New Brew

by Mark Lashway

  “Cam, no….”

  “You’ll see that I’m doin’ you a favor, believe me. I was just as skeptical last year. Just show them that you’re a regular guy and not some uptight, martinet prick. You’ll gain a little acceptance. At least you won’t have to drink to the roll like I did last year. That damned near killed me, that charmin’ little ritual.”

  “Yeah, but Jeanne Lamp….”

  “Will stand out like a sore thumb from a quarter-mile away, so we’ll see her comin’.”

  “For the last time, Witter, no!”

  Cam just sighed but said nothing. There was no point in pushing Inkwell any more. Obviously, the investigator hadn’t reached that milestone yet whereby he would have to accept reality and do things the GWIBE way.

  “Tell you what, Ned. You go look up Dale Sassie and do it your way. I have to get back to my wife anyway, and hope that she doesn’t smell a rat. Good luck.”

  Inkwell said nothing, merely giving Cam a curt nod and dismissive smile. Oh well, that was to be expected, Cam reminded himself. He’s not as willing to take chances as I was last year, which probably means he has more brains than I do….

  Cam began walking away but was quickly intercepted by Shauna, and his wife was wearing a clearly irritated look.

  “Where have you been?” she asked.

  “Oh, I just had breakfast and then Ned Inkwell approached me,” he replied. Good old forthrightness was the best defense against her constant paranoia, he figured.

  “Oh?”

  “Honey, it was nothin’, really. I just told Inkwell about what he has to do to gain some acceptance around here and then pointed him in Dale Sassie’s direction to get some info.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Hopefully, at least he will have enough sense not to get sucked in.”

  “Yeah, hon, hopefully.” There. I was wondering how long it would take her to say it. That’s so typical of a woman, though….they always have to have something to hang over a man’s head. They don’t regret a man’s fuckups, they love them! That’s why they usually don’t leave a man over them. Hey, I’ve got this all figured out.

  “Hello, Cam,” came a man’s voice, snapping him out of his thoughts. He looked and saw Tom Deville and Clay Sharper. Neither man smiled at him, but didn’t give him any smirks or dirty looks, either. He maintained a neutral expression, just like they did.

  “Do you think that things will be a lot calmer this year?” Sharper asked.

  “Hope so, but it’s too soon to tell,” Cam replied.

  “Yep. Well, we have things to do,” Deville announced. “See you folks around.”

  “Quite a change for them,” Shauna remarked after the two men were gone. “Do you think that maybe they’ve mellowed out too, after last year?”

  “Nope. They’re up to somethin’.”

  “How do you know that for sure?”

  “I don’t. It’s my instincts yellin’ to me. Like my Grandpa Witter once told me, you can’t change the rings on a raccoon.”

  “Isn’t that just a variation of a leopard doesn’t change its spots?”

  “Maybe, but you have to consider that Grandpa Witter never went outside the states in his life, so he didn’t know anythin’ about leopards.”

  -12-

  Cam took a slow sip from his beer as he sat on the metal bleachers inside the demo area, waiting for the first competition to start. Learning from last year, when he had agonized from the stands for not having something to drink during the contest, this time he had made sure to visit Little Germany one last time to scrounge a few of the Bavarians’ delicious brews. Shauna had been disapproving, as expected, but he had been determined. It would be grand indeed to have some wonderful brews to quaff while watching the drama of the competition.

  This first one would be the helles category, following the same pattern as last year. As he watched the contestants milling about, waiting, Cam noticed that Roger Kwik was entered in it again this year, as well as Gerhard, Tina Halbuck, and four others. He eagerly anticipated the mounting tension which would be followed by the tastings, the ruthless and cutthroat commentary, and the ever-present potential for violence by a sore loser. The best part would be the reward of receiving cups of the Germans’ array of beers in exchange for cheering them on. I can be bought as a friend….and I’m OK with that.

