Steve and Bucky seeing what people call gangsters today and talk about the Irish and Italian mafia when they were growing up and how they got some money during hard times for doing some runs for the mafia
“Huh.” Steve looks over to Bucky where he sits curled up in a deep, cozy papasan chair. “I don’t think we qualify anymore, Buck.”
Bucky hummed, cheeks stuffed full of popcorn.
“I’m sorry, what?” Sam leaned forward in his seat. “You don’t qualify as what anymore?” The anticipation on his face was incredible.
Bucky shrugged. “’Snothin’. Steve n’I just did odd jobs back in the day. Had to make ends meet, you know how it is.”
Clint narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Waitwaitwait. Odd jobs.” He looked at the screen to the rolling credits of the movie they’d just watched and back to Steve and Bucky. “Oh my God. Is that your way of saying you were Old-Timey Gangsters?”
It was Steve’s turn to shrug. “Not really. Sort of. –I mean. Officially, legally. Illegally. Yeah.”
“Oh my God.” Steve was pretty sure Sam was going to have a heart attack. “Why did I not know this?!”
Bucky wriggled around so he could face Sam better. “It was prohibition for us. People were still drinkin’. Steve needed medicine and an honest job didn’t pay as much as we needed. So.” He shrugged.
“So I managed logistics and Bucky did the literal heavy lifting. Not really that big a deal.”
Clint was grinning a mile wide. “This is so much better than I could imagine. Steve, you had mob connections.”
“What?!” Sam squeaked.
Steve made a defenseless gesture. “Families like that have long memories. They know I’m alive.” He nodded towards the bar. “You think I buy my liquor?”
Bucky grinned. “You always did ingratiate yourself.” He looked at Sam. “He was their best-selling supplier Brooklyn had. They owe him; he helped keep them in business long enough for for prohibition to end and for them to make real money.” Bucky held up his glass and let Dum-E cart it over to the bar, smiling wickedly. “Another whiskey.”