A Florida man was arrested yesterday for allegedly selling over 40 gallons of moonshine to undercover state beverage agents.
The Florida Division of Alcoholic Beverages and Tobacco posted a fake Craigslist ad, pretending to be someone "looking for some strong moonshine." A middleman contacted the agents and referred them to 23-year-old Daniel David Pawa, a Lantana resident. Over the course of several months, Pawa sold over 40 gallons of moonshine to undercover agents.
The operation came to a close on Thursday when state agents arrested Pawa and seized his .45-caliber firearm and a grenade. Pawa faces a bevy of charges including possession of moonshine, conspiracy to violate beverage laws, and possession of a firearm, the latter of which carries a maximum of 15 years in prison.
In an exciting exclusive, The Jane Dough was able to get into contact with a member of the police force that arrested Pawa. What follows is Detective Pam Sarlowe's account of Thursday's events, in his own words:
I had just left some dame's joint when I got a call from the big man — turned out there was a case that the coppers wanted my help with. I had sworn that messy business off years ago but it was a dark night in January, I was out of hooch, and the city was coated with a weak rain like some Crazy Daisy sprinkler had jammed up and none of the angels in heaven wanted to play anymore; in short, it was the kind of night that made you want to dive down into something deep and dark.
I hoofed it to the old clubhouse and found the Lieutenant just as I had left him: looking like a tea kettle someone had left on top of a fire for too long. He gave me the casefile and a stare colder than my dead wife's corpse.
"Keep it by the book this time, Sarlowe," he yelled, his fat finger in my face. "Don't go flying off all half-cocked!"
"Don't worry Lieutenant; everything is copacetic."
Yeah, yeah, I knew what I had to do, but it's easier said than done, like every good thing is in this stinking sewage line we call Lantana. I have seen crime and it has winked back at me like some real hootchie-cootchie type broad, the kind that cries when you tell her you're leaving but plunges a knife in your back before you're even out the door. Yeah, I have known crime as intimately as I have known those kinds of broads and I have the Swiss cheese back to prove it.
It didn't take me long to find the poor sucker, a chump who wouldn't stop flipping his yap about the 'shine. He looked like a boozehound and was sitting in a grade-A dump that even the darkest shadows that haunt me wouldn't be caught dead in. Dead — like my dead wife. I considered pumping some lead into the weasel, putting him out of his misery, but in the end, I decided to leave him to the Big House. I didn't need anymore blood on my hands — the color red doesn't suit me and I was all out of soap. I told the chump he was going to the slammer and I started to laugh.
His future and my past were one and the same: an expansive black hole that is like the bed of a bad broad, the chamber of a gun, and the mouth of a serpent telling you to take a bite of a city that is rotten to the core. An apple a day doesn't keep shit away. Before the other men in blue knocked down the door to take ol' Johnny, I handed him a quarter, told him he could keep it, and said good luck. I was done playing games with chance; like I told you, it's a messy business."
... What? We can't believe there is still a black market for moonshine.
Image courtesy of Flickr, Gangster Car Driver
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This article originally published at The Jane Dough here
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