by Mark Lashway
They stopped at a stand that sold homebrewing equipment, the weathered, faded boards of the structure standing in stark contrast to the sparkling new gadgets and stainless steel devices on display and lengths of clear plastic tubing hanging in circular bundles on wall hooks. It was all very impressive to them, especially when the vendor took the time to explain the functions of some of the gear when they asked questions.
As they walked away, Lyle said, “That was something, Frank. This homebrewing thing is like a field of its own, you know? I knew this guy out in Telluride a long time ago who made his own beer. He boiled some syrup out of a can in some water, then cooled it and dumped it into a plastic bucket, then added this packet of yeast. Then he put a lid on it with an airlock. He was so excited about it, and some of us couldn’t wait to try it out. Well, it tasted like shit. It was sour, and didn’t have much carbonation. I hope it’s better now.”
“If that gear is any indication, it is,” Frank replied. “Besides, have you seen all of the beer moving around this place? Everybody we’ve seen has got one in their hand. They wouldn’t be doing that if it was shit.”
“Good point. Damn it, do you see that guy right over there holding that beer up? Doesn’t that look good? We’re hot as hell, sweating like crazy….it would be good to have one of those.”
Almost as if he had heard them, although the distance made this impossible, the blonde-haired man holding the beer looked toward them. He saw their thirsty looks, smiled and waved them over. They smiled back and walked over.
“Mister, I’ve never seen a beer look so beautiful in my life,” Lyle said. Extending a hand to shake, he added, “My name is Lyle. This is Frank.”
“Pleased to meet you guys. My name is Dale…..Dale Sassie. Come on over here and let me pour you both a nice, cold brew. You look like you could use one….or several.”
“You bet!” Frank chuckled. They watched as Sassie quickly dispensed two large plastic cups full of a pale amber beer and handed them to them. Both men noticed right off that the beers had a perfect amount of head. They gave each other a quick look, awestruck.
“So, you guys are newbies, eh?” Sassie asked, though his look indicated that he already knew the answer.
“Yeah, how did you know?” Lyle asked, surprised.
“I know the faces,” Sassie told them. “Besides, you have that typical look that new people usually have around here.”
“I’ll bet we do!” Frank answered, laughing.
“Drink up, guys,” Sassie softly commanded, “while it’s still cold.”
Both men took small, tentative sips, remembering Lyle’s tale of the lousy homebrew of the past but hoping that this would be different. It was. Sassie discreetly watched their reactions as the taste hit them, then knew from their reactions that he had scored.
“Christ Almighty!” Frank gasped. “This is incredible! Lyle, do….”
“Yeah, Frank,” Lyle shot back before taking a large gulp. “Wow! I can’t believe that homemade beer could be better than the stuff I buy out of the store, but this….”
“Thanks,” Sassie replied, showing some modesty. “Don’t be bashful, you two. Drink ‘em down, there’s plenty more where those came from.”
“Great! Hey, thanks for the hospitality, by the way. We’ll have another. Your brews are very comforting, you know?”
At 7.7% alcohol, they should be, Sassie thought. It’s so easy to reel in these new fish. By the time it’s over I’ll have both of them converted. I like these guys, even if they do look like a pair of goons.
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Cam felt his face go beet-red as they stared at the bloody scene. Shauna, Sonny, Helen and Reuben stood beside him among the dozens of people watching local EMTs and their own GWIBE first responders work on the casualties that were spread over about a 50-yard stretch of the main road. One man, whom they knew to be Jan Vosloo’s pal, appeared to be the most seriously injured, his head and torso bandaged as the medical personnel lifted his gurney into the ambulance. The other injured were less serious, although not a single one had less than facial bruising or split knuckles. The great majority of the wounded were lying on the ground awaiting medical attention, blood and sweat flowing freely under the hot afternoon sun.
“Well, Witter, what do you have to say about this,” Inkwell asked as he seemed to come out of nowhere. “Hmmm?”
“Why should I have anythin’ to say about it?” Cam retorted quite defensively.
