Whiskey Thief

by Chris Bostic

  “Vince, get your ass back over here,” I called.

  “You get your sweet ass over ‘ere, Gracey.” He grinned, way more harmless drunk than predator. “I’ll give ya a boost.”

  “You’d like that…probably a little too much.”

  Still, I was tempted to give it a try. I knew I could get to the top of the waterfall, seeing how the second tier was even shorter than the first. I wouldn’t need any help up that one. But that didn’t solve the problem of getting everyone else over the first wall.

  “So what are we doing here?” I asked Vince once I got to his side. He kept trying to find a nonexistent foothold.

  “Wha’s it look like?”

  “An asshole in his bathrobe emptying a chemical toilet into a storm sewer.”

  “Huh?”

  “Christmas Vacation, dude.” I swear he looked like a younger version of the character right out of the movie in that moment. “You know, Cousin Eddie?”

  Vince shook his head and continued staring at the waterfall. I moved a few paces back to avoid getting totally soaked.

  “How about we go downstream, Cuz? Maybe find a better spot?”

  “You gonna help me?”

  “Why not?” I patted my shoulder. “Come here, Eddie.”

  I had been mostly joking so, of course, he took me up on it. That got me better than a couple hundred pounds of near deadweight, which was exactly what I needed for a tromp through the creek.

  Waving to the others, I pointed them back downstream where the wall had been collapsing. Then we took off. Worst case, they’d have to slash their way through the brush to get up to where we were at.

  I had my own problems to worry about trying to keep Vince from falling. Thankfully it wasn’t too far to get to the point where we left the waterfall area behind, and slipped off into the woods.

  “Thanks, Gracey.” Vince said once we were shielded from the others by the tree cover. “You’re a real sweetheart.”

  “Don’t tell anyone,” I joked.

  “No, for real, ‘Racey.”

  I groaned aloud. Nicknames, and not a good one. This was going south, and right where I expected. So I wasn’t surprised when he launched into a loud, “I love you, man.”

  “First off, I’m not Pete.”

  “Nah,” he drawled. “You’re way better lookin’.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re wasted. I get that.” I shoved him to the side to keep him from running us into a tree. “Just keep it together before you knock yourself out.”

  He swayed a bit. Rather than tighten his grip around my shoulder, his arm curled around my waist—a little lower than seemed friendly or appropriate.

  “Eddie…keep your hands to yourself or I’ll let you run into the next one.”

  “Sorry, Gracey.”

  I knew he wasn’t, but it wasn’t the time to worry about all that. I just needed to get him back to Vic so she could deal with him.

  Thankfully, it wasn’t much longer. We found a spot where the wall dropped significantly lower. I could’ve probably rolled Vince up there if I had to. Definitely two of us could handle him.

  I gazed back toward the creek. There was no sight of the others, but enough splashing water and thrashing through the brush to know they’d catch up soon.

  That left me with another minute or two alone with Vince. I debated giving him a piece of my mind about treating Vic better and getting his shit together, but the odds of him remembering a conversation seemed slim to none by that point.

  So I pushed him up against a tree, and took the opportunity to stretch out my aching back.

  I twisted side to side, groaning as the muscles stretched. As did my shirt, which tore a little more when I overextended a bit.

  “Jesus, I’m falling apart,” I mumbled, and took a quick peek at Vince. His eyes were razor thin at that point. I debated helping him sit, but didn’t want to have to mess with getting him back up.

  “You guys close?” I yelled.

  The rustling grew louder, but still no reply. So I went back to trying to work the knots out of my back, not to mention my hamstrings.

  It all ended when I bent over in a futile attempt at touching my toes. That was not smart with Cousin Eddie behind me.

  “Whoa, Gracey. Daaaamn.”

  When his hands rested on my ass, I reared up like a mule and knocked him between the eyes with the back of my head.

  He went down like a sack of shit.

  CHAPTER 9

  The sad thing is, I actually felt bad about it. Not for long, though.

