New Brew

by Mark Lashway

  “Oliver Hamm is next!” Utah declared as the contest began winding down to the last three contestants. Cam vaguely remembered Hamm in this same competition from last year, picturing the third-place white ribbon being handed to him by Utah. Sonny had told him once that Hamm’s wheat beers were pretty good.

  Hamm’s sample was dispensed and passed around. Cam stared at the pourer of the brews, who as usual didn’t bother to disguise his reaction. His look told the crowd that at least he thought it was wonderful. The judges gave nothing away, as expected. There was some commentary from the contestants.

  “I changed it up a little this year and used some techniques that Jan advised me on,” Hamm informed everyone. Cam felt the color draining from his face, then looked over at Gerhard. The Bavarian biting his lip didn’t necessarily mean anything, but the veins standing out on his neck did. His spirit isn’t completely dead, Cam told himself. Let’s see what he’s got left….

  “Well, gosh! That’ll really add some more competition to this then, won’t it?” Utah loudly declared, playing it for all it was worth. Cam still marveled at the change. Last year, every statement that Utah made had drawn boos and jeering. “Pourer of the brews! Pour samples from the next contestant, would you? Next up is Jan Vosloo!”

  The next few minutes were absorbed by the pouring and distributing of many samples. As usual, the judges were inscrutable as they tasted their samples, so Cam and his companions stared at the pourer, who wore that tell-tale look of joy. Vosloo had done well with this one. As he watched the greedy pourer gulp down the last of his sample, Cam thought about what a plum job that the man had. In fact, he had heard various mutterings of discontent from more than a few

  GWIBErs over how one man could lock down such a position, seemingly permanently.

  “And last, but certainly not least, is the final entry, Gerhard Streicher!” Utah cried, sensing a bit of growing interest from the crowd. Hang it up, Phil, Cam thought sadly. Nothing will match last year’s showdown….at least not this time.

  The process played out one last time and took only a few minutes. Cam saw the other contestants drink their samples, some nodding very approvingly. However, the pourer wore a merely neutral expression. Uh oh….

  “Do you think it’s possible that the pourer just has numb taste buds by now after all of the brew he’s put down?” Cam asked Reuben and Bobby.

  “I kinda doubt it,” Reuben answered rather somberly. “He’s a really accomplished drinker, with many years of experience behind him.”

  “Then I think Gerhard’s in trouble,” Cam said.

  “Yep.”

  After a few minutes of quiet consultation among the judges, Utah took the results from the judges’ table and turned on his mike again.

  “Another competition is done!” Utah began, looking over at the half-empty bleachers. “As always, I want to thank every contestant for competing, no matter where they place. So, with that, let me announce our winners in the open wheat category. Third place, by decision of our judges, the winner of the white ribbon, goes to….Gerhard Streicher!”

  A whooshing sound came from the audience at the unexpected result. Last year, Streicher had finished in a razor-close second place to Vosloo but had dropped to third place this year. The Bavarian, tears in his eyes, waved off the presentation of the award and left the tent, head down. His compatriot, Johann Kopp openly sobbed as he left with Streicher. Cam and his two companions sat there in shock, mouths open, unable to speak after such horror.

  “Oh my!” Utah exclaimed. “But this just goes to show us, people, how high the competition here is at GWIBE! Let down just a little bit and you fall!” He reminded Cam of a priest in a Catholic school lecturing children about the consequences of sin. “Wow! OK, then we’ll move on to our next award. Second place, the red ribbon, goes to the fine beer made by….Oliver Hamm!”

  Hamm thrust his arms up in the air, exhibiting the joy of someone who has finally broken through into the top ranks. Can he stay there? Cam wondered. Or will he fall, too? He joined in the scattered applause to recognize Hamm’s achievement.

  “Now we’re down to the very end,” Utah said. “The top dog in the open wheat contest this year, the winner of big blue, should come as no surprise. Jan Vosloo!”

  Vosloo thrust both index fingers into the air, grinning. There was more applause, but nothing like the pandemonium of last year. Cam joined in again, but without enthusiasm. He still didn’t like the Belgian very much, figuring him to be a sneaky and two-faced man.

