Beers and Fears

by Tim Meyer

  “Let’s go inside.” Jackson had the keys in hand and jingled them with a smile, hoping Alli would at least smile.

  Not a chance. She crossed her arms and went back to staring at the upper windows. “You’re making a big mistake. One I can’t be a part of.”

  “What do you mean?” Jackson knew exactly what she meant because she’d been hinting at leaving him all week. She’d been subtle at first, treating him like a child. Commenting about the other properties and how she could really see them working. Ignoring this building at first, until it was obvious Jackson was more interested in it.

  He felt drawn to it, as strongly as she was repulsed. Jackson knew this was coming. He silently joked she wasn’t the only fortuneteller in the relationship.

  Former relationship? When she refused to answer his question, Jackson smiled. He loved her. He wanted a life together. Babies. A white picket fence and a dog and cat. “Why don’t we meet back up tonight at seven? The Marina Diner? I’ll even let you order the eighteen-dollar salad with shrimp and won’t make fun of you. Fair?”

  He stopped smiling when he saw the look on Alli’s face.

  “No. I can’t be a part of this… this,” Alli said and shook her hand at the building. “Nothing good will come of it. I’m begging you to buy one of the other buildings. Please, Jackson. I’ll even throw in ten thousand dollars.”

  “Ten thousand dollars?”

  Alli sighed. “Fine. Twenty but it’s all I have in savings.”

  “I thought you had nothing in savings, actually.” Jackson felt betrayed and annoyed. “When did you suddenly come into money?”

  Alli sighed. “My mother. I talked to her…”

  “No fucking way.” Jackson was waving his hands. His face felt red with anger. “This is all me. No loans from family. I didn’t ask my parents for a fucking dime.”

  Alli smiled but it was more out of pity than happy. “Your parents don’t have any money.”

  “Fuck you,” Jackson said automatically. She’d never thrown it in his face before. “I won’t take a penny from your mother. Her cash was earned by bilking weak people into thinking they were talking to grandpa in Heaven or some other bullshit. She’s a con artist. Her money is shit because she stole it from stupid people.”

  “Is that what you think I do?” Alli asked.

  Jackson opened his mouth to speak but shut it. He didn’t want to fight with her. He loved Alli, but lately she was so negative. Especially when it came to real estate. Was she jealous of him? She’d never owned anything in her life. Alli had to travel all over the country with her gypsy mother, the snake oil salesman. He was sure after a few weeks or months of her stealing money from gullible people she was always shown as the fraud she was, and it was time to move on to the next town.

  “Fine.” Alli put her head down. “I’m leaving. Don’t call me ever again.” She took three steps back before lifting her head, but it wasn’t to look at Jackson. She was staring at the upper windows again.

  ***

  Jackson had managed to scrub another layer of caked-in dirt and beer remnants from the bar and smiled. “Look at this history.”

  “More like dried puke and beer,” his brother Trevor said. He didn’t look happy. “Can we take a break? We’ve been at this for hours.”

  Jackson checked his watch. “Actually, about an hour. You’re a lazy bastard.”

  Trevor waved his hand dismissively. “I’m turning on the radio.”

  “Sounds good. It’s too quiet in here, anyway.” Jackson went back to work on the bar, marveling at the natural wood finish underneath the grime. There were indented circles where hundreds, maybe thousands, of beers had sat. Condensation rings that would never go away and he didn’t want them to. Small chips from the wood where he imagined nervous patrons had picked at it while trying to pick up a woman or man.

  He moved a foot to his right and frowned, running a finger over the three deep grooves in the wood. “What do you think this is?”

  Trevor was too busy trying to find a station on the small radio Jackson had purchased. “I think this thing is busted. All I get is static and weird noises. You hear that?”

  Jackson stopped looking at the bar and frowned again. “Is that… a child laughing? That shit is creepy. Find a different station.”

  “That’s just it… I can’t lock onto anything except the laughing. It’s so faint, too. Even when I crank the volume, it doesn’t get any louder.” Trevor turned off the radio. “I hope you kept your receipt. I’ll bring my CD player tomorrow and we’ll have some real tunes. The radio sucks anyway.”

  “Very true, but none of that alternative shit you’re listening to. Bring in some cool eighties stuff. I don’t care if it’s even heavy or not, I hate Pearl Jam and Nirvana and that junk,” Jackson said. His brother was only eighteen months younger, but they were worlds apart when it came to music, vices and women.

  Jackson was into heavy metal and hard rock, but he hated the ballads. He liked loud guitars. Trevor was more into whining singers who hated their parents, and grunge had struck a chord with him.

  An occasional drink and a cigar, once a month or so, was enough to loosen up Jackson and he had a good time. He was a happy drunk; although, it was rare he had anything other than a good buzz. Trevor was a heavy drinker who was never finished until he passed out. Until he dropped, he’d get to the point where he was an asshole, saying whatever was on his mind.

  Women was where they were really different, though. Jackson was always the knight in shining armor. He’d find broken girls and try to fix them. At least, that’s what his therapist said. He thought he was simply looking for love but, after the divorce of his parents when he was ten, he’d been changed. As stupid as that sounded to Jackson, he knew it was true. He had abandonment issues with women. His parents were absent from his life. When he’d been unable to go to college because he had no money and his parents both made too much for him to get grants but wouldn’t spare a dime to help him, he’d gone into construction. He’d dated quite a few gorgeous women over the years but nothing as serious as Alli.

  “Tonight, I got a hot date,” Trevor said. “I need to skip out by five and take care of a couple things.”

  Trevor was the guy whose friends said would fuck a snake. He only had one type: vagina. Their friends loved taking Trevor barhopping because he’d fall on the grenade for them, hitting on and usually sleeping with the fat friend or the ugly friend or running interference with whichever girl they didn’t want cock-blocking. As far as Jackson knew, his brother had never been in a relationship longer than two weeks.

  “We’re just getting started,” Jackson said. “I could really use you to help me clean the rest of this room. Did you see the mess in the storeroom? I need to hire a crew to clear it.”

  “Then hire professionals.”

  Jackson shook his head. “What I mean by a crew is the guys coming over and drinking a case or two of beer and renting a dumpster. I’m barely hanging on with this right now. I need to get it ready for inspection and open the doors before end of year or I’m dead.”

  Trevor smiled. “Ask Alli if she’ll give you the money.”

  “Fuck you, asshole,” Jackson said and shook his head with a smile. “You can be a real jerkoff. You know?”

  “Oh, I know. It’s a gift.” Trevor wiped the sweat from his face. “Come out with me tonight. I met a stripper.”

  “Of course, you did.”

  Trevor laughed. “What do strippers have?”

  “Stripper friends.”

  Trevor snapped. “Exactly. This one’s a little chubby, which I love. She thinks she’s not good enough. She’ll do just about anything.”

  Jackson sighed. “You’ve been with her already?”

  “Nope. I just know the look.” Trevor pointed at his crotch. “Make sure you shave your bush down, too. Stripper chicks love dudes who shave their balls.”

  Jackson shook his head. “I don’t think so. That shit itches for weeks.”
/>   “Not if you keep it shaved.”

  Jackson put his head down with a laugh and went back to cleaning the bar.

  “Seriously, dude, you need a break occasionally. All this stress is going to kill you, big brother.”

  ***

  Jackson felt bad for blowing off his brother, but he needed to keep pace, or the brewery was never going to open on time. He had deliveries of equipment coming in four weeks. With all his cash tied up in the building and incoming items, Jackson couldn’t buy a beer tonight anyway.

  He needed to finish the bar area tonight and then go home and take a power nap. Return at first light and tackle the bathroom. The plumbing was still intact, and he crossed his fingers everything still worked. If replacing more than the toilets and sinks was an issue, he was fucked right now.

  With no construction work in his immediate future, it had been the perfect time to start the work on the building. Of course, without a paycheck, it meant his meager savings were going to dry up quickly.

  Jackson didn’t tell Trevor, but he’d been surviving on a can of tuna and tap water for meals for the past three days. He needed to strip down everything to make the brewery a success.

  He’d sold his record collection and his PlayStation and games, as well as books, extra clothing and anything not bolted down, at a yard sale last weekend. All the hardcover and paperback books he’d collected over the years he was never going to read.

  All that work for a few hundred dollars, when he could’ve thrown it all in the garbage and gotten a jump on cleaning the building.

  Something heavy fell in the stockroom, the noise in the silence sounding like an explosion. Jackson had been reaching across the bar for a clean rag when it happened and slipped, hitting his chin on the edge of the bar and seeing stars.

  He was on his knees and feeling nauseous. Fucking idiot. The brewery is going to kill me yet.

  Jackson stood and got his bearings, shaking it off.

  There were no further noises from the stockroom, but he knew he had to investigate. He felt so alone in the building right now, in the industrial part of town where everyone else on the block went home at five o’clock. Except for the vermin, Jackson was by himself. He had a really bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “Anyone there?” Jackson sighed. It was the line everyone used in every bad eighty’s horror movie. The serial killer never answered but they knew where the victim was now.

  Jackson picked up a hammer and screwdriver from the nearest toolbox and went to the stockroom door. He’d kept all the lights off in the building to save money, using only a couple of lamps he moved from spot to spot as he worked.

  Now he flipped every light switch on the wall and the bar area was bathed in harsh light. Most of the bulbs above were yellow and gave off a sickly light.

  “I’m coming in,” Jackson announced, the worst possible thing to do. He pushed the stockroom door open with his foot and held the hammer cocked and ready to strike.

  The stockroom was a mess and, with the lights on, it looked even worse.

  He heard scurrying but it was probably a few mice and cockroaches running from the light.

  The path through the stockroom was thin, barely enough room to walk single-file. Jackson had walked through a couple of times to the back door and the small dumpster in the fenced-in pen outside. The realtor had apologized for the mess and all the debris, but swore the seller was knocking the price down so they didn’t have to clean it. There was also talk of actual, working equipment buried in the trash, too. Jackson knew every little bit helped. His shoestring budget didn’t allow him to pay more for the place so they would clean it out.

  Beggars can’t be choosers, he thought.

  He looked around but couldn’t find anything even more out of place than before. Something heavy had fallen but there was nothing in the path. The same wall of junk on either side looked undisturbed. Jackson sighed. It would take a week with a dozen guys to clear this out.

  The focus was still on the main room, especially past the bar area where the actual equipment would be set up and the beer made. Jackson envisioned a viewing area, where customers could sit facing the kettles and watch workers brewing beer, packaging bottles and cans and filling the kegs. Fresh beer for the masses.

  Jackson turned back. He’d figure out what had fallen in the future. Right now, he needed to finish cleaning the bar.

  The woman was beautiful. An older redhead. Wearing tight jeans and a tighter t-shirt with the name of a bar, Lost Demon Brewing Company. She was staring at the floor where Jackson was standing. He followed her gaze and jumped back, crashing into boxes.

  A blood-covered tarp was on the floor. He could smell the coppery stench and his stomach roiled. When he looked up, the redhead was gone.

  The blood and the tarp were gone, replaced by the dusty floor and his footprints.

  ***

  “How was your night?” Jackson asked, not hiding his big grin.

  “Fuck off.” Trevor stared at the bar area and nodded. “You did a lot of work, bro. Did you sleep here last night?”

  “Maybe.” Jackson pointed at the windows. “I’d like to work on those today. I thought they were painted over but it’s just grime. All they need is a good cleaning.”

  “Just replace them,” Trevor said. “Go buy new panes and glass and we’ll install them.”

  “First off you can’t do the work. You suck at construction.” Jackson pointed at his brother’s face. “Second… are you going to tell me what happened to your face?”

