide the fact that he was drawn in by Joey. While they were talking, Gio put a drink for his boss on the counter, seeming completely reliefed he wouldn't get killed that night.
"I've hidden some before they came to take it", he paused briefly, then gasped slightly. "I'm sorry how rude of me. My name is Marc Williams".

Marcs face brightened up a bit when joey introduced himself. He felt a soft blush creeping up to his cheeks but tried his best to ignore it. "A lot stronger than what Im used to", he said, a poor attempt of explaining the fact that he was blushing. He looked around the room again, trying to memorise the details as best as he could. "I've heard of this place from a customer", he said, knowing a lie wouldn't be accepted by a guy who ran an illegal bar. He couldn't help but wonder if he was a gang boss judging from the way he spoke to the bartender. "I own a pharmacy down Simpson avenue. Williams drugs", he said, not really thinking about it. It would never have occurred to him that Joey could be interested in a place that legally sold drugs.