New Brew

by Mark Lashway

  “But you got in tight with them!”

  “I had a few prominent people who introduced me around and put out the word.” Cam left out the part about the drunken rituals.

  “Christ, it sounds like a Mafia family!”

  “Yep, and the similarity wasn’t funny to me last year, either.”

  “Oh well. My only interest in this thing is that it stays orderly. You know, Phil Utah mentioned that you’re one of the good eggs at this thing.”

  “That’s only because I saved his life from a lynch mob last year.”

  “Really? But that’s no surprise, from what I’ve learned. Last year’s shindig made quite a splash, even out this far. Two killings, one justifiable homicide, a suicide….”

  “Did you listen to the roll of the dead?”

  “Yeah, I sure did, and I was shocked, Witter. Droves of dead people associated with this event! Who would’ve thought that brewers were such a turbulent bunch?”

  “I like that term….turbulent. A very apt description.”

  “Here’s what I would like, Witter. I want you to be my eyes and ears here.”

  “Forget it,” Cam muttered, flatly rejecting him. “I’m nobody’s waterboy. Besides, the vast majority of folks here are good people. As if that wasn’t enough, if my wife got even a little whiff of me bein’ involved in this, I’d be in for it.”

  “I’m disappointed in you, Witter.”

  “Compare notes with my captain. OK, now it’s my turn. How is your case with the dead monk lookin’? I mean, what do you think?”

  “Like you, I saw that the body had been moved from the original position. So far, there’s almost nothing for forensic evidence.”

  “Any theories on what’s behind it?”

  “For now, I’m thinking anti-Catholic hate crime.”

  “Huh? Why?”

  “Why not? Robbery is out, those guys never carry anything valuable. I mean, the guy could’ve just been outside and somebody spur-of-the-moment decided to pop him, although that’s still very unlikely. So maybe somebody with a hard-on for the church….”

  “Has there ever been anythin’ like that out here?”

  “No, and the monastery has been around almost a hundred years now. But things have really changed, Witter.”

  “How?”

  “North Dakota used to be a sparsely populated, quiet, dull state. But now that there’s an oil boom, a lot of new people are coming in. As you’d expect, some of them are riffraff, scumbags. Big money has brought a lot of changes, few of them for the better in my book.”

  “But you’re still entertainin’ the possibility that it might be someone from GWIBE?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “You’re not here for crowd control, Inkwell. You’re an investigator,” Cam muttered with a grim smile. “You see, I’ve always played the games throughout the process, too.”

  “Alright!” Inkwell laughed. “You’re sharp enough, Witter. But if you suspect….”

  “I’ll help you out then. I’m not gonna shield a murderer, after all. Just keep your eyes open, though. I really doubt that it’s anybody here.”

  “Got it. Thanks, Witter. Like Utah said, you’re a good egg, even if a bit scrambled. Ha ha! That’s a good one!”

  Cam smiled politely, gave a two-finger salute and walked away.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  Walking back to his tent after the ceremony, Duke Lando pushed aside the entrance flap to his big tent and strode in quickly, his worried mind absorbed by his latest problem. It wasn’t until he was already inside that he realized that there was someone in his tent, and he reflexively went into a defensive posture, eyes widening.

  “Relax!” laughed one of the two men sitting in lawn chairs in the dim interior. Eyes focusing, Lando saw that it was Tom Deville. Clay Sharper sat next to Deville, smiling.

  “Make yourself at home,” Lando muttered. “Oh, never mind. You already have.”

  “Are you gonna be a hospitable host?” Deville asked. “How about a beer?”

  “My cooler is right there,” Lando said, pointing to one corner.

  “Yeah, but it’s all Belgian stuff, though,” Sharper replied. “I looked.”

  “Well, that’s what I deal in. Start expanding your horizons.”

  “But Belgian is unpredictable,” Deville whined. “Some of them can be really funky.”

  “Then you’re shit out of luck,” Lando sneered. Then, lowering his voice, he said, “In other business, you two did well at the ceremony. Keep them thinking that your only interest is helping Utah’s clean-up-Dodge campaign. If you can, keep him pumped up and getting all of the attention while we do our thing.”

