Double Shot

by Chris Bostic

  “We worked together for a little while earlier. He was doing kind of a security detail thing.”

  “For that rich and famous client of yours?” Clarice asked. It was obvious she didn’t know her name, not that she should have. Lyssa Love’s following tended toward preteen to high school aged girls with low self-esteem.

  “Yeah. Like I was saying, he did some security work for her, so it seemed like a good fit when I saw they had a job opening here.”

  “Working for a celebrity is a good fit? Huh. I guess our brand is pretty famous too.”

  “We’re working on building that up,” I replied, though not really meaning to toot my own horn.

  “We sure are, aren’t we?” Clarice said cryptically.

  “Thank you,” I said, though unsure if she had meant that as a compliment. I could never be sure with her.

  Before it became more about me, I gave her a little more harmless background on Lee. “Anyway, he used to be a cop,” I replied, her earlier doubts about his experience making me share more than normal. “And he knows a whole lot about the bourbon business too.”

  “More than you? That wouldn’t take a lot,” Clarice said with a laugh. “But you’re a quick study.”

  “I’m trying,” I said, through clenched teeth, wondering why I always ended up with bosses who found ways to belittle me yet couldn’t stay out of my business.

  We took a turn between Rack Houses C and D, bringing us within view of B. My mind instantly boomeranged back to an hour earlier, and I brushed at my soiled dress—as if that could remove ground in stains.

  Thankfully they weren’t too noticeable. Probably only in my mind, which is where I stayed for a little while longer, thinking about how much Lee had surprised me. First off, as a rule breaker. Though he usually pushed the limits, it was rare for him to cross the line, especially when it came to his sense of duty.

  Even more out of character, he’d never shown a lot of spontaneity before. It sure felt nice when he did.

  The images of wine and cheese and virtual lovemaking swirled around like beams of sunlight cutting through fog, seeing how my mind wasn’t quite as clear as it should have been—or feeling all that great.

  The overall warmth inside me definitely came from the memories, but also a whole bottle of wine.

  Outside of me felt pretty darn warm too. I swiped at my brow again and regretted forgetting to bring my sunglasses and copious amounts of water.

  “Hope?” Clarice was saying. “You okay? You kind of blanked out there.”

  Great. That’s embarrassing.

  I decided honesty was the best policy and quickly said, “Just thinking I probably should’ve gone back inside the office.” I squinted at the sun. “I should’ve brought my sunglasses and some water.”

  “That would have been a good idea,” Clarice agreed. “It’s sure a hot one today.”

  I pulled at the side of my dress, under the arm, and fluffed the fabric. It felt more like stirring the air inside an oven than providing any type of actual relief.

  “Whew. It’s brutal alright.”

  Humidity hung over the whole property. A typically hot, Kentucky summer day.

  I shielded my eyes to keep the throbbing in my head down to a dull roar. It helped some, but not enough.

  Once we ducked into the shadow of the rack house, I put my arm down and sucked in a big breath of stagnant air. The typically sweet smell of aging liquor on the property seemed more nausea inducing than heavenly.

  “Great,” I muttered as my stomach roiled. Heat and a hangover were not the ideal combination for a productive afternoon.

  Now that we were in the shade, I checked my phone again. Still nothing from Lee.

  I grumbled under my breath, cursing him for ignoring me, then suddenly getting the feeling back that maybe something was going on—as much as I had tried to convince myself otherwise.

  I took another long look around, but there wasn’t much to see of the property from where we were at. Beyond the rack house we stood against, there were a couple more off to the far left. The driveway out to the highway bent off to the right, quickly running out of sight.

  Straight out from the rack house across a huge pasture field, a line of trees ran along a boundary fence in the distance.

  Clarice stopped to answer her phone, so I took the time to catch my breath.

  As I stood there gazing across the vast property, I swear I saw a dark shape move in the distance, ducking between trees along the fence row.