  “That’s all for now, people,” Utah informed them. “The dunkelweizen contest will start half an hour from now, so we hope you’ll come back for more exciting competition!” He flashed those pearly whites. It drew only a few boos.

  “Well, that was very unexcitin’,” Cam grumbled as he, Reuben and Bobby got up off the bleachers. Shauna got up from the judges’ table and walked over their way. Her look was pleasant enough, but it told her husband’s two companions to get lost. They did.

  “This is going to be a long night,” she sighed. “There’s no zip to anything this year.”

  “Not so far,” he replied, knowing that at GWIBE things could turn dramatically in very little time. “Honey, I’m not comin’ for the dunkelweizen competition. I can’t take any more.”

  “I understand, but I’m committed to this. I’m afraid you’ll be on your own for tonight.”

  Remember to look disappointed, he reminded himself as she stared at him to get his reaction, feeling like a hyperactive dog that had slipped his collar. “Oh well, I’ll find somethin’ to do. There’s always somethin’ goin’ on.”

  “Just make sure to stay out of trouble, dear, alright?”

  “Trouble? Why would you think I’d ever get into trouble?” he kidded. Her look told him that she wasn’t amused.

  She gave him a parting hug and kissed him. “Honey, people are betting 5-2 out on the street that our marriage will be kaput soon.”

  “Bullshit,” he countered nonchalantly. “I think our odds are no worse than even.” She stomped him on the foot and walked away.

  -15-

  Cam wandered throughout the settlement, having trouble figuring out what to do despite what he had told Shauna. Helen and Sonny hadn’t been around. Going to Little Germany was out, because he knew without even checking that the place would have all of the cheer of a funeral home in the wake of the Germans’ sorry performances so far. Then he reminded himself that that was a selfish attitude to take. Later on, once all of tonight’s competitions were over, he would have to stop there for a while to console Gerhard and possibly Johann.

  After a few beers at various spots, he had stopped to get a Philly cheese steak from the same vendor as last year. It had been delicious again, and now he was ready to go after more beer. But where to go?

  He was saved from the dilemma as Charlie Crockett of the Stardust Boys came along, accompanied by two men and a woman, none of whom Cam really knew.

  “Looking for something to do, Cam?” Crockett asked, guessing his situation.

  “Actually, I am,” Cam sighed.

  “Follow me,” Crockett told him. “I’m heading back to my place. I can use you to help get rid of that pest acquaintance of yours.”

  “Pest acquaintance? Who….” He caught himself as he realized that he could be referring to only one person. Oh no…. “Ned Inkwell?!”

  “Yeah, that one,” Crockett chuckled rather mirthlessly. “He’s pretty well lit by now, Cam. He fancies himself as a singer and has been doing a medley of hits. People are trying to get away from him. Take him home, Cam.”

  “Huh? I’m not responsible for him. Besides, he told me that after the last experience that he’d be on the straight and narrow again!”

  “Yeah, it was the same exact thing with another state police detective last year, too,” Crockett pointed out. “Only this one isn’t a fun drunk. He’s a pain in the ass.”

  “I’m not his keeper, Charlie.”

  “You s
ee, Cam, I’m figuring that you can relate to him. You know, tell him cautionary tales of the dangers that cops face when they get led into temptation. He can relate to you that way, some brotherhood of investigators stuff. Just get him the fuck out of my campsite!”

  “Is it so bad if he loafs around, singin’?”

  “One of my three kegs was gone after I did some hosting, Cam. He’s going through my second one at a fearsome rate, which happens to be my favorite, my Scotch ale. If he doesn’t go away right now, I’ll run out of brew well before this is over. That would be really uncool. He doesn’t take any hint to leave, thinks we’re just joshing him when we tell him, directly, to leave, and I don’t want charges on me for manhandling a cop.”

