New Brew

by Mark Lashway

“Exactly,” Sassie chuckled. “One little thing that’s a good practice here at GWIBE: Keep your cellphones in your pockets, ignore the outside world, and just live GWIBE.”

  “He hasn’t even texted?” Frank asked.

  “Nope, no ring and no buzz for anything. He can’t want us too bad.”

  “Now, guys, let’s go fetch your clothes and then I’ll show you the way to the showers. Get all of the little stuff out of the way during the day, because it’ll be another long night tonight,” Sassie informed them. He didn’t mention that during that time last night when they had been semi-comatose he’d erased Duke’s texts and then killed the batteries in their cellphones.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  “Where have you been?!” Shauna accosted Cam as soon as he walked into their tent.

  “Why does it matter? You booted me out, remember?”

  “I was still worried about you!”

  “I was out handlin’ some business last night….unwelcome business.”

  “You weren’t out getting shit-faced then?”

  “Not quite. I was beatin’ bushes and such, helpin’ Ned Inkwell with his newest corpse. Another guy from the abbey was murdered last night, Shauna.”

  “Oh no! Oh my God! I didn’t hear a thing about it.”

  “Inkwell’s keepin’ it subdued for the moment. It’s probably halfway through GWIBE by now anyway.”

  “Cam, I’m sorry. I don’t want to be one of those paranoid, accusatory wives. I still don’t like the idea of you getting involved in any police business here, but I accept that that’s what you do and why Ned would want your help. Just avoid any danger, OK, honey? You brought your gun out here, right?”

  “My personal one, yeah.”

  “Bring your stuff back here. I want you back with me.”

  “There’s nothin’ to get. I was just plannin’ on operatin’ out of here anyway.”

  “I was really missing you. Cam, I really want this to work between us. When we go back home, maybe we should see a marriage counselor. What do you think?”

  “Personally, I don’t think we need one at all. But if that’s what you really want, I’ll accept it. We’ll hash all of that out on the trip back home.”

  “Honey, what’s going on with all of this death? I was sure that last year….”

  “I think you’re on the right path,” he sighed. “From what I can see, these killings this year are incidental to GWIBE. The answer lies in that abbey, I’m sure of it.”

  “Is that what Ned thinks?”

  “Shauna, I hate to have to tell you this, but Ned Inkwell is bonkers. I mean, yeah, he’s sane in a technical sense, but thinkin’-wise he’s plunged into the abyss.” He then proceeded to tell her about Inkwell’s Lutheran theory.

  “That’s so sad,” she observed. “It’s GWIBE’s fault, I just know it. If he got away from it and could clear his head, I’m sure he’d come up with something far better.” The way she looked at him when she said it told him that she was also talking about him last year.

  “I really don’t know how he does it,” Cam said. “He drinks freely throughout the day, but if you talk to him he’s clear as glass and still manages to do a lot of investigatin’.”

  “Sounds like someone I knew at GWIBE last year.”

  “He must have tried at least half of the beer styles known to man by now….”

  “More than that. He wanders from site to site, and when he sees one with a keg out, he goes up and asks the people what style it is. If it’s one that he hasn’t had before, he wangles a cup out of them. Almost everybody at GWIBE knows who Ned Inkwell is by now.”

  “I feel jealous in a way, that my distinction was beaten so soon.”

  “Cam, dear, Ned doesn’t come close to rivaling your ridiculous performance when you were drinking to the roll last year. Your legend is safe for now.”

  “Honey, I’m glad we were able to make up. It’s a load off my mind. I’ve gotta go get some chow and a shower, haven’t had either since yesterday. What are you gonna do?”

  “I’m going to lounge around and read for a few hours, then I’m going over to Helen’s to hang out. You can join us there when you’re done.”

  “I might just do that. I hope to hell that Inkwell is kept busy by whatever. I could really use a nice, dull day.” And that’s not for her benefit, either. I really mean it.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  The woman everyone at GWIBE knew as Maria Sanchez sat quietly in a far corner of the Ace Brewing tent. Phil Utah wasn’t there, and she was glad. Being alone is great, she told herself. As long as he’s gone awhile, nobody will notice me here, except maybe for that Tom Deville or Clay Sharper. It seems like they’re the only ones who ever visit this place.

