Tunnel’s Vision

“I can show you. It’s a rather elaborate system, yet simple all the same,” Gregory Tunnel said invitingly. In the backyard of his palatial Wilmington, Delaware stood a still. He cranked out thousands of bottles of gin that would be used to sell in premium outlets.

“This all above board? The law has never come after you?”

“No, not never once,” he chuckled lightly. “In fact, the feds encouraged me to run this operation as opposed to the kilos of narcotics I was selling. When they’re made legal, I’m going to sell those, too.”

The journalist, Rudola Benz, peered at the pristine but straightforward setup. Cameramen followed her and Tunnel to the mouth of the distillery.

“See, now here, that’s where it all originates. The mash is processed through here. But I can’t tell you about the rest of it. Secret recipe, and all.”

“When did you start all of this?” Rudola asked, her brown skin tickled by the sun’s rays.

Tunnel beamed. “It was after I got out of prison. I did seventeen years for running a criminal enterprise.”

“And you got this whole situatuon…how?”

“I went back to school. I earned my certification from an online college. It was the mixology degree that did it. A lot of people might figure there are no such things. But there are…obviously.”

The gaggle of cameramen, Rudola, and Tunnel all found themselves at the end of the distillery.

“You see,” Tunnel said, “This is the finished product. I’ve heard it called ‘fruity’, light, but strong all at the same time.” Rudola brought the potent potable to her lips.

The sensation of ice cold junipers shot through her mouth.

“You’re supposed to sip it, now,” Tunnel reminded her.

“Of course,” she replied. She sipped and the cool smoothness danced on her tongue.