by Mark Lashway
“Holes got cut in the tent? Really? Then what?”
“Then a bunch of cocks started appearing!”
“Cocks? What do you mean by cocks?”
“I’m not talking about chickens, Duke!” she screeched, eyes narrowing.
“Then what kind….uh….oh, those.” Good God, what kind of degenerates do they have at this thing? Unbelievable. “Weinies were getting waved around, is that it?”
“Th-then th-they started pissing inside the place, all over the floor! Th-then I ran!”
“That was the right thing to do,” he consoled her. “Obviously, since it was the Ace Brewing tent, it was a message directed at Phil.”
“Everybody hates him, Duke, and I mean everybody. Of the dozens of people I’ve talked to, I haven’t found one person who says anything good about him. Why the fuck did you get tied in with him for in the first place?!” she hissed, shaking a fist at him.
“Because I thought he would be useful to my enterprise,” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Now I see the error I made with that. No matter. We’ll steer clear of him now. The important thing is that both of us stay out of sight until dark. Then we’ll do our thing and it’ll be over and you can take off at that point. Simple enough?”
“Yeah, but how long until dark?”
“Four hours, more or less. I think I have a spot where you can hide out until I need you.” He then proceeded to explain to her the exact place he had in mind, watching the entrance of his tent and keeping his voice low enough so nobody outside could hear a word.
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
“Witter!” barked the familiar voice of Ned Inkwell. Cam’s head dropped and he closed his eyes in silent agony. Shit, I’m not gonna get even half a day away from him! He had left Helen’s place just long enough to hit the latrine, and now Inkwell had found him.
“What?” Cam shot back, clearly aggravated. Inkwell ignored his tone, his face indicating that he had urgent business. There was another man with Inkwell who appeared to be about the same age they were, dressed casually but still a bit too neatly for GWIBE. The man’s hazel eyes were expressionless as he studied Cam.
“First of all, I want to introduce you to Darryl Stayne,” Inkwell explained. “He’s FBI out of the Minneapolis office. I’ve known him for a few years. I filled him in on your status.”
“Minneapolis?” Cam grunted. “Christ, that’s a ways away. North Dakota doesn’t….”
“No, this state is served by the Minneapolis office,” the FBI man told him. Cam shook hands with him.
“I asked Darryl in to look things over,” Inkwell continued, “and get him up to date on what seems to be anti-Catholic hate crimes.”
“Committed by a suspected Lutheran mole,” Cam finished the thought. A sideways glance caught Stayne’s face twitching a little. Yeah, you know he’s batshit crazy, just like I do, but I guess you have to be thorough and go through the process just in case.
“Yep. Anyway, Witter, I need you to come with me. I’m trying to track down the mysterious Maria Sanchez. Darryl isn’t in on this, since this appears to be a separate local case, so you can help me find her. I’m always just one step behind her, Witter. Somebody said they saw her running, shrieking, from the Ace Brewing tent about an hour ago. Nothing since.”
“So what’s our G-man gonna be doin’ in the meantime?” Cam asked.
“I’ll be roaming around until I meet up with the abbot,” Stayne replied. “We asked him to come meet us here, to avoid talk at the abbey. Isn’t that right, Ned?”
“Yes, he will be here. He’s already on the way, I’d guess. Let’s go, Witter.”
“So, where are we headin’ to?” Cam asked when they were alone.
“First stop is to see Marv and Jenny Lou,” Inkwell told him. “They have an 80 shilling Scottish Ale which I hear is incredible.” Seeing Cam’s disapproving look, he continued. “I know what you’re thinking, Witter, that it’s not good to be drinking when I have an FBI stud here to help me. But if you only knew the great inside info I’ve gotten by taking your advice and blending into the scene. Have you ever heard the old saying that it takes an Apache to catch an Apache?”
“So by stayin’ well-lubed it’s gonna help you catch your Lutheran mole?”
“Well, maybe not that of course, but it’ll help me track down our mystery girl for sure.”