  She sipped on a soda and closed her eyes as she tried to think. Duke had called her a few minutes ago and informed her that the original plan, and her role in it, was ended and that he had a new job for her. It would all happen tonight. Tonight. The word sent fear coursing through her. Duke had always made her feel uneasy, and his comment to keep a low profile and avoid being seen didn’t help matters. I don’t have a choice, she thought miserably. I need the money he’s going to pay me so badly. Once it’s over, I’m out of here the first thing in the morning. I’ll head east, or maybe south, and try to start over. Yes, I’ll start over, go straight and have a life somewhere else….

  Her experiences had burned any naivete out of her long ago and she realized that anyone else whom Duke had recruited for the upcoming “job” would almost certainly be a lowlife like her. Therefore she had to keep a sharp eye and have keen instincts the whole time. She intended to get her money and then hit the road.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  “What do you want now, Phil?” a man asked in a very exasperated tone. The Ace Brewing rep was standing off to the side of the main road, very close to the vicinity of Little Germany and Belgium Town. The sun was hot and everybody there was sweating to some degree, Utah particularly so since he was dressed in his usual shirt and tie.

  “We need to discuss the troublesome direction that GWIBE has headed in this year,” Utah proclaimed.

  “What about the troublesome direction it headed in last year?” some wag taunted.

  “This event is continually degenerating into greater violence,” Utah continued, ignoring the remark. He figured that this location, part of the brawl scene, provided perfect symbolism for his message. A quick count showed about five dozen people present. Good. The word of mouth from these people will spread throughout GWIBE within an hour. “The whole thing is unacceptable, people. It’s a possibility that Mr. Inkwell will shut this thing down and send GWIBE packing.”

  “It’s not gonna happen, Phil,” another man cockily replied. “We’re in tight with him now. He wouldn’t do that to us. Even if he did, GWIBE will happen next year in a different place.”

  His bluff called, Utah didn’t immediately react, having anticipated this possibility. “Well, that may be true, but it doesn’t change the reality, people. Next year you might find that Ace Brewing simply isn’t interested in helping finance GWIBE. You know, the Ace Brewing that pays for the latrine service for this whole event?”

  “Phil, that stuff is already paid for this year and next year is still a year away. Don’t talk like your usual asshole self,” another man piped up.

  “Yes, that’s true,” Utah coolly replied, holding his ground, “but remember that the paymaster calls the shots. Paid for this year or not, I could make one phone call to the service provider and have the latrines yanked out immediately. Where would you all be then?”

  Dale Sassie was passing through with his new buddies Lyle and Frank after accompanying the two newcomers to the truck to get their clothes. They came just in time to see an agitated crowd milling around Utah, hurling insults and making threats.

  “You know, Dale, just in the short time we’ve been here I’ve noticed that that guy right there always seems to be in the middle of some uproa
r,” Lyle said.

  “Yeah. Phil always manages to….umm….distinguish himself,” Sassie groaned.

  “I’ll give him one thing,” Frank chuckled, “he’s a brave little bastard, standing there outnumbered and not backing down.”

  “Phil has a lot of experience being the center of attention with a mob,” Sassie explained, “so he’s pretty confident about his abilities.” He then told his two companions about the dramatic chase last year when Trub had come oh-so-close to killing him.

  “Jesus!” Lyle exclaimed, laughing. “This place is a lot rougher than what I thought!”

  “Nobody ever knows what’s gonna happen at GWIBE. Things that happen here are just as random as lightning,” Sassie told them.

  “Yeah, I got that sense,” Frank admitted. “It’s wild and unpredictable, and I love it.”

  They stood around and watched a few more minutes as Utah pressed on and his audience began turning ugly. “I’m not arguing the point any longer, people! Either I get support from you to expel everyone involved in that terrible brawl, or I will begin yanking important things out of here, beginning with the latrine service! You have until 4:00 today to decide!”