  It was plenty far away. I couldn’t trust my vision, which was woefully overdue for an eye check. So I shielded my eyes and squinted. That helped me see well enough at a distance to convince myself it had to be a person.

  Nothing else moved like that. Clearly not one of the many deer that frequented the property. Obviously not our photogenic flock of wild turkeys.

  It was something wild alright, but almost certainly human in form. Rather large too.

  “Sorry,” Clarice said when she was done replying to a couple texts. “I’m gonna make us late again.”

  “We already are,” I mumbled under my breath, although I really didn’t mind.

  My thoughts remained on the fence row, where the shadowy figure had ducked behind some larger trees.

  I imagined eyeballs peeking out from behind a thick trunk, though there was no way I could have possibly seen that at the distance.

  The sound of Clarice’s heels crunching in the gravel reminded me that I needed to keep up. I hurried to catch up to her, my head swiveling back toward the tree line with every other step.

  When we turned the corner at the side of the building to head to the front, I paused to catch one last look back at the fence line.

  There it was again. A man-sized shape stood in an opening between two bigger trees, bathed in direct sunlight.

  The color hadn’t change. The figure remained a jet-black outline like a crisp shadow.

  The person raised an arm to point in my direction. As I stood there stunned, a second figure appeared behind the first one. Standing nearly a head taller, that person also pointed toward me.

  I blinked to try to clear my eyes, multiple times. When I focused in with a squint, they’d disappeared. Much too quickly.

  I shook my head and cursed under my breath for losing my grip on sanity again.

  CHAPTER 5

  Clarice had kept going, leaving me in the dust. I knew she’d think I was delusional if I pointed out random shapes way off in the distance when we needed to be meeting clients. Besides, for all I knew, I was. So rather than say anything, I turned away from the woods and came face to face with direct sunlight beating against my eyeballs.

  The brutally hot afternoon sun was like standing in a spotlight. So I lowered my head and hugged close the building, feeling the heat radiate off the metal siding.

  I could only imagine how awful it would be inside. No doubt over a hundred degrees. It struck me funny that as miserable as that seemed for me, it was perfect for aging whiskey. The warmth really got the liquid into the pores of the wood before colder weather pulled it back out again.

  As for me, my pores ran with sweat. Mostly from the heat, but a little from the tremors the shadowy figures had sent through my body.

  “All the better to dehydrate,” I mumbled, and hurried to catch up to Clarice, hoping to get to the sampling table and help myself to a big glass of water.

  She pulled the door open and ducked inside, heels clacking on the old wooden floor. I followed quickly after. The relief hit my eyes in an instant, like turning off a bright light inside a closet.

  “Hey, guys!” Clarice called ahead. “So sorry we’re late, y’all.”

  I stayed behind her in the corridor. It was narrow enough that I didn’t need to try to squeeze in next to her, not that I would have wanted to anyway. She was also tall enough, especially in her heels, that I couldn’t have seen over her poofed up hair.

  So I settled in for the long walk back to the tasting area. As my
tired feet plodded, I tried to enjoy the smells of the rack house that no longer seemed as pleasant given my achy head and stomach.

  I swallowed and tried to put on a smile as we drew closer. Clarice exchanged pleasantries, while I just tried to look pleasant. Not a simple task, but it was all about the clients anyway.

  I had been curious enough to see them, and see how many they had brought along to select a barrel. Sometimes we had big groups of eight to ten, which became a bit unwieldy for sampling, much less getting everyone to agree on the best tasting bourbon.

  Being a big corporate organization, I expected that many or more. When I finally got a look around Clarice, I noticed it was only two.

  “James McDougle, Spirits Manager,” a stoop-shouldered man told me, extending a meaty paw. For an older gentleman, his grip was so strong I thought he might shatter every bone in my hand.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” I said while trying not to grit my teeth. “I’m Hope.”

  “The pleasure is all mine. Lovely name too.” He smiled broadly and turned to my boss. I took the chance to massage my sore hand while he said, “And you must be the one and only Clarice. Your reputation precedes you.”

