New Brew

by Mark Lashway

  “Your brown ale had just one main flaw,” the middle judge finally declared. “It needed a bit more hopping to distinguish it from a mild ale. However, despite that, we’ve all agreed that your brew has a lot of promise, since it was solid in all other respects. You get a pass.”

  Polite applause was scattered throughout the crowd as the victorious woman yelped with delight. Cam was relieved. Although men getting bombarded with garbage didn’t really bother him, the sight of a woman being so humiliated would.

  “We have a special entry this year,” the middle judge informed the audience, “although this one didn’t need to go through the screening process. We ask that you stay around as we welcome Abbot John, the head of the nearby monastery. Abbot John, come on up and show us your wares.”

  A hush fell over the crowd as Abbot John got up and brought his small cooler up to the judges’ table. Unlike most other people, the feeling of having everyone’s eyes on him didn’t faze him in the least. He carefully pulled out two bottles of the abbey’s beer, set them on the table and then stood back slightly, knowing the ritual. The pourer smiled greedily, stepped forward and proceeded to pop the caps off the bottles. There was the slight hiss of escaping pressure.

  “What style of beer did you bring, Father?” the judge on the right asked.

  “It is a dubbel,” the abbot replied, naming a style of abbey ale that experienced beer drinkers would have heard of.

  “Very interesting,” the same judge mumbled, clearly intrigued. “We don’t see many of those come through here, and the ones that do usually aren’t very good. But if it’s made by monks, then I’m betting it’ll be really good.”

  Abbot John merely smiled. The pourer gave out slightly bigger samples than normal, but clearly the biggest for himself, drawing disgusted looks from the judges and even the crowd. That man is no fool, Cam laughed to himself. He’s probably betting quite right, too.

  The samples were consumed much more slowly than usual, Cam noticed. The looks of pure joy on the judges’ faces said it all. When they gave out moans of satisfaction that sounded like sexual climax, though, he thought that it was a bit much. Excitement rippled through the crowd. A few less disciplined individuals began moving forward toward the judges’ table before they were turned back by the enforcers bearing cattle prods.

  “This….is….a gift from God!” the middle judge cried. “This is the best dubbel I’ve ever had!” Abbot John nodded modestly, embarrassed for him.

  “This will undoubtedly win big at the regular competition!” the judge on the left said.

  The whole thing was now over and the crowd began to disperse, some people giving the abbot a congratulatory pat on the back, sucking up in hopes of a sample, although the pourer had taken enough for himself as to make this impossible. Abbot John had a pleased expression, his plan of using the event as word-of-mouth advertising having succeeded. Cam approached him and smiled at the great impression that the cleric had made.

  “I’ve saved a few bottles, Cam,” the abbot told him with a wink. “We’ll open them back at Sonny’s place, then I have to be on my way back to the abbey.”

  “Sounds great!” Cam replied. Suddenly, he saw the abbot stiffen. Jerking around quickly, he saw Duke Lando near on entrance, staring at them with an amused but menacing look. Duke Lando, Flemwalloo Imports, just the kind of outfit that would want….wait a minute. I’ll bet that Lando was who Abbot John was referring to when he said there were ‘ethical concerns’ with people who were interested in the abbey’s beer. It makes sense. I’ve got to find out more. I just have to make sure that Shauna doesn’t catch on….

  -10-

  It was a few hours after Abbot John’s triumph and darkness had fallen. The GWIBE nightlife was really picking up at this point, as usual. All of the attendees had shown up by now and everything was in full swing. The only people not roaming around were those several score of individuals who had drank to the roll and were now mostly lying unconscious in puddles of vomit, urine or both. It had all been done as a tribute.

  Betty strode leisurely along the edge of the settlement, wondering where to go. Smoothing her hair into place, she couldn’t wait to have a drink, her legs feeling uncomfortably warm. Although she wore baggy pants that would leave anybody guessing as to her true figure, she had shaved her legs anyway. Any sight of hair just wouldn’t do. Any normal woman would have been deeply hurt by some of the comments that men had made when she’d passed by, such as “ugly-assed woman” and “no man could ever get drunk enough to do that one”. To add injury to insult, the shave had not gone well, her legs nicked in several places and feeling the razor burn.