  “You know, Dale, I’m no expert here, but it seems to me that it’s very unwise to advertise your actions ahead of time,” Lyle commented.

  “Uh huh,” Sassie replied. “I just hope he has his vehicle idling when he does it.”

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  The Maria Sanchez impostor was still keeping out of sight in the Ace Brewing tent 10 minutes later. It would be great if Phil doesn’t show up for a few more hours and I could make it here until dark. After that I can disappear with no problem and go meet Duke, she told herself.

  She maintained her careful vigil of the activity outside. It was normal stuff like the sounds of walking people, snippets of conversation, tent flaps being thrown open or the various noises coming from the vendors. If anyone got very close to the entrance of this tent, she would pick up on it well ahead of time and prepare herself. The last person in the world whom she wanted to see walk through that entrance was Ned Inkwell. He pressed me, trying to make me think that he knew I wasn’t telling him the truth, but that’s what cops do. He doesn’t have anything on me. I was very careful.

  The sound of footsteps just outside the back of the tent took her by surprise despite her precautions. Slightly alarmed for a moment, she calmed down when she realized that somebody like Ned Inkwell wouldn’t be coming like that. Remaining silent, she sat and waited, then noticed the heavy canvas of the tent’s back wall sag in just a little. Her eyes widened a bit when she saw the tip of a blade slice through the canvas. Fear turned to curiosity as the knife proceeded to cut a small circle of about two inches diameter out of the wall. It got even weirder when a series of knives appeared and did the same thing until there were about 10 in her estimate. What in the hell is going on? she wondered.

  Her mouth went from slightly open to jaw-dropping open when, through one of the holes, a penis appeared, followed by others until all of the holes had equipment poking through. Sure enough, every one of them began spraying urine inside the tent in considerable quantities. Puddles began building up on the packed dirt floor.

  Yewwwwwww! she quietly agonized, clutching her chest as if she was having a heart attack, closing her eyes so as not to have to witness the horror.

  “Hee hee hee! This is for you, Phil!” giggled some unseen man.

  “Take away the latrines, eh? Well, we just found a new one!” laughed another.

  Oh God! she thought, about ready to retch. The first set of penises finished and were withdrawn, leaving what seemed to be several quarts of urine on the tent’s floor. Of course, those bastards drinking beer all day long would be able to piss that much!

  It got worse when new penises came through the holes and a different set of men outside took their turn emptying their bladders into the Ace Brewing establishment. This was too much for her. She sprang to her feet and fled out the front entrance, sobbing. “You filthy fucking hogs!” she cried as she ran out into the bright sunlight, unsure of where to go.

  -22-

  “Hah!” Cam exclaimed joyfully as he slapped down the winning cards on the cheap little table just outside Helen Bowman’s tent. He and Sonny had prevailed over Helen and Shauna, which happened less than half the times they’d played.

  “Yep, you guys win,” Helen declared, smiling. Everybody leaned back in their chairs away from the table, the sign that it was time to give the cards a break and just sit around, drink some beers and chat.

  I really do like times like this, Cam told himself, despite always wanting some action somewhere. Shauna looks really happy that I’m here doing this. It would be really great if I didn’t have to see Ned or anybody associated with the cases for the rest of the day.

  “You look more relaxed and content than I’ve seen you in the last few days,” Sonny remarked, handing his cup to Helen to refill it with her altbier.

  “That’s because this is the first time in the last few days that I haven’t been assistin’ Ned or dealin’ with various idiocies,” Cam mumbled. Sonny was watching his response very closely and took note that Cam didn’t want to go in that direction, so he changed course.

  “Well, we’re about in mid-September now,” Sonny reminded everyone. “After we go home, it won’t be long before the weather cools, which means prime brewing season.”

  “He plans his brewing around the time of year,” Helen informed Cam, “since he doesn’t want to spend any money on temperature control that would allow him to brew year-round!”

