We at Wundry live, breathe, and downright obsess over True Crime.

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Music. Exhibit C, it's truly criminal.

And welcome to my favorite murder. The mini-sode.

It's a funny, it's cute. You love it. You sent it to us. We're reading it. Do you want me to go first?

Do you have a solid ending? Sure. Okay. Always. Good. It's got to end on a high, sweet,

kind, funny note. Right? Yeah. Something. Okay. My father, the 16 year old brothel rum runner.

Mmm. Hey, y'all, you asked for a crazy job stories. And while I don't have one, my dad's high school

job really takes the cake. My dad grew up in New Orleans. When he was 16 years old, he got a job

with his next-door neighbor slash best friend's family. The family owned a few bars on Bourbon Street

and hired my dad to work at one of the bars. He and his best friend would go to work from 6 pm to 2 am

every weekend during the summers and most of the school year too. This was Bourbon Street in the 1960s

just as a raucous but with a lot fewer rules. Exactly the place you want to send a 16 year old to work.

My dad rules? No, lots of age at that point probably. My dad describes the job as quote,

we'd bring beer to the front and gloss to the back and do it all over again. But this wasn't

fully the truth. Soon into their employment the bar owner asked them to start running a nightly

errand. Each night around 9 pm they would bring a case of alcohol to Miss Wallace at her quote

home. They were told to quote, wait there until Miss Wallace pays you and only accept cash.

My dad and his friend knew exactly who Miss Wallace was and we're rightfully excited to do this

delivery especially again as 16 year old boys. Miss Wallace was none other than Norma Wallace,

the last madam of New Orleans. Whoa, brothel owner extraordinaire. And then it says she's

...