  Despite the drinks that he’d had, Cam’s mind was very sharp and he saw the potential disaster of helping out with Inkwell. The investigator might very well follow him home again and cause another bad situation with Shauna. No, it was better to let the monster loose on all of GWIBE than to risk that. “Sorry, Charlie, no dice. You’re on your own with this one,” he told Crockett, who glared at him. Cam walked away in a hurry, making a note to completely avoid the area. Christ, we’re only about a third of the way through this thing and I’m trying to hide and avoid trouble. This is more of an ordeal than fun….

  Where could he go to avoid Inkwell for the next several hours? Maybe I can go find Reuben again, he thought, knowing that Reuben would probably not return to witness any more of the pathetic competitions tonight. The best thing was that Shauna had no real dislike of the little man. He would be a safe bet.

  “Cam.” Witter turned at the sound of the familiar and re-assuring voice.

  “Sonny! I was lookin’ around for you earlier, but you were gone.”

  “What are you up to?”

  “Tryin’ to avoid any place where Ned Inkwell could show up, so I can ride out the night.”

  “Heh heh, yeah, Shauna was on the warpath over that one, wasn’t she?”

  “He apologized to her and she seemed to really forgive him, Sonny, but now he’s gettin’ wasted again, despite….”

  “Yeah. Word is that he’s quite the entertainer over with the Stardust Boys. Hey, you know how it is, my boy. The beer that we create can be very seductive to any poor soul who grew up on that bland mass-market stuff. Being released from that straitjacket and suddenly free can be a bit overwhelming, Cam. Some people just can’t handle it at first.”

  Cam felt his face go red and wanted to change the subject. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked.

  “Abbot John contacted me. He’s willing to give us a tour of the abbey tomorrow. We can have a party of up to ten people, and I get to handpick them.”

  “That sounds like a welcome distraction,” Cam told him, finally cracking a smile.

  “Good, because I don’t know if I can find that many people that I both want to invite and who will accept anyway. Most GWIBE people just aren’t into educational or cultural stuff.”

  “Nope. Ah, you just reminded me of somethin’. Phil Utah’s not gonna be….”

  “Christ, Cam, what kind of idiot do you think I am?” Lombardo growled.

  “I just wanted to make sure, Sonny. This needs to be enjoyable, you know?”

  “I’m tempted to not ask you to join me for some brews. I’m gonna move around and do some sampling. You wanna come?”

  “Sure! What are you goin’ for?”

  “I don’t care. Are you in the mood for anything particular?”

  “Well, I’ve had my fair share of pale ales and IPAs today. I’m want to go on the dark side for a bit to give my taste buds a change.”

  “Yeah, I know what you’re saying,” Lombardo sighed. “India Pale Ales are all the rage. Everybody’s making them now, from the microbreweries to the homebrewers. I like some of them, but it’s getting oversaturated as far as I’m concerned. I’m tired of them.”

  “So, you’re not goin’ to any more competitions tonight, either?”

  “Maybe the later ones, if any. They’ve been lousy so far. Let’s wander and see what we can turn up for fun.”

  However, they no sooner began their trip when they turned a corner and blundered upon Ned Inkwell having a very serious discussion with Maria Sanchez. Unable to avoid it without being obvious, they resigned themselves to it and walked over toward them. Inkwell, despite having to be buzzed from what he’d consumed so far, was apparently very clear as he asked Sanchez one question after another.

  “Look, Mr. Inkwell, for the last time, I barely knew the guy. He saved me from that snake, that was it,” the exasperated woman said. It was the first bit of conversation that Cam and Sonny could pick out as they got close enough to hear.

  “Do you know anybody who did know him?” Inkwell asked.

  “No! I’m totally new to this thing myself. I hardly know anybody,” she shot back.

  “You know, Miss Sanchez, I’m thinking that Tex Cutter figured that you’d be really grateful for him saving you and that maybe he….”

  “Save your breath,” she cut him off. “I wasn’t interested. I don’t go for guys, you see.”

  “I’ll see you around, Cam,” Lombardo said, not wanting to be in on this. Within seconds Maria Sanchez left too, leaving Cam in the position of being alone with Inkwell again. Cam said nothing, wondering how he was going to get away now.

