Copper’s Drug and Soda

Est. 1899

Quality Purveyors of Wholesome and Stimulating Tonics!

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And in 1899, it was even true. Over twenty years later, though, you wouldn’t catch anyone calling the purveyors at Copper’s “quality”. And while potables were indeed sold there—in its basement, that is—the beverages were neither wholesome nor stimulating. They’d originated in cracked old bathtubs, and left men stumbling from the cellar after midnight.

Burt stood by the grimy soda fountain, which rained rust on him if he brushed it, counting quarters behind the counter.

“Hullo?”

The woman slipped into the store, blonde curls poking out under her bucket hat in the way Hollywood starlets would kill for.

“I need a little spritz,” she said. “Do you sell Dr. Bernstein’s Seven-Herb Soda?”

“’Fraid not,” Burt grunted. Pretty or not, the lady wasn’t getting any “spritz” until she gave him the passphrase.

“Oh—but isn’t it just up there?” She pointed at the decade-old green bottles on the top shelf.

Warily, Burt glanced up. Yes, Dr. Bernstein’s. Completely legal. He eyed the lady, but she was digging in her purse.

“Ten cents. Boy! Never seen it that cheap.” She plunked two shiny dimes on the counter and looked up.

Burt plunked his big forearms on the counter beside them. “Whaddaya here for, bird?”

Her mouth worked a few times. “Er—two, two bottles of Dr. Bernstein’s. Is that the right price?”

Realization finally dawned on Burt. This lady had no idea where she was.

He scooped the dimes silently into his pocket and grabbed the bottles, keeping her in the corner of his eye. He pulled out a shirttail and gave them a swipe, removing at least a year or two of dust, and set them on the counter.

“Need a…” He furrowed his brow. “…Receipt?”

She smiled. “You could grab me a peppermint stick, if you’re sweet.”

The peppermint sticks, Burt was dismayed to find, were so coated in dust that they looked pink and grey. He dunked one in his water glass and set it down.

She pursed her lips at the sopping stick.

“You new here?” she said kindly.

“As a lamb,” he lied.

“That’s not true, Burt,” she said.

Burt stiffened. His hand inched under the counter.

“You here to blackmail me, lady?”

Her brows rose. “Why would I do that when you’re gonna hire me fair and square?”

She dangled a card between her fingers like a cigarette, and Burt plucked it.

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Hattie’s “Oopsie-Daisie!” Deep Cleaning

Fast! Discreet! No Mess Too Much!

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“The health inspector’s on a rampage. He’s doin’ your block next week.”

Ice crackled into Burt’s veins. He glanced at the peppermint, sugary juice pooling on the counter.

“You need some help. And a pretty face behind the counter--someone that can act a little more innocent,” she murmured. Her gloved finger tapped his knuckle. “I mean… another pretty face.”

“Damn you, lady.” Burt grinned, and took her hand softly. “Looking forward to doing business with you.”