  You know what? she told herself. Forget Little Germany. I’ll just wander some and see where I end up. Maybe I’ll stop in and see Wayne and Linda. Maybe Sal, too. As she suddenly turned onto another path, Cam caught sight of her from a few hundred feet away and stared at the fading figure.

  “Why are you staring at that woman?” Shauna asked, frowning.

  “Relax. It’s nothin’ like that,” he muttered. “I’m just curious about her. I’ve been seein’ her around here and there. Some people know her name, but nothin’ else, it seems. She sure as hell wasn’t around last year.”

  “So what? She’s new, that’s all. People come, people go, especially at GWIBE.”

  “Yep, you’re right. So, we’re goin’ to Little Germany, right?”

  “If that’s what you want,” she sighed.

  Streicher’s place was half-full when they arrived, which was great turnout considering how many places there were to hang out and drink, Cam figured. The Stardust Boys were there, and they gave a friendly wave to them. The Four Horsemen were also present, Eight Ball Kowalski limping noticeably and wearing a dressing over the area on his leg where the rattler had latched on to him. Aura and Glow, their female buddies, stayed close to them. The Germans’ girlfriends also remained close by. It was so different from last year, Cam thought wistfully. Several men had now acquired mates, and in doing so had become more restrained and less fun. Oh well, change is inevitable, he reminded himself.

  It would be quite a chore getting to the bar, Cam realized, seeing the throng of people around it. He really wanted a beer, too. However, they were saved when Bobby Bobb appeared from nowhere with two freshly poured cups of beer that Streicher had sent. They held the cups up to salute the hospitable Bavarians, who only had time to wave.

  Cam sipped the beer, which he didn’t recognize. It was only mildly dark, almost certainly a lager, and that was all he knew. When the taste hit him, he realized that it was a style that the Germans hadn’t given him last year.

  “Whoa, this is good….really good,” Cam said, knowing that if it was being handed out before any competitions, then there was probably an even better version sitting in Streicher’s reefer. Oh my God, I can’t wait to taste that one!

  “It’s bock, another traditional German style,” Bobb told him. “Hey, Cam, is the abbot still around with his beer?”

  “Afraid not, Bobby. He brought the last few bottles to Sonny’s tent and we enjoyed them very much.”

  “Shit! I really wanted to try it. Is he coming back sometime?”

  “Yeah. He’ll enter that dubbel into the competition. As a matter of fact, he’ll be invitin’ some of us over to the abbey….” Cam’s voice trailed off as he realized his terrible mistake.

  “Oh really?” That’s very interesting!” Bobb cried, smiling weirdly.

  “Bobby….”

  Both men noticed the abrupt silence that had fallen over the place as their voices were about the only things that they heard. Staring around, they saw everyone looking over at the main entrance, where Tom Deville and Clay Sharper stood, looking troublesome.

  “What the fuck are you clowns doing here?” Richie Hobbs of the Stardust Boys snarled, setting down his beer along with his other compatriots. They were ready to fight, but two of their girlfriends got in front of them.

  “Oh, we’re just checking out
the place at Phil’s & Maria’s request, making sure things are staying orderly,” Deville announced with a smirk. “Remember what Ned Inkwell said!”

  “Get out!” Streicher roared, his booming voice causing some people to flinch. Their mission accomplished, the two quickly took off into the darkness, laughing.

  Eight Ball Kowalski muttered to his colleagues as things returned to normal, “Men, I think we need to intervene. Those two are up to no good, obviously, and I think that the good guys are going to be overmatched.”

  “Eddie, you were overmatched by a snake,” Ralphie Quinn muttered.

  “But it was incredibly cunning and obviously very experienced,” Eight Ball countered.

  “Eddie, I don’t know….” Wally the Preacher mumbled.