  “Yeah, well it seems like the plan has turned to shit, doesn’t it?” Deville whispered.

  “You’d never make it in business, Tom,” Lando chuckled quietly with a contemptuous smirk. “Original plans hardly ever survive unscathed, got it? The successful man doesn’t fold at the first setback.”

  “Were you there screwing around with the body before it was found?” Sharper asked.

  “Yeah. I went to the meeting we scheduled, but found him there deader than nickel cigars. I had time to search the body, but there was nothing on him. Whoever wasted him took the items.”

  “We have no idea who it might be, either,” Deville groaned, “or do we, Duke? Maybe you’re just double-crossing both Manuel and us.”

  “Don’t play tough guy with me, you asshole,” Lando sneered again. “I’ve walked over far tougher than you in my time!”

  “I don’t know how else to explain it,” Sharper mumbled. “I mean, you told us that only the four of us knew about it, right? Can you be sure that Manuel didn’t let something slip?”

  “Manuel was hard,” Lando replied, shaking his head. “He wouldn’t have spilled the beans. He knew how much was riding on it, how much he stood to profit. Risk that? No way.”

  “Then how….”

  “Duke, the thing that keeps gnawing at me is the thought that maybe Manuel got ideas, got greedy and figured he could get more from someone else,” Deville interrupted. “That someone else played him along, got the stuff and killed him, saving a lot of money.”

  “Possible, but I don’t think so,” Lando told him after a moment’s thought. “The dollar bills in the mouth stuff wasn’t some reverse psychology game. Somebody was definitely sending a message. My gut tells me that someone involved with the monastery did it.”

  “Either way, we’re screwed now. It’s all gone, out of our reach,” Sharper groaned.

  “No, it’s not,” Lando informed him. “It’s a setback, that’s all. I had a backup plan, just in case, and that backup is about to take the stage tomorrow. A troubled, wayward young man looking to turn his life around by finding God will begin his holy journey.”

  “Goddamnit, you’re almost poetic,” Deville replied admiringly. “Hey, wait a minute. If he’s new, he won’t have access to things like Manuel did!”

  “He’ll have to improvise and sneak around, which he’s very good at.”

  “Sounds like you know him really well,” Sharper noted.

  “Yeah, I do. He’s a sneaky little shit and no damned good, but he’s going to be put to use to repay me for all I’ve done for him. I gave him detailed instructions on what he’s looking for and how it’s to be handled.”

  “So, what’s the new plan?” Deville wondered.

  “Different face, but same as the old plan,” Lando replied. “All of us are going to play along with Phil. You know, publicly support his efforts, like I said before. But he’s going to be very visible while we stand back. We have nine days to pull this off, put it to bed and get ready to cash in. Now, you two do the expected thing and be your usual asshole selves. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Deville agreed, smiling. Sharper nodded his assent. It was all better again.

  “Got it,” muttered the woman whom everyone knew as Betty from a location several miles away as she recorded the conversa
tion. The bug that had been installed on the inside of one leg on Lando’s cot had worked beautifully. So, they’ve got another one. This Lando character doesn’t discourage easily, that’s for sure….

  -7-

  “So, what do you want to do for the rest of the day?” Shauna asked Cam as they wandered around the settlement.

  “Nothin’ in particular,” he replied. “I’m just gonna enjoy myself and drink however I want. None of that drinkin’ to the roll stuff anymore.”

  She nodded contentedly, putting his mind at rest. I can at least make her happy by not getting wasted all the time and by staying out of the turmoil. That just leaves all of the other GWIBE shit to deal with.

  “When do the first competitions begin?” he asked, thinking that he knew the answer.

  “Tomorrow night. They always begin on the second full night after the opening.”

  “That’s what I thought. Are you judgin’ the same ones as last year?”

  “Yeah. You know, there must be something wrong with me. Despite all of the crap that has taken place in the past, I still can’t walk away from it.”

  “That sounds like every other GWIBEr.”

  “Cam!” came an excited voice from way behind them, one that was familiar to Cam although he couldn’t readily identify it. They turned and saw Reuben, the talented sculptor who had carved the brewers’ memorial statue last year. Cam smiled as he ran up to them.