“Well, I overheard a little among the war vets here before they saw me and shut up. I heard that you gave Little Germany such a pep talk that it inspired them to go out and regain their lost honor. We’ll call this scene Exhibit 1.”
“Cam, is this true?” Shauna asked, letting go of his arm and staring at him accusingly.
“Well, I didn’t mean….”
“Cam! How could you?” she cried.
“Honey, it wasn’t what I intended. The key concept is, I meant well. Surely that has to count for somethin’!”
“What did you say to them?”
“I don’t remember the exact words. I just tried to get them to seek greatness again.”
“Yeah, you sure did, Witter, by nursing a German sense of grievance and their thirst for revenge,” Inkwell sighed. “Even I know by now the whole Germans and Belgians beer feud. What were you thinking?”
Cam mumbled, “It was really a good faith effort. What’s important is that I was sincere.”
“I might have this whole thing shut down now,” Inkwell muttered, loud enough for many people in the vicinity to hear.
“You’ll have to get the National Guard in here to do that!” Sonny growled.
“I can arrange that if I have to!” Inkwell came back at him.
Shauna stared at her husband for a moment, but said nothing. Then she turned and began walking away.
“Shauna….” Cam pleaded, but she held up one hand. She didn’t want to hear it.
“Mr. Inkwell!” came that familiar voice as Phil Utah came to the scene, not wearing his toothy smile. “I just heard the awful news and rushed right over. Now you can see how right I was about the things I told you about this event.”
“Yeah. I was just kicking around the idea of shutting this thing down,” Inkwell replied.
“Well, Mr. Inkwell, may I make a suggestion that wouldn’t be as drastic as that?” Utah asked him. “I don’t think that everyone here at GWIBE should be punished for the actions of a few troublemakers….errr….I mean a sizable number of people, but still a minority.”
“I don’t know,” Inkwell muttered. “What do you have in mind?”
“I was thinking that the people involved in this brawl could be expelled and given until midnight to pack up and be off site….”
“That’s an internal disciplinary matter for GWIBE,” Inkwell told him.
“Mmmm, well, OK, then. Another step I would suggest is that you provide a heavier police presence here as my people impose rules and conditions….”
“I’ll think about that, but it won’t be immediate,” Inkwell said. He stopped at the curious sight of two men about 30 feet away, both battered and bloody, with their arms around each other and smiling in Inkwell’s direction. I could swear that those two were threatening each other just a minute ago, Inkwell told himself. One belongs to Little Germany, the other to Belgium Town. Yeah, put on your kiss-and-make-up routine, you clowns….
“Utah’s fucking dead,” the pro-German brawler whispered to the other man.
“Yeah. We really need to get it through our heads that Utah is the archenemy,” the pro-Belgian partisan whispered back.
“Yeah. After he’s gone, then we can go at each other!” Both of them remained smiling.
Phil Utah, believing that he had gained some acceptance from the GWIBErs through the shared experience of enduring the Germans’ miserable performances, proceeded to wander through the battle scene and begin lecturing everybody there. He uttered a few “you should be ashamed” an
d “this was disgraceful conduct” comments before a collection of loud boos drowned him out. When things began to be thrown, Utah retreated.
“I didn’t see that part,” Inkwell mumbled, shaking his head as he went after Cam, who had wordlessly left and was now several yards away. “Hey Witter, hold up.”
“So, you’re gonna possibly shut this down?” Cam mumbled as he continued walking.
“Oh, hell no! Like I’ve said before, I’ve got a lot bigger fish to fry.”
“Ah, so all of that back there was just another show?” Cam had to smile wanly as he said it. Inkwell certainly knew how to perform.
“Of course. So, where are you heading to now?”
“Back to our tent to try to make amends, yet again, with my wife.”
“Oooooooh. Yeah, a really sticky situation for you, Witter. I get it 100%, you know?”
“Would you like to help me out of this one?”
“Ah, no, I don’t think so. I can tell that Shauna would get even angrier if a third party got into it this time. You’re on your own.”
“You’re a real buddy, Ned. Jesus Christ, even when I try to do good….”
“Yeah, I know, Witter. Everything still turns to shit. But wasn’t it the same last year?”
