Whiskey Thief

by Chris Bostic

  WHISKEY

  THIEF:

  Book 1 of

  The Bourbon

  Country Series

  CHRIS BOSTIC

  First printing, October 2019

  Copyright © 2019, Chris Bostic

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1694486097

  Cover Design by Chris Bostic

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  DEDICATION

  To my loving family for

  tolerating my constant

  desire to tour

  Kentucky distilleries

  CHAPTER 1

  “This sounded like a lot more fun a couple hours ago.”

  “Relax, Vic.” Vince wrapped a muscular arm around his soon to be bride, while keeping a tight hold on his drink. “We’ll get you some of those chocolates when we get back.” He let her go to stand and take a couple steps toward the stack of coolers at the front of the boat. “After we go back to Buffalo Trace, of course. I need a shitload more of that Eagle Rare. Fingers crossed they’ll have more Blanton’s out too.”

  The so-called tour boat, some hillbilly’s glorified, jacked-up pontoon, rolled to the side. The motion caused Vince to grab for the handrail. Or maybe it was his blood alcohol level. I couldn’t tell the difference, and I’m not sure Vic could either.

  “Candy doesn’t fix everything,” she mumbled under her breath to me.

  “Those bourbon balls can. They’re sooo good.” I grinned at her, but ended up raising an eyebrow when I saw the look on her face. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing, Grace.”

  “Long trip?”

  She shrugged and squinted her eyes into the mid-morning sun.

  “Should’ve brought your sunglasses.”

  “Meh. I always do something wrong.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  Vic didn’t say anything. With my best friend shutting down, I felt the need to fill the empty space and started rambling.

  “I’ll be ready to head home tomorrow. This was fun and all, you know, seeing those distilleries. And damn the smell of those rack houses ought to be bottled and sold. It’s worth more than the whiskey.” Still no reply. “But, hey, nothing beats sleeping in your own bed.”

  Vic forced a smile and turned away to squint at the others on the small craft. I followed her gaze to an older man with an impressive beer gut. He sat next to a spritely, yet round-faced, girl.

  Somewhere in the background, a voice over a raspy loudspeaker called, “Passin’ under the Highway 60 bridges ahead. Downtown and Capitol City Museum is on the left, y’all.”

  I didn’t bother looking and turned back to the couple. No doubt that guy had to have been working on filling out that belly longer than the girl had been alive, not that she was super young. With the way she looked at him with a mixture of disinterest and disdain, the natural reaction would have been gold digger, only this fellow looked more like someone who did the actual digging for gold. It was probably the bib overalls and work boots that sealed the visual.

  “Barely twenty,” I whispered to Vic, and she nodded in agreement.

  “More like barely legal. Not even half his age.” She smirked. “Now that I’m practically married and punching a clock, I feel more like that guy. The twenties seem like a distant memory.”

  “You’re still knocking on the big 3-0.”

  “You too,” Vic shot back.

  “Don’t remind me.” I knew all too well. Since we’d met in college, the slow crawl to thirty seemed to have accelerated each year until we were on a collision course at a breakneck pace.

  Past the second bridge, the older man mumbled something in a gruff voice that caught the girl’s attention. With the way her head jerked around, she certainly didn’t look like someone who took orders. If anything, it was the other way around.

  “Weird dynamic there.” I noted.

  “Very.” Vic’s brow wrinkled. “She seems to wear the pants in that relationship. Literally.”

  “Pants, ha! More like overalls. No one in their right mind is dressed like that today.” With the sun creeping over the riverbank, we were minutes away from sweat forming on my brow. “You wouldn’t catch me wearing anything that heavy, much less that baggy t-shirt.”

  “Just cause you like to let it all hang out.”

  I could have taken offense, but chose to reply with, “If you got it.”

  “Babe, you got it.”

  I bumped Vic with my shoulder. “You’re not so bad yourself, little lady.”

  “Little is true.” She smiled for real. “Like Vince says, I’m fun-sized.”

  More like child sized compared to her fiancé, but I didn’t comment. She was already touchy about barely coming up to my shoulders, even in heels.

  Rather than compare heights, I subtly gestured across from the odd couple to a pair of guys in camo pants and pale brown t-shirts. They sat on the other bench seat along the side of the narrow, rickety boat. Their buzzed haircuts screamed military. Young, fit, masculine. I swear Vic had to catch herself to keep from licking her lips. Or maybe that was me.

  “Almost newlyweds shouldn’t be checking out soldier boys,” I whispered to her.

  “Uh, huh.”

  “I’m just sayin’.”

  Vic sneaked a peek at her future husband, who remained over by the stack of coolers talking to a weaselly guy in a trench coat. Seriously. A trench coat in the middle of July.

  Vince’s booming voice seemed to echo back from the riverbanks. He was talking bourbon, of course, to anyone who would listen.

  Vic nodded her head at the soldiers, then winked at me. “But did you see them?”

  “Well, duh. I’m not tied down yet…at least not that close, like you. And this,” I gestured around the small boat, “isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.” I grinned and said, “Guess I could enjoy the real Kentucky scenery,” as the loudspeaker announced the location of Daniel Boone’s burial site off to the left.

