Polly’s taxi was making a run from the Ohio River to Columbus up north. She was in no big hurry; there was no need to call undue attention to the yellow Plymouth. An untimely stop for speeding or spitting or just plain meanness of the two-bit sheriffs along her route could cause some major trouble. Old BillyJoBob would want to take a look-see into the big trunk. She’d have to do some fast talking if that happened.

No need to skirt the issue: Polly had hungry mouths at home to feed and little to no money to do it. She was a fine driver and knew sources of some mighty fine likker. Prohibition and the Great Depression both served to cause people to take chances.

Luckily, Polly was a looker. Blond curls framed a round face and her pouty lips bore the latest shade of Jean Harlow red. She could bat her eyes and make promises she didn’t intend to keep to get on her way.

The one time she kept one of those promises she ended up with a nine month surprise that kept her off the prohibition trail for a time.

She could thank BillyJoBob for that little bundle.

Today was going to be her lucky day. Polly could feel it. The road was dry and the air was warm. Tilting her cap to a sexy angle, she lit up a Camel, and tuned the radio to a dance music station.

She rolled down her window and sang lustily as she passed through the little towns. About halfway Polly pulled up to a store and got a fountain coke. The soda jerk tipped his paper hat to her and gave her a leer as he topped the soda with a cherry. “Here you go, Toots. A sweet for a sweet.”

Polly’s laughter trilled. Winking saucily she climbed behind the wheel of the taxi. Columbus was a’waiting and she was ready to be on her way. “See ya next time, boys.”
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I took a little poetic license with the timing of this. My mother-in-law (Polly) was quite a woman. She did run shine when she was young. However she would have only been in her late teens in the early 30’s. At THAT time she was cooking for her father on a tugboat plying the Ohio River. She had a number of “odd” jobs when she was younger. And she had a number of children, too, but none were the progeny of an Ohio sheriff. At least, not as far as I know.

Thanks to Trifecta’s judges for naming last week’s entry as a runner-up. Thanks, too, for the challenges you throw us.