  “Cam, it’s good to see you back! How have you been, Shauna?”

  “Very well, Reuben,” she answered with a smile that she reserved only for the most likeable people here. “I hope you’ve been well.”

  “Yeah, I sure have! Shauna, can I ask a favor from you?”

  “Depends on what it is.”

  “Well, I made a beer that I’m entering into the competition. Can you just sample it and tell me whether or not I should bother?”

  “I don’t see any harm in that,” she replied. “Lead us to it.”

  Within a few minutes they were at Reuben’s tent. As they entered, they saw the memorial statue and Cam froze. He choked up a bit, remembering when Reuben had given him and Trub a sneak preview of it before unveiling it to GWIBE. Just a year ago, he thought, but so much had changed, even the significance of this statue.

  “Yeah, it brings back some sad memories for me, too,” Reuben sighed forlornly as he grabbed a bottle of his new beer and poured three healthy samples for them.

  Cam eagerly took a sip but then stopped as it hit his taste buds. Whoa….

  “Do you like it, Cam?” Reuben asked. Shauna was still slowly tasting her first sip.

  “I really don’t know, Reuben,” Cam replied with all honesty. “I’ve never had anythin’ like this before. What is it?”

  “Rye ale,” Reuben proudly answered.

  “It can be overwhelming for someone who has never had it before,” Shauna told Cam. “The portion of rye that is substituted for some barley malt lends a heavy, grainy, intense flavor. It’s not for everyone.”

  “What do you think, Shauna?” Reuben asked very eagerly.

  “It’s well-made, Reuben, I can pick it up in the taste,” she informed him. “Go ahead and enter it into competition. It’s certainly good enough.”

  “Thanks, Shauna!” the short man cried. She had made his day, Cam realized, smiling as he thought back to the mediocre amber ale that Reuben had given him and Trub last year.

  Realizing that it was only polite to chitchat a bit while they finished their samples, Cam asked Reuben, “Were you at the openin’ ceremony earlier?”

  “Sure. I don’t think anybody wasn’t, Cam. I was a late arrival, and when I left the settlement I didn’t see another soul anywhere.”

  “That new guy who’s in with Phil Utah, that Duke Lando, he seems kinda interestin’,” Cam remarked, drawing a suspicious look from Shauna.

  “Yeah, he sure is,” Reuben muttered, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial level as if the grasshopper near his feet might be a spy. “I’ve heard a few things from some people here whose opinions I respect and who’ve dealt with him at some point. There are two guys here who have their own little brewpubs back home and have bought malt and such from him.”

  “Yeah? And?”

  “According to both of them, Lando is a hard bargainer. He doesn’t give anybody a break. When you sum up what they said, Lando gets no enjoyment out of a business deal unless he knows that he has fucked you up the ass. Oooops! Shauna, I’m sorry! Please forgive me!”

  “Why do you think he’s here?” Cam grilled him very politely.

  “He must have something cooking,” Reuben whispered, smiling proudly. Cam guessed that this was one of the few times when anybody ever asked his opinion on anything.

  “Cam….” came Shauna’s barely suppressed snarl.

  “Relax, honey, I’m just tryin’ to clarify stuff and put it into proper context.”

  “Bullshit! Cam, you promised!”

  “Yes….yes, I did,” he sighed, draining the last of his sample and setting the cup down. “Reuben, thanks for the beer. Again, your statue is fantastic.”

  “Thanks so much, Cam. I worked long and hard on it, but now it appears like it might be shoved into a corner in some basement to collect dust.”

  “Oh, why’s that?” Cam wondered. Shauna grabbed his arm and began pulling him away. “Speak quickly, Reuben! Time is short!”

  “Phil Utah is trying to get the roll call eliminated. He says nothing should glorify people who died through drunkenness or recklessness, or people like….Trub. He wants it gone, along with this statue commemorating them!”

  “I see!” Cam yelled back, as Shauna now had him about 20 yards away.

  “Oh, and Utah’s new girl is actually Myron Lafley’s replacement at Wassacor. She’s gonna keep the corporate money flowing, and we all know where that’ll lead….”

  “Enough, Reuben!” Shauna screeched, sending the sculptor fleeing.