“I’m strugglin’ to save my marriage. The odds on the street aren’t good.”
“Actually, the latest I heard puts them at 7-3. But anyway, I need to find someone who has some bière de garde. I’ve heard things about it and I want to try one.”
Cam gave him the directions to Stu and Allie Tunstall, then left Inkwell to go back and face the music from Shauna.
-18-
Duke Lando gazed at the western sky as he strode toward his tent. The setting sun was well down by now and darkness wouldn’t be too far behind, the uncomfortable heat giving way to evening cool since the air was very dry. To the GWIBErs it meant the beginning of the serious drinking throughout another very long night. He didn’t care about any of that, however. For him it meant that it was time to put the final phase of his plan into action.
Tonight was it. He could wait no longer. There had been too many complications and now the whole thing just felt off. He didn’t like operating like this. It was time to collect the prize and leave. After that, all that would be left would be taking care of loose ends.
Lando rehearsed the plans in his mind. He had called Joey earlier to let him know that he had to pull off the theft tonight. After his nephew met him and delivered the goods, Lando would leave him at a remote spot. Then calls would be made to Cherie, Sonia, Tom Deville and Clay Sharper to summon them to a meeting at the same place. At that point he would leave Maria with the package while his two men took care of his five unwitting accomplices. Maria wouldn’t last long after that. Frank and Lyle had done this kind of work before, and Lando was confident that the five bodies would disappear and not be found anytime soon.
The only thing left is to come up with some line of bullshit for my sister when Joey disappears. Then again, he’s a lowlife, drug-dealing, thieving little fuck, isn’t he? Maggots like him go on the lam all the time, don’t they? She’ll cling to that hope for a while, then slowly accept that he’s not coming back. She doesn’t know that he’s here working for me right now, so she’ll never suspect me. I’ll have to make sure that during her grieving time that I spend a bit of time with her and show her a lot of support….
Lando walked swiftly into his tent and immediately felt that familiar sensation that somebody was already in there. Christ, what do those two idiots want now? he thought. Alarm surged through him when he realized that there were more than two men in his tent. It wasn’t Deville and Sharper after all. Instinct told him to flee, so he tried to back out the entrance. A couple pairs of hands grabbed hold of him, though, and shoved him roughly down into a metal and fabric camp chair of his.
“What the fuck is this?!” Lando snarled, unintimidated despite being restrained.
“Hello, Duke,” Ralphie Quinn said, smiling as he came to stand in front of the seated man. “We’ve met before, remember?”
“Yeah, you’re the fucking idiots who couldn’t handle the snake,” Lando sneered.
“Yes. Well, that was only a minor and temporary setback,” Ralphie chuckled, “and completely irrelevant to the situation here, let me assure you. Eddie has recovered quickly and is back to 100%.”
“That’s right!” Eight Ball exclaimed. “And that’s why I’m so willing to….”
“Eddie, let’s not have that conversation again!” Ralphie snapped. “As I told you before, this session is mine.”
“I don’t see why,” Eight Ball whined. “I mean, I did really well….”
“Yes, you did!” Ralphie hissed. “But as the unofficial, but acknowledged, leader of our group, I maintain my right to primacy in our various enterprises. I strongly believe in the need for a leader to be able to do everything that the troops do, and at least as well. You’ve had your share of being the grand inquisitor, Eddie. It’s my turn now.”
“So I take it that Wally and I will get turns being interrogators too?” Billy Bomb asked.
“Yes, eventually!” Ralphie shot back. “Let’s keep our eyes on the ball, guys. The main business here is to have a discussion with Mr. Duke Lando.”
“We’re not discussing shit,” Lando said, smirking. “You’re getting your asses out of my place, right now!”
Ralphie sighed and gave a quick nod to Eight Ball, who already had the familiar strips of cloth wrapped around his hands. Grinning, Eight Ball walked in front of Lando, who retained his defiance, glaring at all of the Four Horsemen. With no warning, Eight Ball clenched one hand into a fist and backhanded Lando across the temple. Lando groaned and sagged down into the chair, held up somewhat by Billy Bomb. Goddamnit! Lando groaned to himself. This guy hits pretty hard for a nerd!