Cam couldn’t understand Inkwell’s logic, but decided not to trouble his mind by worrying about it. And that Scottish Ale did sound pretty good right now.
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
A pale brown flatbed truck with some removable side railings chugged along slowly on one far end of the GWIBE site. The company logo painted on both doors read: Engstrom Septic Service. The driver and his companion each had an arm hanging out a window, looking forward to getting their monotonous task over with and heading back home.
“Wow, this thing is pretty big,” the driver observed as they got close. “More than I expected, for sure.”
“Well, there are 50 units placed here,” the passenger replied, referring to the portable latrines. “Somebody told me this thing usually draws about a thousand people.”
“Phew! It looks like this place stretches over half a mile. And with that many units, we’ll be lucky if we get outta here before dark. Hey! What the….”
His remark was cut off by the sudden appearance of two men who seemingly came out of nowhere and were standing in the dirt road, waving them to a stop.
“Goddamnit!” the driver sputtered when the two GWIBErs reached the truck. “That’s a good way to get yourself run over!”
“Sorry!” the GWIBEr replied. “We just wanted to catch you guys before you did a bunch of work for nothing.”
“What do you mean?” the man in the passenger seat asked.
“It’s a hoax, you’ve been suckered,” the second GWIBEr said. “All of those latrines are not to be removed from here today after all.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” the driver snarled. “We drove all this way….”
“Yeah, we know, it sucks,” the first GWIBEr sighed. “It seems like some asshole decided to play a prank and call your company to come remove the latrines. Can you imagine what this place would be like without them?”
“Yeah, but are you sure?”
“Well, think about it. This event still has several days to go. Why in the hell would we want our latrines yanked out now?”
“I’d like to get my hands on that son of a bitch!” the passenger muttered.
“We’ll deal with the guy, believe me,” the second GWIBEr told them. “He’s being dealt some discipline, count on it.”
“Might as well turn around and start back,” the driver mumbled.
“Hey, we know how it is,” the first GWIBEr said. “Here’s $20 for each of you for your troubles, compliments of GWIBE. And we’ve brought each of you one of our best homebrews for you to enjoy on the trip. They were just poured a few minutes ago and are still cold. Enjoy.”
As the truck turned around and headed back in the direction from which it had come, the two GWIBE men slowly walked back toward the settlement. “We were lucky on that one. If Jimmy hadn’t happened to be walking by and heard Utah on the phone….”
“Yeah, it was a fortunate break. It still cost $40 though.”
“No big deal. It came out of the secret GWIBE slush fund. You know, that’s where our $20 annual attendance fee goes.”
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
“Attention, people!” Utah cried to the milling bunches of people in the area. “Gather up to hear the announcement. It’s important!”
Tom Deville and Clay Sharper stood immediately to his side to provide what protection they could, not having gotten the word from Lando that this stuff was old news. They looked worriedly at the crowd, many of whom wore clearly hostile expressions. Utah, as usual, remained oblivious to this.
“This is a really bad place to do this,” Deville whispered to his friend.<
br />
“Sure is. Why the hell are we going along with it, then?”
“It wouldn’t do any good talking to him. He’s determined to do it here just for the symbolism, for Christ’s sake.”
“OK, people, now that I have your attention, let me begin by cutting to the chase. I am very unhappy over the response from you folks regarding my warning earlier today.”
“What response?” a woman in the crowd asked.
“Exactly!” Utah barked. “There was nothing, no indication of the disciplinary actions that I expected!”
“Uh oh!” Deville hoarsely whispered, his eyes getting a little wide as he pointed it out to Sharper. A large group of men stood to the side of the rest of the crowd and it consisted of the full crews belonging to Little Germany and Belgium Town.
“They’re standing together,” Sharper muttered. “I don’t like this, Tom!”
“Nope. I hope you don’t have any bad feet, ‘cause we might be running.”
“You mean disciplinary actions against us?” Jan Vosloo asked in a voice that was deep and cut through effectively. Johann Kopp was beside him and gave him an encouraging pat on the arm. Anybody not belonging to one of the factions moved aside.