  The competition was clearly going to begin soon as the judges, including Shauna, now walked into the tent and Phil Utah tested the microphone. Cam gazed around the tent and could see a lot of familiar faces from last year. It seemed like the place was even more packed than last time, he thought with some trepidation, since he had never liked being in the midst of large numbers of people. By the time that things were finished tonight, it would feel like a steam bath inside this tent, even though the wall flaps were rolled up. It was standing room only now, people trying to cram in to catch the action. He congratulated himself for getting here early.

  The person next to him, so drunk that he barely sat upright, suddenly got up and took off, probably to puke his guts out, Cam figured. The man’s place was immediately snatched by a familiar face. “Reuben!” Cam yelled in order to be heard above the racket. “Good to see you! I was actually lonely here all by myself. Last year I had….”

  “Yeah, I miss Trub too, Cam. Here’s something you probably didn’t know: Four years ago I was a newbie, just like you were last year. Trub took me in hand and showed me the way.”

  Cam swallowed hard, looking away. That doesn’t surprise me at all. Trub had such an interest in getting newbies into the life and took such joy in seeing them become brewers in their own right. Murderer or not, he was good to people and wanted to see them enjoy themselves.

  “Attention! Attention!” Phil Utah cried, struggling to be heard above the noise. Although almost the entire crowd booed, Cam welcomed the distraction from his thoughts. “It is time to start this evening’s competitions. The first category will be the helles. Gee, just think a moment about the origins….”

  “Shut up, you fucking asshole!” somebody screamed.

  “Die, Phil, die!” yelled another.

  “Ha ha ha! What a bunch of jokers! I love you folks, do you know that? Yeah, I know that all of you stood by while I was about to be brutally knifed last year, but I put it down to the fact that you were all blotto drunk and couldn’t respond….”

  “No, we wanted you to be killed!” came another voice from the crowd. An empty bottle flew from the audience and whizzed by Utah’s head. The Ace Brewing rep, having more experience dealing with mobs than almost anyone alive, remained nonplussed.

  “You know, sometimes I feel like a missionary stuck with a hopeless assignment in the jungle trying to convert heathens,” Utah sighed.

  “And we’re fucking headhunters! Get it now?” yelled some smartass in the crowd.

  “Sometime before this event is over, we’re all going to sit down and come to an understanding based on mutual respect,” Utah announced. The crowd groaned. “However, for now, we need to get on with the helles competition. We have seven contestants for this one and the judges have indicated that they are ready to begin. So let’s get it on, folks! A round of applause for our contestants!” The audience turned respectful again and applauded loudly.

  The pourer of the brews set to work, pouring samples from the first entry and passing them first to the judges, then the contestants, and finally a bigger one for himself. Although he had seen a lot of it before, Cam still had to marvel at the pourer’s quick, efficient and perfect dispensing of the samples, along with the dramatic air he put on. Cam figured that they might well be justified in charging entry fees for these shows.

  “Ach! This is a satisfying helles,” Gerhard Streicher declared, giving an approving nod to its creator, a man whom Cam didn’t recognize from last year. That was it. No cutthroat remark, not even a backhanded compliment. That was the only comment. Cam found it all puzzling.

  Shauna nodded to the pourer, who went to the second entry, which consi
sted of three bottles. He expertly popped the caps off and dispensed the same perfectly poured samples.

  The second entry was clearly not as good. Cam saw a slight frown from one of the judges and grimaces from the contestants. Even the pourer of the brews took only one gulp. Other than that, however, there were no reactions. Gerhard didn’t even pour the rest of his sample onto the ground, as he had with poor Bobby Bobb last year. This is turning out to be a real bore, Cam thought. What’s up with this?

  It continued on like this until there were only three competitors left: Gerhard, Tina Halbuck and Roger Kwik. Trying to gin up a little excitement in a competition that had been a real dud so far, Phil Utah took center stage again after the fourth contestant had finished.

  “The last three contestants in the helles category are all well-known from last year!” Utah proclaimed with just a bit too much hype. “Tina Halbuck, who came from nowhere to nab second place last year! Roger Kwik, who seeks redemption after being upset last year! And Gerhard Streicher, a real king of the beasts in the lager jungle! Pourer of the brews, please dispense the entry from Tina Halbuck!”