“I kind of expected this,” Ralphie declared. “What we have here with Duke is a classic example of the hard, ruthless, business-minded opportunist who ravaged the West. Duke didn’t get where he is by being soft, did you, Duke? No, Duke is tough and won’t just give us what we want, boys. So it looks like this will be a lengthy, drawn-out process, which of course is the sort of thing that provides the greatest reward. The work will be hard, our efforts strenuous, but our sleep tonight will be all the more sweet as a result.”
Lando broke out laughing and Eight Ball buried a punch into his solar plexus. Lando gasped, fighting to keep himself from puking all over the place.
“Shouldn’t we gag him?” Wally the Preacher wondered.
“No….I don’t think that will be necessary,” Ralphie muttered. “As a tough guy, Duke will follow the code and act honorably. Even if we beat the living shit out of him, he won’t cry for help. That’s for women. Duke is a real man in a bad situation with real men.”
I underestimated these assholes, Lando told himself. They know more than what I gave them credit for. Why couldn’t I have had them working for me instead of those other two idiots?
“Fuck you,” Lando gasped, then was surprised when another blow didn’t come. Ralphie hovered over him, then leaned down to put his face close to Lando’s.
“Surely you know who we are? You must be aware of the things we’ve done,” Ralphie muttered with an evil grin.
“Four candy-assed punks trying to be tough guys?” Lando sneered. Eight Ball gave him another shot in the solar plexus. Lando groaned.
“We’re the Four Horsemen,” Ralphie told him, then paused to let it sink in.
“Yeah, so what?” Lando gasped, trying to catch his breath.
“So what? Are you kidding, Duke?” Ralphie growled. “You had to have heard about our actions at last year’s GWIBE!
“I can’t say that I have. Sorry, guys,” Lando replied.
“Does the name Tony Rizzo ring a bell? Hmmm?” Ralphie persisted.
“Nope. Who is he? What’s he to you?”
“Past tense, Duke, as in was. Tony Rizzo was a lowlife who sabotaged anot
her man’s beer, among many other crimes. Our comrade here, Eddie, a stellar member of our group, caught Rizzo in the act. We laid Rizzo out, then tortured him, Duke. It drove him mad and he died! We all had felony charges on us and were led away by the state police in handcuffs. Pretty bad-assed stuff, huh?”
“Impressive, I’ll give you that,” Lando conceded. “I’m really surprised that you punks had the balls to do something like that. Hey, wait! If you had charges like that against you only a year ago, how can you be here now?”
“A good friend got to the judge, Duke, and smoothed things over. You see, Duke, we’re also really connected, if you know what I mean,” Eight Ball informed him.
“Huh! You’d think that I would’ve heard about that,” Lando observed, doing some quick calculating. If what these idiots are saying is true, then there might be more people suspecting me than I ever dreamed of. Maybe I should’ve tapped Deville and Sharper for more background.
“This is such bullshit!” Billy Bomb cried. “All of the stuff we did last year, and it still didn’t become the stuff of legend! We were known, feared and respected.”
“Oh, that’s not quite true, Billy,” Eight Ball corrected him. “Within GWIBE, all of the insiders talk about it, in hushed tones of course. Also remember that it was overshadowed by what Trub did last year.”
“Now that I did hear about!” Lando told them.
“I guess that between the murders and the harrowing, yet darkly comical, chase of Phil Utah, our actions take a back seat,” Wally the Preacher muttered.
“So, you never told me why you’re here harassing me,” Lando said.
“We just thought that you’d have known the second you saw us,” Ralphie said.
“Nope. Explain.”
“We’re here to have you tell us all about whatever underhanded scheme you’ve cooked up, Duke. We’re not going to tolerate evil doings at GWIBE.”
“Isn’t this beautiful? A beer festival has its own vigilante squad,” Lando sighed.
“We’re not just mere vigilantes, Duke,” Eight Ball informed him. “Think of us as the Justice League of GWIBE.”