  I knelt beside Cousin Eddie and admired the egg-shaped knot forming in the middle of his forehead. I explored the back of my head with my fingers and found a matching bump on mine. At least I was still conscious.

  Then again, maybe that wasn’t such a good thing.

  When Vic saw her man on the ground, it didn’t come as a surprise initially. But once she saw a knot sticking out like a turd in a punchbowl, the questions became more pointed.

  In that moment, I bit my lip and decided not to rat him out. Heaven knows why.

  “When I turned back around, he was on his way down,” I finally said.

  At least that wasn’t a lie. Half-truth seemed fair enough given the situation. While Vic stared at me, brewing like a storm cloud, a peal of thunder swelled over the hill and hit us hard as a wave.

  “The thunder rolls,” Miner Mike quoted Garth Brooks as the heavens threatened to open up around us again.

  “Yeah, we better find some shelter,” Pete said.

  “Everyone ready?” I asked while looking to June, having not had a chance to talk to her recently. “Other than maybe our boy Vince here….”

  June nodded while Vic continued scowling.

  “Good,” I said. “Up and over the wall before the next wave hits.”

  I went over to June and Mike. The older guy seemed to be showing no ill effects of the long hike upstream, not to mention the earlier near drowning. He was obviously tired, probably from dragging around that beer belly. But no more tired than the rest of us.

  “You two can get up there?” I asked.

  June was already eyeing the wall. “Yeah. No worries.”

  A short section, at most four feet tall, had crumbled away leaving bare dirt. Better yet, the stones had fallen in a way that almost looked like a staircase. Not a pristine one, but not any worse off than what I had seen of the buildings.

  Still shelter was shelter, and I’d had enough of standing around in a thunderstorm.

  “Go on ahead,” I told those two. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Anyone gonna help?” Vic called.

  I cringed and turned to find her and Pete trying to get Vince to sit up. With June taking Mike over the wall, I felt certain Vic’s question was a swipe at me.

  “Coming.” I walked over, trying to pretend like I planned on that all along. “Let’s get him up.”

  Vic gave me the sarcastic head nod but refrained from saying anything else.

  Pete slid over to let me in. “Maybe you two guys take his arms, and I’ll get behind him.”

  “We’ll try.” I wrapped my hands around Vince’s forearm, and tried not to think about his arm tightening around my waist earlier.

  Vince moaned when we started tugging on him. I thought we might rip his arms out of their sockets before he even budged off the ground. Somehow we got him moving in the right direction.

  About halfway up, Vince’s head lolled back. I winced, only imagining what that felt like. It was hard to imagine anything more uncomfortably, but I had to concentrate on pulling.

  I dug in my feet and renewed my efforts. We got him a little higher, then Pete was able to let go from under his arms and jockey around to where he could use his whole body to try to steady Vince.

  “Well, that sucked,” I said, then caught my tongue. I didn’t need Vic blaming me for all this. Fortunately, she didn’t take the opportunity to jab at me again.

  The three of us crowded around Vi
nce, using shoulders, forearms, hands, and whatever to keep him on his feet.

  After the near herculean effort to get Vince off the ground, I had no clue how we’d get him over the wall besides rolling. Then up the hill to the nearest building.

  Oddly enough, Vince solved that problem for us. After another clap of thunder, his eyes popped wide open. He looked at the three of us gathered around and turned directly to me.

  “Hey, Gracey,” he said, and I swear he tried to wink.

  “Vincent,” I deadpanned, opting to avoid the Cousin Eddie moniker with his would-be bride close by.

  With a clenched stomach, I waited to see if he would say something stupid about earlier, or blame me for the knot on his head. Instead, he looked around and said, “Where am I?”

  “Lost in the woods, bro,” Pete said.

  Vince squinted as he looked around in a semicircle. “Oh, yeah.” He chuckled under his breath and added, “Like the man said as he pissed into the wind…it’s all coming back to me now.”