  I could only wonder what kind of reputation that would be. I had a few ideas, but none all that complimentary.

  “Oh my goodness,” she replied, practically blushing, though it would have been hard to tell under all her makeup. “You’re too kind.”

  Beyond James, a slightly younger man started up a conversation with our Master Distiller. I didn’t interrupt, standing back while Clarice chatted up James.

  She pushed out her chest and leaned a bit to the side in the classic hip pop. I tried not shake my head and turned back to get a better look at the other client.

  Tim, our Master Distiller, noticed me reclining against a rick and said, “Hey, Hope. Come meet Mister Phillips here.”

  I pushed off the wooden framing and forced a smile. Not a great one, but the best I could muster given the situation.

  “This is the VP-”

  The man interrupted Tim to extend a hand. “Paul. None of that Mister Phillips business. You can just call me Paul.” He gave a broad smile and bowed his head. For a millisecond I thought he might kiss my hand, and I abruptly pulled it from his grasp.

  Then I went into damage control. “Very nice to meet you, Mister, uh…I mean Paul. Sorry.”

  He showed no sign of insult.

  “No worries. Bowing his head again, he tipped an imaginary hat and said, “Charmed.”

  Weirdly formal, but pleasant enough. However, he quickly lost any credit from me in the gentleman department when his eyes strayed from my face to linger on my chest.

  Rather than create a scene, I squelched a reply and backed away to where I could lean on the rick, satisfied I was far enough back to be out of his direct line of sight.

  “Let’s get this started, shall we?” Tim said.

  He waved his hands to gather in the others, as well as me and Clarice. I took my time closing on the group, eventually sidling over to where I could put both Clarice and James between me and Paul.

  Tim took a long copper tube off a hook on the wall and handed that to James.

  “I don’t have a bandana or ski mask to offer you, but you can be our thief,” Tim told him.

  Always one to go for a lame joke, I thought, although I probably would have used it myself. So I bent my smirk into more of a polite smile at his sense of humor—or lack thereof.

  Tim then handed a hefty mallet to Paul. “And you can hammer out the bungs.”

  Surprisingly, no one went for a joke there, though the two older fellows were probably less inclined to juvenile toilet humor.

  “This is awesome.” Paul hefted the bung hammer. His eyes somehow seemed to target me as I stayed at the back of the small crowd. “We’ve been really looking forward to this. Y’all have been so accommodating so far.”

  “Well, we’re thrilled to have you,” Tim replied, ever the salesman. “Now how about you let me show you how to knock that bung out.”

  After a couple pointers from Tim on how and where to best hit the barrel to pop out the wooden plug, Paul reared back and brought the hammer down.

  A dull thump rumbled through the rack house. But the sound didn’t stop there.

  A reverberation rolled across the whole complex, rattling the structure like thunder.

  “Helluva hit, pal,” James told Paul.

  I couldn’t believe no one commented on the sound. Though the perfect day for a summer storm, they had to know it hadn’t been remotely close to storming when they’d gone inside.

  In my mind, there was only one possible explanation. I instantly grabbed for my phone.

  Clarice and Tim just looked at each other and shrugged, but I’d heard that sound before, many times, and there was no forgetting it.

  My mind instantly went back to the shadowy figures, trying to remember if I’d seen anything that resembled a gun.

  CHAPTER 6

  “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath.

  That was a gunshot. No way it wasn’t.

  R U OK, I typed and sent to Lee.

  Three dots appeared. At least he was reading if not replying. For a moment, I couldn’t do anything but feel my heartrate race. Still I knew I needed to be checking outside even if I didn’t want to.

  I couldn’t just abandon the group and walk down the aisle and out the door, seeing how they had paid no attention to the noise.

  After more small talk, Paul pounded the side of the barrel a couple more times. It was enough to make me consider whether I’d maybe misinterpreted what I thought I’d heard. But the dull thump of the hammer couldn’t replicate the rolling boom of a distant gunshot.