  “Come on, guys!” Aura exclaimed. “Just try to have some fun and soothe your psyche. After all, Billy won $1000 on that scratch off on the way back from the hospital. Isn’t that a sign of mounting good fortune in your life force? Why go down the path of negativity by engaging in dark actions with those two, who just give off malevolent vibes?”

  “Besides, you guys really need to mellow for a while,” Glow added. “From what you’ve told us, you four got off really lightly for the things you did last year.”

  “Oh boy, did we,” Wally conceded.

  “Fortune smiled upon you,” Glow continued, “but that smile can just as quickly turn to a frown. Never take the light forces for granted when they are shining.”

  The Four Horsemen all agreed that what the two women had told them was nothing less than good, pure common sense. They dropped any idea of imminent action.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  “Wow, that was exciting!” Maria Sanchez cried as Tex Cutter gently took the revolver from her hand, unlatched the cylinder and ejected the spent shells out onto the ground. They were at a lonely spot almost five miles away from GWIBE, a place he’d felt would be a good place to teach her some shooting and then, hopefully, better things. Yep, let a girl shoot a gun and it puts her in the mood….

  “That was a great experience,” she continued. I don’t know why I was afraid of guns. Thank you, Tex.”

  “No problem,” he replied, smiling. “I’m just curious about one thing, darling. Why did you want me to pick you up way outside of GWIBE, after dusk?”

  “It’s because of the image I need to maintain,” she quickly replied to put him at ease. “You see, Wassacor is a very uptight company, always concerned about its public profile. It wouldn’t look good for a vice president to be seen getting into a truck with a man and especially seen shooting a gun.” Preserve good old Wassacor’s image at all costs, she thought.

  “I kind of figured that,” he sighed, popping the cylinder back into the revolver and shoving the gun into his pocket. “Oh, by the way, there was something else I wanted to ask you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I was on my laptop earlier and I did a search of Wassacor to try to find out more about you. In that section where they gave profiles of their management, I searched your name and it came right up. The only thing is, it came up with some other woman’s picture.”

  “Yeah, I know. No surprise there. The guy responsible for the web page is totally incompetent. There are so many mistakes….never mind. Let’s not go down that road.”

  She looked at him in anticipation. Tex, experienced woman hunter, picked up on it and knew that it was time to move. He drew closer to her, put one arm around her waist, leaned in and kissed her very delicately.

  Maria drew back a little at first, then stopped, waiting. He kissed her again, much longer this time. He felt her quiver a little, then she drew back again.

  “Lie down,” she commanded, her voice becoming irregular.

  “You want to make out on the ground?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Certainly not, darling. Anything for you.” Goddamnit, I really like this one! “Do you want me to take my shirt off or anything?”

  “Not right now. Let’s take it slow.”

  He did what she wanted, lying down on the ground on his back. Maria tied up her hair and then went down to him, straddling him. She rubbed her hands on his chest, then said, “Close your eyes and just feel me while I work.”

  Again, he did what she wanted and was rewarded as he felt her lean down on him, feeling her warm breath as she nibbled on one earlobe. Then she moved over and fully kissed him. Tex was ready for action now, and he figured that she was well on the way. There was a brief, almost cold feeling as she drew away once more before moving back down to him.

  “I have a confession to make,” she whispered, rubbing one side of his face with a hand.

  “You’re not really a dyke?” he chuckled.

  “Nope.” Tex began smiling, but it was cut short as a cold and very sharp pain erupted in his left side. He tried to scream, but it was muffled as Maria now had one hand over his mouth, struggling to maintain the grip and not be rolled over by his much larger, thrashing body. She pushed on the stiletto even harder, angling it up underneath the rib cage as far as she could.

  The thrashing continued for a minute more as Tex Cutter fought for his life, but he’d weakened and it was too late. She was able to keep control of the situation, and he died.

