The other tables
Four outfits, four grudges — one for each room in the house. Some are settled with a handshake, one is not settled at all.
Contests the Vinyl room
Brass Row & the tram yards
They run a rival record counter out the back of a pawnshop and keep buying up crates before our man reaches the dock. No blood yet. Plenty of missing pressings.
“Bring back our shellac and we'll forget the tram yard.”
Contests the Movie room
Three picture houses across the city
They hold the reels; we hold the audience. A cold arrangement that works: they lend prints, we don't advertise past the canal.
“A truce is a contract nobody had the nerve to sign.”
Contests the Olive Oil room
The wharf, the bonded sheds, the customs office
They wanted a cut of every barrel landed and were told no in the office. Two shipments went missing the same week. The ledger remembers both.
“Our business is legitimate. Theirs is an inconvenience.”
Contests the Wine room
The old merchants' quarter
A polite society of importers who call our cellar a cupboard. They outbid us at auction; we outpour them every Tuesday.
“They have the labels. We have the room people want to drink in.”