  Nobody booed Utah, probably from appreciation of his efforts to turn this into something. The pourer methodically cranked out the samples from Halbuck’s keg and passed them all around. Her beer was clearly better than the previous ones, as the pourer, now a bellweather for every entry, wore a look of joy and drank down the entire pint that he had poured himself.

  “Ach! This is a worthy helles,” Gerhard said. “Your brew brings me almost as much joy as does your presence, my love.”

  There was dead silence throughout the audience. Cam sat there, stunned, mouth agape like so many other people there. Shauna was the exception, wearing a broad smile and giving out one of those ooooh-isn’t-that-so-sweet kinds of looks. Roger Kwik looked over at Cam with a very appalled look, knowing that he was part of Streicher’s circle. Cam just raised both hands with palms out, wearing a baffled look. Don’t ask me….

  “OK….mmm….well, let’s move on, shall we?” Utah cut in, thinking quickly. “Pourer of the brews, please give out the samples for Roger Kwik’s entry.”

  As the pourer did his business, Cam looked around the tent. The audience still appeared quite gloomy. There were now some empty seats as a few people had already left, something that would have been unthinkable before.

  “I did a lot of work on my helles recipe,” Kwik announced, trying to deal with this disaster in the making and salvage something from what he hoped would be a night of triumph for him. Cam noticed that the arrogant asshole from last year was gone.

  As the judges sampled Kwik’s entry, a few gave very pleased expressions, except for Shauna, who as usual gave nothing away. Cam looked toward the pourer, who gave out a happy groan and drained a full pint in one long swig. Kwik had definitely scored well with this one. The judges had their usual brief huddle, scribbled on their scorecards and then waited for Utah.

  “Uh oh, can we sense an imminent upset? Or will our last entry, Gerhard Striecher’s, hold on for victory in a tight contest?” Utah cried like he was announcing an episode for a soap opera. The audience, though, desperate for any bit of drama, didn’t only not boo him, they actually began whistling, hooting and howling in support. Utah was gratified for once. “Pourer of the brews! One more time, sir!”

  “Do you think that maybe Gerhard is just playing a game here?” Reuben asked Cam as they watched the pourer go through his routine. “You know, the cat toying with the mouse?”

  “Christ, I hope so!” Cam muttered. “This has been a big nothin’ so far.” He spotted Sonny and Helen sitting about 30 feet away from him. Helen had one hand over her mouth while Lombardo just sat there looking up at the ceiling. Yeah, and you two probably thought you’d already seen it all….

  The samples had been poured and were now being sipped. One judge gave a brief nod when he tasted Gerhard’s helles, but that was it. Not even the pourer gave away much. After they had finished, the judges went into one more huddle and then scribbled things on the scorecards. Within a few minutes, Shauna gathered up the scores and handed them to Phil Utah.

  Utah raised the mike to his mouth, although so many people had left by now that he could have easily been heard without it. He smiled bravely despite this anti-climactic turn of events.

  “The results are in!” Utah announced. “First of all, I would like to thank every contestant here, no matter where they place. Their participation is vital to the success of these events.”

  Yeah, they’re filler, Cam thought rather ungraciously. It adds time and drama to it. Otherwise, the damned thing would be over in 10 minutes….

  “After tallying the scores, the results are these,” Utah continued. “Third place, the winner of the white ribbon, goes to….Tina Halbuck!” Halbuck looked a little deflated at the result from what Cam could see, as she had finished second last year. She gave a noncommittal smile as Utah handed her the award.

  The remaining audience began to buzz a little at the impending showdown, sensing that it really came down to Streicher and Kwik. Maybe there would be a little action yet.

  “The second place winner, the winner of the red ribbon, is….Gerhard Streicher!” A whoosh of air came from the crowd as they gasped at the unexpected result. Roger Kwik wore a very small, nervous smile, hoping that this would be his breakthrough.

