The New Label
Seattle, Elliot Ave.

William sat at the dining table of Don Maranzano’s estate. In the middle of the table a bottle of bourbon labeled “The Walking Barrel” shined pridefully as each of his business-partners raised their glasses for a toast. Health and prosperity. For a stranger walking into this meeting, which would in itself be a feat of it’s own, it would appear as though the celebration was all due to William and his new brand of whiskey, but there was more to it that encompassed each and every person in that room. 

The year was 1924 and for most of the country, the flooding of liquor that the prohibition brought into and around it’s shores promoted a violent change of climate, as crime families pushed their elbows against one another for control over the distribution of the liquid gold. For the cold and foggy Seattle however, and consequently to the entire east coast, the scene was a bit different.

Over here, there were no criminal enterprises that could rival the stature of Don Coltrane’s family. But his business was constantly challenged nonetheless. Many independent bootleggers, cookers and thieves despite of not being allowed to do “business” inside the Godfather’s jeweled city, were always on the lookout for a means to act out their entrepreneurial instincts around it. The liquor flowed from the cold north of Canada through the sea to then be poured down into the speakeasies by the rum-runners docked by the city’s shores. And as the Dons were paid their rightful share, there were many still brave enough to try and evade this “law”. Despite of being fully aware of the fate reserved to those who challenged his position, the alky-cookers prepared their own liquor, and the labeless brands were distributed around the smallest neighborhoods almost free of charge.
 
The two ruling Dons, Coltrane and Maranzano had wiped all signs of organized competition from their city not long after William had arrived at their shores, by John Marston’s side. But now the adversities thwarting the growth and prosperity of their enterprise weren’t so obviously within the reach of their guns. So when William found the opportunity to racket a Canadian distiller into his hands, he had the intention of pushing the remaining competition away from Seattle by making the Seattle Family, the owners of not just the doors to the city as they had been for a while now, but also the means of production. All while barring the entrance of any bottle which didn’t have the Walker Label in it. At least that was the plan.

For now William had only but one distiller in the Brand’s name. But the Dons had granted him the opportunity of making a crew of his own, and the future seemed promising. His hand followed their gesture as his glass rose to meet that of his partners, and to health and prosperity the group washed the bottle down in a single motion.

Colt had worked hard to get control of the alcohol market in Seattle. He had fought alongside the now deceased Godfather Salvatore to take control of Detroit’s market, and weeks later he was packing his bags and headed for the jewel city. It hadn’t been easy but he had finally made it with the help of his brother and best friend, Godfather Leo_Maranzano. All the sustainable crime organizations had been wiped off, leaving the occasional lone crook trying to make money. But they were easy to deal with.

He didn’t know much about alcohol and drug dealing. He was lucky to have friends that helped him take over the market and a mentor in Godmother Marie and Godfather Salvatore. But his knowledge didn’t go further than that. So when WilliamWalker approached him about his idea of creating a Canadian alcohol brand, he was all for it. William covered his lack of expertise and, at the same time, put a stronghold on the market. Everything was perfect.

He raised his glass, which held William’s home brewed liquor, and started the toast. 

For William, a fine and bright young man, with an equally bright future. He has worked for his place among our table and it’s with honor that Godfather Leo and myself have granted him the opportunity to control his own operations, down in Ballard!

Luckies had heard of a new brand of giggle juice in Seattle, under leadership of an old friend. Without hesitation, he took the first plane to the Queen city and arranged to halt his previous employment status in order to chase this opportunity. After all, he had some unsolved issues with the import and export of alcoholic beverage.

As he arrived, he looked for the office building where The Walker Brand had set it's roots. At first, it seemed like a perfectly legitimate, multi-business building, but inside laid much greater sights than average eye could behold. It's classically inspired architecture hid secret passages, spacious offices and virtually empty floors for the sole purpose of laundering money under the cover of perfectly legitimate businesses.

He was lounging about when the 6'4'' goon with a plastic buzzer working security asked him what he needed. "I'm the butter and egg man, and I'm here to see the man upstairs." he lit a cigarette between the two sentences "Where's the elevator?" he noticed the security goon was wearing iron and that made him uneasy, so he rested his right hand on his Remington Model 1890's ivory grip right after dropping his copper zippo into his blazer's pocket.

But the goon nodded and remarked  -"He is expecting you, indeed. Take the elevator to the last floor." - as he pointed to the elevator door.

Luckies followed through and got to the penthouse, a spacious speakeasy with beautiful decoration and an even better view, towering over Seattle. "Come on, shake a leg! How've you been, old dog?" he heard from behind the bar counter. WilliamWalker emerged with two glasses, an unlabelled bottle of hooch and a wide smile on his face "Sit there, there's a lot we must talk about!"

Luckies woke up the next day with a massive hangover, laying down in a white velvet couch with a note in his pocket saying: