Craft Brew Caper
The crowd of attendees at the Crown Ball gathered around the main stage. Nine black robed judges sat at a long table with a satin table cloth covering its face. The glasses laid out across the table told the tale of the choice brews consumed. For the expert judges to remain impartial, the tasting was blind. No one knew which brew was which.
The contenders were divided by style for ribbons marking top in their class. But only the best of the best would rise to bear the coveted Golden Hop award. The ribbons would be distributed at a later event. Tonight, the people gathered solely for that ultimate achievement.
Rodger too positioned himself closer to the stage that was erected in the back of the dimly lit hall. However, he remained on the outer rim of the crowds, a shy yet confident smile on his face. The position he chose was perfect. From where he stood by the thick concrete column, he could see both the stage and the beautiful Wilhemena. She looked exquisite. Her auburn hair sat on her head like a crown upon a queen's brow. Just seeing her in this way made Rodger feel so full of life! Of course, the terrible pains in his back also reminded him of his mortality.
As the main speaker on the stage began the opening announcements for the closing events leading up to the revealing of the Golden Hop winner, Rodger tenderly stretched his back. The tightness in his muscles was not from the strenuous labor of pushing his squeaky trolley with a barrel as its load. It was instead from his momentary experience of flight.
For what felt an eternity, Rodger parted from the weights of the earth as he completely departed involuntarily from the ground. With the unhelpful assistance of two enormous security guards, Rodger was hoisted from the ground by his shoulder and knees, to be thrown back first onto his landing pad, an unforgivably sturdy table. This Thursday had turned so horribly wrong so quickly.
The force of the impact knocked the wind from his lungs and made the stars that appeared before his eyes so clear that for a moment he thought he was in space.
An odd sort of sound murmured, but it sounded to be miles off in the distance. As the sound continued it began to take the shape of a voice speaking in a slow, mono-tone. The brightness of the hanging lanterns above were the primary detail that entrapped Rodger's attention. It wasn't until the sharp pains ringing throughout every inch of his back and shoulders brought him to fully functional condition.
"-thinking?!" the final word of a winded rant filtered through Rodger's conscience.
Rodger squinted his eyes. It was so bright and it appeared as though a man was inquiring something about his thoughts. "Wha'?" Rodger's lips slowly formed the word that this voice box could not.
The thick jawed security man that addressed him shook his head and opened his eyes dramatically. This would not be the first time that his boys had knocked the sense out of those he was interrogating. The notion that he would have to repeat himself was quite infuriating. Sucking in a deep breath, the guard repeated most of his original dictate: "You pay off and con several people, you hide some dumb, annoying trolley full of our brew, and you lie to us by not telling us anything! How can you even pretend to be upset with us?"
Rodger was not pretending anything. He was genuinely upset that his plan had been thwarted by some gabbing gusses. The emotion that pressed most of his heart was the fear that Francis, his companion and dearest friend, would be offended by these heavy handed buffoons. "Look, I'm not," Rodger's voice strained to produce these words. His dying soul felt more broken now than ever before. "I'm not feigning anything. I will tell you absolutely everything if you swear that you won't hurt my dog."
The strong jawed security guard turned his hazel eyes down to the dog in his arms. He too had a large faced, four pawed friend at home and he realized how he would feel if a stranger were doing the same with his pup in hand. With a sigh, the security guard named Dennis recognized that his approach was a tad too threatening. "Alright," he grumbled. "Here," Dennis handed Frances to Rodger. "But I ask that you give us every detail of your intended shenanigans."
Holding his dear friend close made all the wrongs and disclosures in his life whole and right. The unconditional love and loyalty that reflected from Francis' eyes was all that Rodger needed to feel alive. "Alright," he conceded, ""But you must believe everything that I say no matter how mad or far fetched it may sound."
Dennis grabbed a wooden chair and flicked it around so that he could straddle the back. Sitting comfortably directly in front of Rodger, Dennis said, "Try me."
~*~*~
What will Rodger say?!?!? Find out next time at the Weekly Read!
Your humble author,
S. Faxon
PS - look, it's me at the J.B. Fletcher house from Murder, She Wrote!
The tale of that adventure will come...
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