  “Hey, I’m a traditional kind of guy,” Sonny replied with a grin.

  “Yeah, so why don’t you move into the 20th century at least?” Helen cackled.

  Cam didn’t need it explained to him despite his being fairly new to the field. Sonny was one of those who liked to brew a lot in autumn. The water he used out of his faucet for the wort chiller would then be cold enough to provide a quicker cooling time for his wort, and the cooler temperatures outside would lower the temperature in his cellar to an ideal range for his yeast to work during the fermentation. To a tightwad like Sonny, this was the best way to go.

  “So, what do you folks have planned for your next batches?” Sonny asked, bringing up a typical subject of conversation among homebrewers.

  “Various ales,” Cam answered without hesitation. “I don’t want to deal with the extra hassles of lagers while I’m still green. I plan on a basic pale ale, a brown ale and a porter to start with. As for the next two seasons after that, I’m not sure yet.”

  “That’s a mildly ambitious brewing schedule, young man,” Helen murmured. “It sounds like you’ve got at least nine or more batches planned. Of course, I’ll be pretty close to that, and that garlic-reeking lump sitting there will have at least that many.”

  “Yeah, it’ll be a lot of work and money,” Cam admitted, “when you figure that a batch takes most of a day from soup to nuts. Then there’s all the money from buyin’ the grain, hops, yeast, sugars and water additives. But you know somethin’? After samplin’ all of the different brews I have, I just can’t face goin’ back to a steady routine of the mass market stuff.”

  “Yep, it’s a damned trap that we’re in,” Sonny reflected, “and a trap that oftentimes other people set for us!”

  There were nods all around at the truth of this, even from Shauna, who was usually far more grounded and skeptical when it came to the homebrewer outlook. Cam didn’t comment, feeling his face redden yet again at the thought of how he had so easily been drawn into the life last year. That would take a long time to get over, if ever.

  “Sonny, who are those two guys who’ve been tagging along with Dale Sassie?” Helen suddenly asked. “Shauna and I were wondering. They weren’t here the first few days.”

  “So what? Sonny muttered. “People wander in and out throughout, you know how it is. People who might not have heard about it suddenly do and then come to
check it out. It happens every year. Remember that guy about….oh….five years ago or so who….”

  “Yeah, he turned out to be a climate change fanatic who was there to assess our carbon footprints!” Helen snapped, getting a giggle from Shauna in response.

  “Do you think they’re a….mmm….couple?” Shauna wondered.

  “I don’t get that feelin’.” Cam replied. “The mannerisms don’t support that.”

  “Then why would two men be traveling around together like that?” Helen asked.

  “Christ, Helen, what’s so strange about two buddies going on a road trip to have some fun together?” Sonny shot back, irritated now.

  “With no women?”

  “The key word I just used was fun,” Sonny replied with a sneer. “Those guys wanted to have some, so they left the women at home. Got it?”

  Sensing an argument about to erupt, Shauna said, “You know, the one odd thing is that they seem so buddy-buddy with Dale. He’s never been that friendly, from what I’ve seen.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Sonny responded, calming down somewhat.

  “Yeah, I agree,” Helen added. “He has some cronies whom he hangs out with, but he still stays detached from a large part of GWIBE, it seems.”

  “Yep, it takes all types, and that’s what makes GWIBE the chaotic and colorful event that we all know and love,” Sonny told them.

  Cam took it all in, suddenly lost in thought as the others chatted without him. Sonny’s remark about the transients of GWIBE reminded him that he hadn’t seen the mysterious woman named Betty around lately. Maybe she’d taken off after having no luck. There was no denying the fact that she’d been the ugliest woman he’d ever seen.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  “Maria, honey, you have to get it together,” Duke Lando patiently said to his traumatized cohort, patting her lightly on the back in an effort to calm her. “What happened?”

  “I….I….I w-w-was hanging out in Phil’s t-t-tent!” she sobbed. “You know, staying out of s-s-sight like you wanted!”

  “And then what?”

  “Then a b-b-bunch of h-h-holes started getting cut in the tent!”