  “Gross,” Vic said. “But glad to see you’re back to your usual self.”

  “It’s about to pour,” Pete noted. “Can you walk?”

  “Hell yeah.” Vince pushed away from us. He wobbled for a second, then straightened. Lucky for him, we didn’t let him get out of arm’s reach, since he didn’t make it two steps before his knee buckled.

  “Hell yeah?” I mocked him through gritted teeth as we fought to keep him on his feet.

  “Well…maybe.” He sucked in a deep breath and rose to his full height. Ever the prideful one, he shoved off again. This time he waited a while longer before taking a few steps. These were much improved. “Damn right. I got this.”

  “Next we climb,” Pete said, pointing to the steps where Mike and June were waiting for us at the top.

  “Easy peasy,” Vince replied. “But maybe you could give me a little hand.”

  “Watch the first step,” Pete said. “It’s a doozy.”

  Vic and I got behind Vince, ready to push—or get crushed—if he stumbled and fell back on his butt. Thankfully, that wasn’t a problem. With Pete bracing him on one side and Mike pulling from above, we got him up those makeshift steps with little trouble.

  After that, it was just a gentle incline through some brush to get to the building. We took it slow, dodging limbs and trips and tangles on the forest floor.

  A breeze at our back pushed us forward. Then it quit all of a sudden, reminding me of tornados again.

  I looked to the sky. There was nothing more than non-descript, heavy gray in all directions.

  We finally made it to the edge of the woods, where the breeze kicked up again. It had turned a bit to hit us in the face, which gave my nose the opportunity to pick up the faint scent of mold-like fungus and aging liquor. The angel’s share, pushed on the breeze. I breathed deeply, enjoying my absolute favorite smell—old wood inundated with alcohol. Heavenly scent, indeed.

  The wind surged even harder, disbursing the scent. By the time the rain came pelting down again, we stood on the edge of a parking lot.

  The asphalt was pitted worse than the surface of the moon. Foot high grass and weeds poked through the cracks like row crops in a field.

  At the far end of the parking lot, an imposing structure clad in rusty, fungus-covered sheet metal rose. A relic of a bygone era, with bars over the window openings, but hardly any glass left. The little that remained had frosted over to the point of whiteness.

  It stood six stories tall, though more like five-and-a-half due to an unhealthy lean worse than the Tower of Pisa. Sheet metal hung away from the frame in places, chattering as the wind rose.

  “Quite the rack house,” I said with a whistle.

  “It’s a big one,” Pete said.

  “And ratty as all hell.” I had to tilt my head way back to see the top floors. Several of the upper window openings were covered over with plywood. “Are we really going in?”

  “I wanna see what’s left in there,” Vince said, his voice oddly sober. It wouldn’t stay that way if there were still barrels stacked to the ceiling. That seemed all the more reason to head for a different part of the complex, though it was a good distance across more parking lot to the next equally decrepit structure.

  The rain made the decision for us.

  The now familiar roar built behind us. I didn’t have to turn around to know a wall of water would be on us before we could make it to the door of the rack house, much less anywhere else.

  So I ran. Briefly. Then turned back to make sure the others were following and didn’t need help.

  June and Mike were coming along fine. Not fast, but moving. Vince seemed to be getting along well enough, mostly thanks to Pete and Vic. So I hurried ahead to hold the door.

  The rain smacked the pavement, rather what was left of it, chasing me across the asphalt prairie.

  Finding the doorway, I slammed up against the metal as the downpour hit. There was just enough of an overhang to avoid another shower, though the splashing of heavy drops on the pavement soaked me from the knees down.

  I frantically searched to locate a door knob that evidently didn’t exist. The cursing fired up again.

  “Get that door open!” Pete yelled as they barreled toward me, on the heels of June and Mike.

  “I’m trying.” I ran my hand over the not so smooth metal, trying to find a latch or pull or whatever, and jerked back when I snagged my palm on a jagged piece of ripped sheet metal. “Fuck!”