  “Oh, Gerhard, honey, I’m so sorry that you didn’t win,” Tina cooed as she patted Streicher’s cheek. “But you know what? You’ll always be a winner with me. You’re my big, gruff teddy bear!”

  “With your love, I can deal with this defeat,” Gerhard told her. “After all, winning isn’t everything. True love is more important.”

  Now people began streaming out in batches, the remainder seemingly glued to their seats like an audience watching a horror movie too terrible and too fascinating to leave. Cam looked around the area once more, this time noticing the blonde woman, Betty, over at the far entrance with her face turned away, but her head clearly drooped with sadness.

  “Mmm….yes….heh, heh, that’s nice,” Utah said, taking center stage again, appearing eager to end the ghastly spectacle. “Well, we’ve come down to the big moment, folks! Without making everyone wait any longer….and I’m sure that absolutely nobody here wants this to be drawn out any longer….I will announce the winner. By decision of the judges, this year’s winner in the helles category, the blue ribbon, goes to….Roger Kwik!”

  Kwik let out a brief yelp of delight, but that was all. His victory was a hollow one indeed, ruined by the sickening displays of affection between two of his main foes. Utah gave him a broad smile as he pinned the award on Kwik’s shirt and asked the remaining audience for some applause for the winner. They readily did so, but the place now was taking on the feel of a dying town. The crowd had dwindled to a few dozen souls by now.

  “Well, folks, there will be a half-hour break, and then we’ll start the next competition!” Utah announced. “I’m sure that in the future, Gerhard will come back strong….”. Utah’s voice trailed off as he saw most of the people shaking their heads before leaving. He was an emcee gamely trying to rev up the audience again after a really bad act.

  Thankfully, most of the few people left were too shocked and eager to escape the horrid scene to notice the pathetic sight of Cam remaining glued to his seat, face buried in his hands and his body heaving as he wept. Reuben patted him consolingly on the back.

  “He….he was a god to me!” Cam sobbed. “Reuben, do you know what it’s like to see a god turn out to be just an average lug? Huh?”

  “It’s a shit world we live in, Cam,” Reuben muttered. “What’s it coming to? When Germans are into love more than beer, then what’s left to believe in anymore?”

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  A few hours had passed and Cam was wandering aimlessly. The lager competitions were still going on, although it was almost over for tonight. He had gone back to a second competition, this time involving Johann, h
oping for some of the old stuff, but to no avail. Kopp had acted every bit as sickening as Streicher had, and Cam had walked out early this time. Last year, he would have been wandering with Trub or hanging out at Little Germany about this time. Both of those were impossibilities now, so he didn’t really know what to do with himself, as Shauna was still judging at the competitions.

  Reuben accompanied him the whole time, and Cam found him to be a very agreeable sort to be around. The little man, as it turned out, was not only a talented sculptor, but also a gunsmith who was an avid reader and took a great interest in cooking fine food. He entertained Cam with colorful stories from past GWIBEs that Cam hadn’t heard before.

  As they walked along the main road, Cam noticed a gathering of people under a very large canopy situated on a side path. Reuben looked at him and Cam just nodded. Might as well check it out. There’s nothing else to do right now….

  There was still room enough for the two new arrivals to fit in easily. As they walked in, they could see that most people were gathered around a man who turned out to be Roger Kwik, who was holding court after his victory earlier. Kwik nodded to them and asked one of his friends to pour the two some beer from his prize-winning keg.

  “Roger, congratulations,” Cam told him, extending his hand. Kwik shook it slowly with a forlorn look on his face.

  “Thanks, Cam, Reuben,” Kwik replied in a very muted tone. “It’s not how I wanted to win it, though. It’s a tarnished victory in my eyes.”

  “I know,” Cam mumbled. “I think everybody feels let down. We all thought it was comin’ down to you and Gerhard in a real battle of giants, but I think you beat him easily.”

  “I thought it was going to be a squeaker, too,” Kwik explained, “just between me and him. I knew I was gonna beat the girl this year with no problem, and thought it would be the two of us going down to the scorecards, but….”