“Yes, you!” Utah bravely responded, pointing a finger accusingly at the group. “For too long you, or ones like you, have had your way, defying sensible rules, thumbing your noses at decency and civilized behavior. Well, gentlemen, those days are over, because I’ve had it with you and am turning the screws! You see, I’m not waiting until 4:00 as originally planned because I know that you intended to just blow me off again. The reckoning has come, people!”
“And what reckoning is that, Phil?” Gerhard Streicher asked in a bored tone.
“All of the latrines are being taken out now!” Utah yelled, shaking a fist. “I spoke to the driver on the phone about ten minutes ago and he said they were just a few minutes out. So as I speak they’re undoubtedly on site, loading up their latrines for return. How do you like that?”
“Whatever,” some man muttered. “Folks, how ‘bout we teach Phil a lesson?”
Deville and Sharper alertly grabbed Utah and hustled him away very quickly before the mob could get moving. Walking very rapidly, they didn’t slow down until they were almost to the Ace Brewing tent. “But guys, you shouldn’t have interrupted!” Utah protested as they pulled him along. “The turning point is happening and I needed to see it through with the crowd, to make them understand the new reality.”
“We both understand that you were about to be lynched, Phil….again.”
“Well, I don’t quite see it that way,” Utah commented as they reached his establishment, “but thank you for your consideration anyway.” Deville and Sharper stood by the door and didn’t enter. Sharper’s nose began twitching a little.
“Yaaaaaaaaagh!” Utah screamed when he entered the tent, his feet going out from under him. He landed on his back, sprawled in some goo. After a moment, after he recovered from the shock, he cried, “Oh Lord, why is it all muddy in here?”
“Why does it smell like piss in there?” Deville muttered to his partner. Sharper nodded to the back side of the tent, to the ragged series of holes.
“Umm, Phil, we gotta go now and see some people. Catch up with you later,” Deville said and they quickly left. “We have to go meet someone who just texted a minute ago. They said it’s really important.”
-23-
“Geez, Witter, what do you hope to accomplish by coming here?” Inkwell asked Cam as they stood in the entrance of Duke Lando’s tent. “It’s bad enough that you took us by Ace Brewing before this. That was really strange, you know, Phil Utah sitting on the ground with mud all over him, weeping. Do you think he might be suicidal?”
“Nah!” Cam chuckled derisively. “There are more competitions tonight that he’ll emcee. Within an hour he’ll be showered, decked out in a new three-piece and flashin’ those teeth, obnoxious as ever. The reason we went there, and here, is that we need to find Duke Lando.” They were now standing just inside the doorway, the hidden bug on Lando’s cot catching every bit of their conversation.
“Why Lando? Yeah, he seems like a cockroach, but….”
“Look, if we find Lando, we’ll find that Maria Sanchez impostor, I’m tellin’ you!”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Gut instinct. They’re both fresh faces brought in by Phil. I can sense a connection.”
“So do you think that Utah’s got some plot going besides his control thing?”
“No, not at all. Phil’s no criminal mastermind.”
“So you’re thinking that Lando and this fake Maria Sanchez have their own thing going on the side? What would it be?”
“I don’t know that. Do you remember when we went on the abbey tour and Abbot John made that remark about buyin’ malt from Flatlands, Duke’s company, in the past?”
“Sure. So?”
“Well, the other night at one of the competitions, I saw the abbot and Lando lookin’ at each other. The abbot looked like he’d seen a fuckin’ ghost. So I’ve gotta….”
“Think that there was a business connection between the two gone bad,” Inkwell finished the sentence. “It still sounds pretty tenuous, Witter.”
“There’s more. Lando also has a big piece of a company called Flemwalloo that imports and distributes Belgian beers of every style. They’re the 600-pound gorilla of the Belgian beer distributors in this country, Ned. Now consider the abbey’s beers, which are a perfect fit for Flemwalloo and are acquirin’ quite a reputation already.”