  A piercing shriek from somewhere up the road prevented Shauna from tearing into Cam once they had gotten underway. They both ran toward the sound. It’s too early for this crap to be starting, Cam told himself. Wait a minute….it was right about this same exact time last year when….

  They saw a crowd in front of Phil Utah’s site. Tom Deville and Clay Sharper arrived at the same time they did. Phil Utah’s new partner, Maria Sanchez, let out another shriek that caused some people to cover their ears.

  “What’s wrong?” someone asked.

  “S-sn-snake!” Sanchez gasped, sobbing, pointing to the area behind the counter of the little stand that Utah had erected beside his tent. Several people, including Cam and Shauna, cautiously walked over to see it.

  “Goddamnit, that’s a rattler!” Ralphie Quinn of the Four Horsemen announced excitedly. The snake, thoroughly agitated, was in a defensive coil and rattling for all it was worth.

  “That’s really cool,” Cam declared. “It’s my first time seein’ a live one.” Shauna gave him a sharp stomp on one foot. “Oww! Goddamnit, will you stop that?!”

  “Somebody do something!” Sanchez cried.

  There was a slight buzz among the crowd as various groups discussed what to do. One woman suggested that everybody leave the snake alone and let it vacate of its own accord, whereby a friend reminded her that the viper might re-locate into her tent. Other ideas were floated, but none seemed to promise a safe and non-venomous outcome.

  “Let me through!” snapped Eight Ball Kowalski of the Four Horsemen, aware that their two female comrades, Aura and Glow, were watching. Pushing back the black plastic framed glasses up on his nose, Kowalski stared at the snake and got halfway into a wrestler’s posture. I’ll be a legend, he guessed, the man who fought rattlesnakes in North Dakota. I’ll gain us at least a couple more chicks for our group, no doubt about it.

  Eight Ball took a few calculated steps toward the rattler. The snake raised its head ever-so-slightly and recoiled even more. Kowalski grinned. Yeah, you’re in a real predicament n
ow, aren’t you, Mr. Snake? He knew exactly the strategy to employ: Use his left hand as bait, and as the snake lunged, withdraw it and sweep around with his right hand in the same motion in an arc that would catch the rattler from behind. At times when he had been bored, Eight Ball had practiced this often.

  Kowalski made his move. However, he had misjudged the reach of the snake, which ignored the hand and lunged directly at the lower part of his shin, getting good penetration with its fangs. After a good second or so of venom delivery, the snake released and recoiled.

  “Aaaaaaaaaagh!” Eight Ball screamed. “I’m bit! I’m dying….oh God, I’m dying!”

  “You’ve got time!” Duke Lando sneered as he made his way to the front of the crowd. “There’s a hospital about 30 minutes from here. Get this stupid bastard over there!”

  The other three horsemen picked their buddy up and carted him off, accompanied by Aura and Glow. “Oh Eddie, you have to stop being so macho!” Aura said soothingly. Within a minute they were gone.

  “Make way, folks,” came a voice from inside the crowd as a tall, lean and rugged-looking man made his way to the front and came to a stop only about five feet from the snake. He turned partially to address the crowd. “I’ll take care of this,” he told them.

  “Who are you?” some woman in the crowd asked. “We’ve never seen you before.”

  “It’s not really that important,” the man sighed with just a little irritation, “but my name is Cutter, Tex Cutter.”

  “Tex? So you’re from Texas?” someone else asked.

  “No, I’m actually from New Mexico,” Cutter replied. “Don’t ask questions. I’m new to this thing, that’s why you don’t know me. Anyway, I’ll deal with this problem.” He reached underneath his shirt and withdrew the hidden pistol that he always carried. Carefully inspecting the cylinder of the .38 caliber snub-nosed revolver to make sure that it was fully loaded with six shots, he moved a little closer to the rattler, raised the gun and lined the viper up neatly in his sights.

  Crack! Crack! Two shots into the snake moved it a bit. Although writhing, it still wasn’t dead. The harsh noise of the shots caused even some of the experienced GWIBErs to flinch. Crack! Crack! Two more shots finished off the rattler, which now lay quietly in a heap.