  “Don’t force yourself.”

  “It’s not that. I kinda need a distraction.” I clenched my stomach and held back a groan. “I’m feeling a bit, I don’t know….”

  “Hungover?”

  “I didn’t drink that much last night.”

  “You didn’t drink that little either,” Vic replied. “I’m sure Vince will be happy to give you a shot if you wanna loosen up.”

  “Oof.” I sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “The way this boat’s rocking, my guts are knotted up enough already.”

  “You think that’s it? It’s not that bad. It’s more of a sway.”

  “It’s getting to be a struggle not to puke.”

  “Hmmm.” Vic reached over to poke the strip of bare stomach below my trademark short, tight tank top. She raised an eyebrow. “Pregnant?”

  “Oh hell no.” I slugged her on the shoulder. “Don’t even say that.”

  “You don’t want to lose those abs.”

  “Yeah, I work out for a reason.”

  “I know.” Vic rubbed her shoulder from the punch. “Save the heat for kickboxing class.”

  “Sorry, babe. Too hard?”

  “That’s what she said,” Vic replied, copying a classic Vince line.

  “Don’t make me laugh.” Wracked with a case of the chuckles, I doubled my arms across my belly, and banished any thought of pregnancy. That was the last thing I needed, and highly unlikely. Precautions were taken, because even though I might have had a bit of an unfair reputation for being wild and spontaneous, I was always careful about the important things.

  Vic put her arm around me and rubbed my back. With eyes closed, I concentrated on taking one breath at a time. It did
n’t help seeing how the Kentucky River in summertime smelled like a stale fish market.

  Footsteps on the AstroTurf-covered deck brought me out of my stupor.

  “What were you guys talking about?” Pete asked, having returned from the rear of the boat watching us churn a wake down the river.

  I side-eyed the handsome fellow who had recently proposed to me. “We’ll never tell, will we?” I turned to Vic.

  “Never. Sisters before misters.”

  “You might as well be sisters,” Pete said, and sank down on the bench next to me.

  “Don’t be jealous, babe.” I found his hand and snaked my fingers into his, but kept leaning against Vic.

  “I’m not.”

  I didn’t believe him, and finally leaned his way when he tugged. After a sigh, he gave me the rogue grin that made my stomach ache differently than before. But he had to ruin the moment by saying, “This is nice and all, but Saturdays are for the boys.” He jumped back up, leaving me to lurch to the side. “Looks like my boy Vince needs some help.”

  “I’ve interrupted the Grace sandwich,” Vince observed as he appeared in front of me expertly balancing four drinks in his hands. “I hear she likes that.”

  My eyes surely flashed dark as midnight, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a comeback. Instead, he got my leave-me-alone laugh, which was faker than the relationship between the pudgy miner guy and his youthful Plain Jane.

  After Pete took two cups from his buddy, Vince turned to Vic and rattled the ice. “Take one. Best whiskey sour on the river.”

  “More like the only one.” She refused the drink, and nearly got some poured on her when the boat lurched again.

  “Don’t say I never offered you nothing,” he said. “Oh, well. More for me.”

  He sat down and the boat leaned hard, so much so I had to grab the seat for balance. Pete ignored the whole thing and sat next to me even though it put more weight on our side. That didn’t seem smart, but I wasn’t about to get up and try to walk around with my stomach swirling.

  Pete tried to hand me one of his drinks. My hand shot up like a stop sign, but my face softened when I saw the cute little pout start. “I don’t know, babe.”

  “Sorry, no Bloody Mary, but-”

  “Bourbon Cream and coffee is what I really need.”

  “Yeah, you really like that stuff.” He shrugged apologetically. “Might as well make the best of a, uh, good situation…or something like that.”

  That seemed a stretch, but I decided not to tell him about my nausea. Sometimes communication was overrated. Instead, I took the drink and tried to force down a few sips.

  Vince had his first one down in a few gulps and got to work on cup number two. Normally I would have been quicker, but Pete’s sipping matched my pace for a change. If anything, it was shocking seeing him drinking that early.

  “Dude, it’s like ten o’clock,” my fiancé told Vince. “You don’t need to be wasted before noon if we’re driving home tonight.”

  “Oh man up, bro’. That guy makes a damn good whiskey sour.”

  “I thought you had better taste than that, Blanton’s Boy.”

  I made a mental note to compliment Pete for at least attempting a new nickname.

  “Yeah, man,” Vince answered. “It’s impossible to beat that juice. But this shit’s okay for a mixer.”

  “What is it?” Pete took another sip and grimaced. “Cheap stuff for sure.”

  “Not even basic Beam, but it’ll do the job.”

  For some reason I snickered at Vince saying job. Getting hammered seemed to be Vince’s primary occupation. Luckily, he had an actual good paying one to finance his bourbon habit, not to mention Vic’s shoe and purse collections.

  “I can’t say that I’m a fan,” I chimed in after another sip, “but at least the ice is good.”

  I could have done without the sour, but the cold felt nice as the daytime heat started to build. Without question, we were headed for another sweltering, humid day.