  Inkwell let out a deep sigh as he put his little notebook back into his pocket. The investigator gazed at the surroundings before finally looking at Witter. “She’s lying,” Inkwell said in a very low tone. “She knows more than what she lets on.”

  “Oh? What makes you think that?” Cam asked, wanting to hear the reason.

  “Just little signs that she gave off,” Inkwell replied, “signs that only the most talented liars won’t show. My guess is that this woman has trouble in her past. I’ll do a little research into Maria Sanchez and see what turns up.”

  “That sounds like a solid plan,” Cam told him. Geez, drunk or not, this guy is still really sharp. And he’s right, there is something with this Maria Sanchez. She has a shady air….

  Inkwell took out his cellphone after scanning the area to make sure that nobody was close enough to overhear him. Satisfied as to that, he told the person on the other end, whom Cam guessed to be somebody back at headquarters, to gather information on Sanchez.

  “She works for….mmm….what’s the name of her company?” Inkwell asked Cam.

  “Wassacor, the beverage distributors,” Cam replied. He spelled it for him. When Inkwell was done and shut off his phone, Cam told him, “Well, Ned, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Cam, I need you to stick around for a little while,” Inkwell flatly told him.

  “Why?”

  “Well, I’ve been wanting to try an English porter style and I’ll bet you know somebody who makes a good one, hmm? I’ll tell you the rest later.”

  OK, Cam told himself, making some quick calculations, Shauna probably has one more competition to judge, so I’ll be safe for an hour. I’ll get him off my back by taking him over to Wes’ and Sally’s place for a good porter, then scrape him off on them and be back to get together with Shauna as the competitions end for the night. Got it all wrapped tight.

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  Joey Creed was spending another evening on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was going to be another long night, he realized, hoping that he could fall asleep soon in order to pass the time. Tonight was supposed to have been the big night when he made his move, fled the abbey and hooked up with Uncle Duke on the outside. There had been complications, however, as he had been unexpectedly summoned earlier for a trivial assignment that he’d understood right off was a make-work kind of thing.

  The feeling that he’d had of being watched before was now very pronounced. Somebody here was suspicious of him, he could sense it. He didn’t think that it was Abbot John or any other of the leaders here. If it was, he’d have been yanked in front of them by now, he was certain of that. It had
to be somebody within the rank-and-file putting a bug in someone’s ear. With that in mind, he was determined to play it very safe tonight by staying put in his room. He couldn’t spend too many nights like this, however. Time was starting to run down and he would have to make his move before long. Tomorrow night, perhaps? He thought it over and over as he tried to fall asleep.

  Very close by, in another modest room, the figure whom Joey Creed didn’t know, but suspected of being on to him, was also plopped down on a bed, pondering what to do. He’ll try for it soon, very soon, he has to. I hope I can come up with something that doesn’t involve killing him. I can’t accuse him, even if I catch him. If I do, I expose myself as a spy and from there will come questions about Manuel….

  ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

  Duke Lando rubbed his face, trying to suppress the rage that he was now feeling, despite the serene confidence that he had tried to impart to Tom Deville and Clay Sharper. His hair, normally well-kept, was a ragged mess due to his nervous habit of running his fingers through it whenever he felt stressed. Reaching into his ever-present cooler, he grabbed a bottle of beer, popped off the cap and drank almost half of the bottle in the first gulp. It was what he had always done in his early years while constantly worrying whether or not his business was going to make it or not. Life was not good right now.

  Cheryl Ramirez, AKA Maria Sanchez, had just left his tent a few minutes earlier after notifying him about the encounter with Ned Inkwell. Intensive questioning of her had satisfied Lando that she had not given the investigator anything about her ties to him. That was good, he thought, but it’s only a short breather. I’ll bet that Inkwell does some checking into her, and it’ll unravel really quickly from there.

  “She won’t want to cop out to a murder rap,” he murmured to himself. He had always found the technique of playing second person to himself helpful in devising solutions to problems. “But she’s not a pro. Inkwell will catch her up in a lie, if he already hasn’t, and lay the trap for her. She’ll break in a hurry once he snares her.”