  No way I was wrong.

  Or was I?

  Every day drew us closer to the Fourth of July, where rednecks across the county felt the need to shoot off fireworks at all hours of the day and night.

  My eyes drifted to the nearest window, pulling my body along with them. It wouldn’t be a great look at the fence line, but I thought I might be able to at least see it obliquely without getting too far away from the others.

  In all that time, no other shots or booms had carried to my ears.

  I side-eyed the group as I drew closer to the window. The others were ready to try the first barrel. With the bung popped out, they watched as James plunged the thief inside to get a sample.

  My phone vibrated.

  I grimaced at the short reply. Lee had only sent back a thumbs-up emoji.

  “That’s it,” I muttered. “C’mon, man.”

  I typed back, What was that sound?

  The ten seconds it took for him to text me back felt like a half hour.

  Checking on it.

  “Great.” I reached the window and stooped over a little to get a good look between the bars.

  I wrapped each of my hands around the steel and found it funny how rack houses reminded me of prisons. Especially the long narrow one with wooden shutters on the Castle & Key property that looked exactly like a turn of the century, frontier justice-type of prison.

  I squinted before looking outside, though the sun wouldn’t be shining in my face from that direction. It just seemed like the thing to do when dark shapes resembling the black-uninformed thugs from the Bison Fork robbery crew were on the loose—or so it felt to me.

  As far as I knew, most—if not all—of the crew had ended up in prison. Other than the ones who’d died, of course. Even the ones who’d tried to slip out the back way had been captured within hours, or days at the longest.

  Imagine my joy at seeing Gruffy’s mugshot on television after having thought he’d gotten away. But that didn’t mean others weren’t on the loose, possibly scoping out another distillery. Like Old Tyler.

  What are the odds? No way.

  I shook my head to clear the ridiculous thoughts and stared back out the window.

  The portion of the fence line I could make out wasn’t the same
as where I’d seen the shapes earlier. I stared at it for a while anyway, letting the gentle breeze through the leaves turn them into wispy shapes resembling masked bandits.

  “Dammit,” I muttered and blinked my eyes a couple times. Everything seemed blurrier after that. I let go of a bar to wipe my brow again, and cursed myself for letting Lee convince me to drink all that wine.

  Thinking of wine, my cottonmouth reminded me that I still desperately needed a drink.

  I looked back to the others and took a deep breath.

  “Hope,” Paul said, enthusiastically waving me over. “Are you gonna join us?” He swished brown liquid in a glass. “We could always use another opinion.”

  “Love to,” I forced out, though bourbon was the last thing on my mind.

  I took my time getting over to the makeshift table, which amounted to little more than high grade plywood laid across a couple barrels.

  A bevy of shiny glasses awaited.

  I spotted the water pitcher in the corner and angled for it, but Paul cut me off with a Glencairn glass. One that had been overfilled compared to the usual sample size.

  “Tell us what you think,” he said with a creepy raise of an eyebrow. “I’d love to get your opinion on this one.”

  “Sure. Did you guys like it?” I asked, while inwardly drooling over the water tantalizingly out of reach.

  “You try it,” James said. “Maybe a winner, maybe not.”

  I lifted the glass to my nose and tried to not let it turn my stomach. Surprisingly, it smelled good. Exceptionally good. I’d sampled plenty of our standard Drummer Boy product by that point in my short career and, despite my current mood, the one I held sure smelled better than most.

  “Oh, it’s gonna be a great one.” I swirled the glass. “Here we go, boys. Down the hatch!”

  I held the glass out in front of me, pretending I would take it all down in one shot.

  Audible gasps came from Tim and Clarice. Possibly the others two, though I think they were more interested to see if I’d actually do it.

  Of course I wouldn’t. For one, it would have been horribly bad form for a tasting. Also, I wasn’t sure it wouldn’t come right back up the hatch.