  I looked back toward the stack of coolers that sort of created a bar area at the front of the boat. The trench-coated bartender was long gone, even though the two soldier boys had decided to follow Vince’s lead and get their drink on. They thrummed on a cooler lid, probably wondering if they should help themselves.

  “Yo, bartender,” the taller of the two soldiers finally shouted over the rumble of the boat motor.

  A muffled voice came from below deck, and I realized that I hadn’t even known there was a lower compartment.

  “Say what?” the shorter, stockier soldier replied to a hole in the floor behind the coolers.

  A shaggy man in a blue uniform shirt poked his head above the deck. His positioning and dirt smudged, tanned face made him look like a prairie dog, except for the long, stringy hair.

  “He’ll be up in a minute. There’s kind of a little, uhm…never mind.” He paused before drawling, “No worries, y’all.”

  He disappeared back below deck.

  Pete looked to Vince with a raised eyebrow. “The guy running the boat also tends bar? What kind of low budget outfit did you hook us up with?”

  “Yeah, it was cheap. But it was also our only option.” Vince leaned back on our uncomfortable bench seat. “Any fool can drive the Bourbon Trail. Not everyone gets to see the distilleries from the water.”

  “I’d have settled for one of those limo tours,” Vic pouted.

  The engine gurgled a reply. The boat shuddered, which made me give another glance around to see if I could spot life preservers. A safety briefing always seemed to be a part of every other scenic tour boat ride I’d experienced, but this bargain booze cruise was nothing like those. Even the narration was few and far between.

  As if on cue, a voice came on over the loudspeaker.

  “Sorry for the downtime, folks. That was the Capitol Building we just passed up the hill on the right.” The speaker burst with static, and I pressed my hands to my ears even though it wasn’t that loud. Maybe I liked being dramatic sometimes, or so Pete usually said.

  When the speaker cleared up, we got the rest of the directions.

  “…under the East West Connector bridge and out of town in no time. Then it’s a smooth sail down to where y’all can see the smokestack at historic Old Raven Distillery.” The engine seemed to cut out again, but the guy didn’t miss a beat. “That’s about ten, maybe twenty, minutes.”

  “Damn. So long, and not that smooth,” I muttered.

  Pete heard me. “You don’t need to cuss, babe. But, sorry, I thought this would be more fun.”

  “It’s okay,” I offered half-heartedly, and for once I could tell he didn’t believe me. Another sharp lean to the side probably didn’t help. If Vince didn’t move, I was going to have to scoot to the other bench.

  “Well I thought it would at least be a little more calm than this,” Pete explained. “More scenery. More relaxing.”

  I almost laughed at that. “Not when Vince is around.”

  “True story. At least I hope you’re doing okay.”

  “I’m surviving.” Maybe the whiskey sour was helping. At the very least it loosened my tongue enough to say, “Though I might feel better if we weren’t stuck on this death trap.”

  “You noticed that too?”

  “Hard not to.” My eyes once again shot around the boat to attempt to locate non-existent life preservers. I exhaled loudly and took a bigger swallow. Might as well make the best of it.

  The boat pitched to the side to remind me who was in charge, and I nearly had to lean overboard to empty my stomach.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Is the boat gettin’ lower?” Vic asked me as we swung around a big curve in the river. “I didn’t think I could touch the water before, but now it’s like right next to us.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Vince interjected. “It’s just ‘cause we’re turning.”

  Vic didn’t seem convinced and couldn’t help herself from saying the three words that always drove me cr
azy. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course,” Vince bellowed. “Do you think it’s gonna sink or something?”

  “Maybe,” I whispered to Vic. “I’m surprised we made it this far.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Not quite as bad as her earlier three words, but still enough for me to playfully raise a fist. Vic threw up her hands. “Sorry. I know how you are about that.”

  “I get what you’re saying though.”

  I straightened up to get a glimpse over the top of her head. Now that we were back to sailing straight ahead, it sure seemed like the boat listed hard to the left. Maybe that was because most of us were on that side.

  I didn’t think a pontoon could sink, or so I had been told. At the same time, the ship’s crew seemed about as sketchy as a police artist.

  Pete tried to put a positive spin on the situation, saying, “We’ll be down past the distillery soon. Just gotta, um, make a turnaround out here…somewhere. Lord knows.” He forced a crooked grin. “Then I guess back to the marina and we’ll finally get off this…thing.”

  It didn’t work. The hesitation in his voice had been enough to set me on edge. It’s not what my stomach needed. I swallowed down the bile and tipped back my cup.

  Empty already. That was unexpected, especially since the so-called best whiskey sour rivaled the taste of cough syrup.

  “I’ll get another round.” Vince hopped to his feet.

  I shrugged and offered up my cup. “What the hell. Might as well. Right, babe?”

  Pete looked surprised, but he should have been used to my mood swings by then.

  “That’s the spirit,” Vince bellowed. He looked at Pete and frowned at his cup. “You’re more of a man than he is, Grace.”

  “Whatever.” Pete chugged what he had left and stood up with a swagger that he couldn’t quite pull off. “I’m ready.”

  “Pete always that touchy?” Vic asked me.

  “Vince always a dick?” I blurted, and covered my mouth. “Shit. That’s not what I meant.”