“So you’re thinking that Lando is gonna muscle the abbey so he can get control of their beers? That’s incredible! Actually, considering this mess so far, it’s actually not.”
“I’m not really sure that that’s it, Ned, but it’s gotta be somewhere in the ballpark. I’ve been doin’ a lot of thinkin’ about it. But now it’s crucial that we go have a talk with Abbot John. I’m sure you’re tired of his evasions, too.”
“Yeah,” Inkwell muttered, nodding, “but I really want to get this fake Maria Sanchez first. I don’t want her slipping away.”
“Do you have anythin’ to arrest her on?”
“No, I don’t. I just figured I’d sweat her and see if she’ll break.”
“Look, if my theory of the connection with Lando is correct, she won’t go anywhere until he does. Duke won’t go anywhere until he gets what he wants. I picture him as a bullyboy who simply isn’t gonna be told no or go home without whatever he wants, OK? Now, if we can get somethin’ useful out of the abbot for once, maybe we could nail Duke and the woman durin’ whatever they’re plannin’. Once that happens, one of ‘em will start singin’, rest assured. You know how the rest of it goes. Everythin’ will start unravelin’ quickly from there.”
Inkwell didn’t respond right off, taking a minute to consider what Cam had said, his eyes narrowing as he pondered. Finally, his face broke into a crooked smile. “You’re good, Witter. I hadn’t connected those dots that far yet. You’re right, the abbot needs to be our first target. Oh, on the way, I need you to find me someone who has some Vienna lager.”
Cam sighed but didn’t comment. He knew a guy whose tent was not very far from here who made a very good one. “Let’s go, Ned. Why the hell were we hangin’ around here this long anyway?”
“Criminy, Witter! A ruthless businessman looking to dominate a beer sector, allied with a Lutheran spy in order to crush the prospects of a small Catholic abbey. You were spot on, my friend. This will be my case of a lifetime!”
Cam felt like crying again and once more didn’t comment. He couldn’t wait until this whole thing was over.
The bug on Lando’s cot had worked perfectly and the person listening on the other end took in the whole conversation. So, Inkwell is slowly closing in on the truth, thanks to Cameron Witter. Lando and his gang are living on borrowed time as of now and I think Duke realizes it. This isn’t good, not good at all….
♦�
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“So it’s all going down tonight?” Tom Deville whispered excitedly as he spoke to Duke Lando, who was slumped down in his hiding place behind some dumpster units.
“That’s right,” Lando replied, but he was missing his customary self-confidence now. To his two accomplices, Lando seemed worn out, older.
“So when do we get our hands on the items?” Deville continued. “Umm….how?”
“It’s a simple plan, really,” Lando began, “so basic that it’s almost primitive. We have to go to the abbey tonight….”
“Yeah? And?”
“We locate the brewery, which won’t be difficult. I know the layout of the place.”
“OK. Then….”
“Then we break in and get our stuff.”
“Break in? What the fuck are you talking about, break in? That wasn’t the plan….”
“The plan had to be changed!” Lando erupted, still keeping his voice under control. “This is our only option at this point.”
“It’s crazy, that’s what it is!” Sharper snapped.
“No, it’s not,” Lando replied. “They have no security whatsoever. As long as we are careful and smart, not leaving a bit of evidence, they might not know a thing for days. I figure we can be in and out of that abbey within 15 minutes.”
“Then what?” Deville asked.
“Then my two assistants pick us up. They drop me off at GWIBE and they take you to a hiding place.”
“Why do we hide?” Deville wondered, clearly suspicious.
“Because you’re going to serve as two possible suspects for a day or two before you show up at GWIBE again. I’ll be out being seen from tomorrow morning until the end. They’ll question you, providing that the abbey quickly discovers the loss and reports it right away, which I highly doubt. When they do, they’ll have nothing on you because you won’t have the items. I will, they’ll go back to GWIBE tonight and I’ll get them sent out to their final destination by morning. We wait out the rest of GWIBE, everybody goes home, and then we all proceed to get rich! Do you have any problem with that?”