  Getting up, she caught her breath. It had been a close call. If he’d gotten the least suspicion, she would’ve been unable to take him. Brushing any debris off herself, she coolly went to work destroying any evidence that she might have left. She took the revolver out of Tex’s pocket and wiped it down with a tissue that she always had in her pocket. Since he had done all of the loading and unloading, none of her prints would be on the spent shells lying on the ground. Then she wiped down the few areas of his truck where her fingerprints might be.

  “It’s too bad,” she whispered to the corpse, “because I really did like you, Tex. But I have a second confession to make: I’m not Maria Sanchez, either.”

  Checking the area one last time to make sure that she hadn’t overlooked anything, the woman known to state police in California as Cheryl Ramirez began the long walk back to GWIBE in the darkness, well off the road. Hopefully, she wouldn’t encounter anything creepy on the open plain. When she got back, she would have to make Duke Lando aware of this major complication.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  “So, you’re sure that things are pretty tame for now?” Phil Utah asked hopefully as he looked at Tom Deville and Clay Sharper. “Ned Inkwell will probably want an update soon on the situation here and I’ve love to tell him that GWIBE is orderly and safe.”

  “Yeah, Clay and I just finished checking out the whole site,” Deville informed him, giving Utah an encouraging smile. “Nothing too much out of bounds.”

  “I really appreciate the work that you two are doing on this,” Utah told them.

  “Well, we really support your efforts to change GWIBE to a more mainstream and respectable event,” Sharper replied. “You keep pushing and we’ll keep working.”

  “Oh gosh, that’s great!” Utah exclaimed. “I really should have made much more use of your abilities last year, looking back on it.”

  “Ah, well, hindsight is 20-20,” Deville observed. “Besides, we weren’t as motivated last year as we are now, you know?”

  “Gee whiz, things are brightening up again!” Utah cried. “Another thing I really appreciate is the way you two helped salvage enough of our efforts here at GWIBE to have some presence this year. I mean after things fell through for Wainscott, Missouri, I thought that we were totally out. Who did you talk to….”

  “It’s not really important,” Deville cut him off nonchalantly. “We spoke to a few key people and made them see reason, made them see that they needed somebody who organizes things and, more importantly, brings in a bit of money to help pay for stuff. Money smooths over a lot of things, Phil. Besides, now and then you have to retreat a little in order to save the day. When you regain strength, then yo
u push forward again.”

  “You’re right, you’re absolutely right!” Utah laughed. “There’s one question I have to ask you guys, however, and that is: How did we end up in this part of North Dakota?”

  “That I can’t tell you,” Deville admitted with a sheepish look. Sharper shook his head to indicate that he didn’t know, either. “Dale Sassie and those asshole Stardust Boys were the big bulls on a place up north. I can only speculate that they chose this place because it was far enough away from your choice to show that you didn’t win.”

  “That would probably be about right,” Utah sighed. “Little people with their pettiness.”

  “Maybe,” Sharper said. “No matter. So, what do you have in mind, Phil, for the next week and half that we’re here?”

  “Maintain our ground,” Utah replied without hesitation.

  “Phil, as much as I respect your judgement,” Deville remarked, looking a bit more serious, “I think you’re shooting way too low. C’mon, show some balls, for Christ’s sake! Maintain our ground? You need to do a lot more than that!”

  “Yeah!” Sharper added. “You’ve got to show that all the bullshit that was pulled last year isn’t gonna stop you. Show them that nothing fazed you, that you keep on pushing forward and making progress! Get aggressive to where people start calling you Phil ‘The Fucking Steamroller’ Utah!”

  “You have a big advantage this year, Phil,” Deville reminded him. “You have Ned Inkwell and the threat of the state police on your side. Use that! Use that to seize power and get total control of GWIBE! Your time has arrived, Phil. Seize the moment!”

  “You’re absolutely right again!” Utah cried, shaking a fist in the air, his eyes crazed with passion. “The setbacks were just the darkness before the dawn, and I didn’t even realize it! You made me see the light, gentlemen. Thank you! I’m refreshed and ready to get back into action.”