Pale Shelter

Old Goat
4 min readSep 21, 2021
Photo by David Traña on Unsplash

Micah Redmane always hated roller coasters. Ever since his mother took him to Coney Island when he was 8 and forced him onto The Hurricane with his older brother, Angus. It was almost like she felt compelled to forget they were immigrants by doing American activities. He would have been just as happy playing stickball with his mates. But no. She had to stuff him full of grimy Nathan’s hot dogs and Coke and pop him into the rickety seat with his brother. One minute they were headed up, the next there was projectile vomit from him landing on two seats ahead of him. That was his first and last carnival ride and he vowed never to be forced into anything and to always be in charge and control.

Now he’s the kingpin of Atlantic City and his band of Irish and Scotch boys protect him from the other gangs that would kill their own brother for an eight ball of cocaine. Hustling doesn’t even describe him. Micah had his hands in so many things, his enemies call him The Octopus. Drugs, prostitution, and guns — the big three made the most cash in the 70s. “Micah, we got the snow coming in from Panama. Still wanna unload in the city?” His brother Angus, dressed in a black suit with wide lapels and bell bottoms, yelled from across the hotel suite they used. Micah ran his hands through his long, red curly hair, eyes bloodshot from partying with his mates for the last three days. Looking up from the pile of invoices and checks he was working on. Sighing, “Ya sure. Just make sure MacDougall drives it. Had a few too many close calls with troopers lately. Can’t afford to get stopped, again. Declan, I need you to fly out to Vegas this weekend. Our connection out there is looking for heroin and I need you to bring him the load that just came in from Thailand.

Angus, grab that other phone, will ya, ringing is making my head scream.”

“It’s ma. She says she has to talk to you.”

Waving his hand and shaking his head no.

“Ma, he’ll call you back.”

“She says it’s urgent, gotta talk to you right now.”

Rolling his eyes, Micah got up from the table and grabbed the phone from Angus.

“Ma. I’m busy. What is it?” His eyes widened as listened? “You didn’t tell them anything, right? Closing his eyes, his breathing ragged. “Ma, why would you do that? Do you…

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Old Goat

Ordained Officiant Minister, human services professional. I write about historical fiction, pain, faith, and perseverance.