  “No big deal. I ran into a fist. The stripper had a boyfriend, and, when she found out I’d fucked her friend in her ass in the bathroom at the club while I was waiting for her shift to end, she was kinda pissed.” Trevor shrugged. “Sometimes being a lover instead of a fighter has its downside.”

  “One guy did that to you?”

  Trevor shook his head and winced. “Nah. He’s also friends with the bouncers, who tipped him off I was there to pick her up. I threw a lot of punches. My knuckles and arms hurt more than my face.” Trevor pointed at Jackson. “I know your bruised chin had nothing to do with a chick, unless Alli came back and popped you one. Please tell me that happened.”

  “Nah. I had a fight with the bar counter and it won.” Jackson thought of the strange shit from last night. It all seemed like a dream now, though. Had any of it happened? He doubted it. He’d been working too many hours without sleep. Eating the bare minimum. Stress levels through the roof. He needed a good night’s sleep… which he’d get in several months when everything was in order. Maybe he’d seen the redhead in the grocery store at some point and his lack of sleep had popped her into his thoughts.

  Trevor picked up two of the rags and a bucket. He took a couple of steps and looked at Jackson. “Why are all the lights on?”

  “Huh?” Jackson realized he’d never turned them off after last night. He’d been on edge, waiting for more sounds from the stockroom or the redhead to reappear. He didn’t want to be in the dark with only a single lamp for light. “Forgot to turn them off.”

  “You never put them all on. You yelled at me six times for doing it.”

  “At least ten before you finally stopped.” Jackson went to the door for the stockroom and switched them all off except for the one over the bar. “If you can scrape all the shit off the windows, I won’t need to use the lamps except at night.”

  Trevor nodded. “Can I ask you a question and I want an honest answer?”

  “Shoot.”

  Trevor cocked his head to the side. “Are you broke?”

  “What? No,” Jackson said defensively. “Just being smart with my money.”

  “Bullshit. You’re broke. I see the tuna cans in the garbage. Every day. Refusing to go out to lunch or dinner. No hanging in the bar with me, blowing off steam.”

  Jackson pointed at Trevor’s face. “No thanks to getting my ass kicked with you in a strip club.”

  “You sunk every dime into this place. I know i
t. If I had money, I’d help,” Trevor said. He waved his hand. “You don’t have to pay me.”

  “No way. I promised you some cash and you’ll get it. I’m not going to screw over the only family that still matters to me,” Jackson said.

  “Oh, you’ll pay me back.” Trevor smiled. “By giving me a job once this shithole is ready to go. I’ll pitch in and help out for no pay. You hold onto your cash. Use it to buy an actual meal once in a while.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “You can and you will.” Trevor grinned. “I have a few odd jobs coming up for a friend. I’ll make more than enough money. Hell, if I make enough, I might buy into this money pit and then you can’t fire me when I fuck all the bartenders on the pool table.”

  “Good luck. I’m only hiring dudes.”

  ***

  Trevor stared at the wall and frowned. “Yo, bro… bring me the lamp. I think I found something weird.”

  He’d been washing down the layers of grime from the walls after he’d finished the windows, which had taken him most of the day. It was nearing midnight and Trevor knew he should’ve quit hours ago but he wanted to keep pace with his big brother.

  What he had thought was simply part of the wall was a door set into the wall. No door frame. No knob. If he hadn’t tilted his head a certain way, he wouldn’t have noticed the thin seam going around.

  “Whatcha got?” Jackson plugged in the lamp closer to the wall and had his flashlight out, which Trevor took.

  “Lookit this…” Trevor traced the door’s end with the light. “What’s on the other side?”

  “The stockroom.”

  Trevor thought it odd there’d been a door on this wall that was closed up, especially when there was the stockroom door maybe ten feet to the right.

  Jackson traced it with a finger. “Maybe it’s where the old door used to be? They might’ve added the other one because it was in a better area or they had something against this wall. I remember reading about the building in the library and I know they had a big jukebox somewhere. Haven’t found actual pictures yet but I know this has been a few bars and breweries over the last hundred years or so. Maybe that’s it?”