  I shook my hand and squinted my eyes to keep the rain out of them. Or maybe it was tears. All I knew was my right hand burned way worse than the scrapes earlier, like I could feel the tetanus running through my veins.

  Finally, taking it a little slower, I got my fingers into a bigger crack along the edge. I pulled with all I had. It didn’t budge.

  Miner Mike slammed into the metal next to me. It would have scared me senseless had the rain not been pounding so loudly on the structure.

  “Let me try!” he shouted.

  I held up a bloody hand by way of warning. His eyes bulged for a second, then he settled into work. While I leaned back against the building and cupped my injured hand in the other, he alternated between pounding on the door and pulling with both hands.

  Vince, with Vic and Pete, crashed into the siding next to me.

  “Locked?” Pete asked.

  “No handle, no latch, no nothing!” I shouted back over the racket.

  It seemed like the time to try for another building, seeing how we were already half-soaked, but I couldn’t see far enough through the downpour to even know where to head. It was nothing but vertical streaks of gray in all directions, so heavy I couldn’t see back to the tree line.

  I don’t know how, but Mike finally got the door open. We filed inside to utter darkness.

  The dryness was nice; the smell blissful. Although I had caught a whiff earlier, the concentrated smell of aging juice seeped through every pore. Aged, musty wood. Vanilla and caramel. Sweet and musky. Brown sugar.

  I cracked a smile a mile wide and temporarily forgot about my hand.

  The pounding of rain on metal was even louder inside. So, as our eyes adjusted, we stood there in the cacophony, breathing in the most delicious aroma.

  The rain slowed to more of a dull roar. Then came a boom of thunder that made the whole building shake. I had flashbacks to the news photos of the great Barton warehouse collapse from the previous summer. In the blink of an eye, a rack house had sheared in half, sending thousands of barrels to the ground in a massive pile of broken timbers. What a travesty.

  “What are you looking at?” Pete asked, catching me gazing through the dimness at the X-bracing holding up the deathtrap.

  “Remember Barton?”

  “Don’t even think about that.”

  “It’s hard not to.” Having toured the Barton distillery earlier in the week, it was impossible to avoid comparison. While practically every rack house we’d seen there, and most other tours, looked to b
e a hundred years old, none seemed anywhere near as unsafe as this one.

  Equally surprising was to have found this one full. Or at least as best as I could tell. Looking up a central column into the darkness, barrels were stacked in three-high ricks as far as the eye could see.

  “Helluva lot of product to just abandon.”

  “Must be awful stuff.” A fully conscious Vince interrupted us to knock on a barrelhead. “Wanna find out?”

  “That’s the last thing you need,” Vic chided.

  Pete nodded. “Agreed. Let’s keep it together, shall we?”

  “What? I’m good.” Vince leaned in closer to try to read the writing on the barrel.

  With water running down my face from a headful of soaked hair, I brushed it aside with my hand. That evidently left a streak of blood from forehead to cheek. Pete freaked.

  “Grace! What happened?”

  “Oh, that.” I tried to play it off as nonchalant. “I kinda cut myself on that door tryin’ to get it open.”

  “Kinda? Let me see it.”

  “It’s not that bad,” I replied having not really looked at it myself.

  Pete raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

  I finally checked it out. Maybe not eyebrow raising, but the gash was a bit longer and deeper than I’d expected. Not bleeding profusely, but a solid trickle nonetheless.

  “We need to get that cleaned up,” Pete insisted.

  I couldn’t disagree, but I had no idea how to go about doing that. Vince came up with an idea after spying a hammer and metal tube hanging on the wall. I wasn’t completely onboard at first, but barring other plans, it seemed like maybe it wasn’t totally ridiculous. Especially when Miner Mike agreed.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Holy shit that burns!”

  Pete gave me another disapproving look, but pain won out over moderation. I added a few more curses to the mix.

  Vince raised an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”