THE MORNING AFTER THE NIGHT BEFORE

Gill groaned, opened one eye.  The room spun and blurred out of focus.  Who or what had he done last night?  He slowly opened his other eye.  He blinked, trying to bring the room in to view.

A snore sounded beside him.  Turning his head, his bed companion came into sight.  Louie!  Next to him lay Hadley and Ranger.  All four snored as if in unison.  The onerous sound slammed into him, bouncing around his mind and brain before leaving out the other side with several more echoes off the walls beside him.  Waves of pain rushed down his neck, warping through his throat before splashing like a huge boulder in the pit of his churning gut.   Not wanting to shame himself in front of the board of Rattigan’s Microbrewery, Gill bolted upright, clapping his hand over his mouth.  His volcanic stomach spewed his molten contents upward, scorching his throat as his eyes watered.  Swaying like the room before Gill rushed for the cool porcelain awaiting him in the mayoral bedroom’s bath suite.  

The celebratory party and sampling of the first batches of Acorn Ale, Brazil Nut Dark, and Mixed Nut Chocolate Beer might not be the resounding success they initially thought. 

Meanwhile across town, Bettina downed two human aspirin while eying the blond haired male leaning against the bar.  Her tongue and mouth felt like a Mac truck fully loaded and its mud flaps full of obnoxious gritting mud passed through leaving half of its load behind.  On the bar sat a half empty glass of vilest brew she consumed.  No one said consuming the hair of the dog that bit you the night before was going to be savory.  What had Tyburn called the concoction?    She pointed to the glass and spoke, “What the frig is that stuff?”

Tyburn picked up glass, sniffed, and sat it down.  “This is one hundred year old Phoenix Ambrosia.  Same thing you drank last night.”

“That shit is potent,” Bettina groaned sliding off the bar stool she’d been semi-sitting on.  “There’s no way we can serve that to shifters, much less humans.”

Tyburn chuckled.  “Well the recipe I provided you and Louie is modified to allow human consumption.  Rachel would pluck all my feathers out if I provided you the original instructions.  Though I doubt you could find the key ingredient anywhere in this realm.”

Bettina tried to nod.  She should have known better.  Her stomach voiced its protest and voted to mark the ballot too.  She lurched forward, her hand over her mouth as she raced toward the area marked restrooms at the back of the bar.

Tyburn sauntered back into Rattigan’s kitchen wondering if his new business partners knew much about drinking and sampling their product.  Some of his best recipes were fermenting as others processed.  Rachel’s idea of finding something useful to engage in appeared to be paying off. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happpy Weekend Gang!

Spring appears to be taking the Peak by something.  First Karaoke at the Gazette and now the Microbrewry is adding to their production.

Who knows what a karaoke night and the new brews will do for business at Rattagin's?  There might be a week's worth of flashes on that alone brewing.  LOL!!  Of course Tyburn sharing his recipes might not be what Rachel had in mind when she mentioned community involvement!

I'm working on a few more stores and ideas in between bouts of work at my day job.  The Spice Homestead is celebrating a few things ourselves this weekend.  As we relax together, we'll share a few good books or two with our spice and loves.  Remember to do the same with yours.

Until next week,

Solara

Fantasy Football Talbot's Peak Style

Louie glanced around the table.  He studied each face and nodded as their eyes met his.  He made his way around the group until he reached Gill.  Gill shot him a cheesy grin and waved.  Louie shook his head, rolled his eyes, and shuffled the cards in front of him.  “You’re probably wondering why I called this meeting.”

Five heads bobbed along with Gill’s.  So much for a talkative bunch.  Bettina’s head body guard Biff, who decked anyone who actually called him that, pulled his cards to him.  Louie had introduced him as Guido, who knew his sainted Italian Grandmother married a southern California surfer and insisted her grandson carryon her maiden name as his middle one, as a safety precaution.  Next to him sat Hadley who snarled every time Guido looked his way.  Lobos and bats couldn’t quell their animosity all the time.  Good things the boys had agreed a friendly rivalry wouldn’t hurt their reputations.

Opposite Gill, sat Hadley’s second in command, Ranger.  The fool wore a park ranger’s hat like it was a permanent part of his head.  Louie kept dealing and counting.  The fourth of their group grunted and messed with his cards.  Porker knew when to keep his head down and his mouth shut.  Mary’s mother had done a number on him recently with her demands about making an honest sheep out of Mary.  Being a were pig wasn’t easy.    Then there was the fifth.  How Bettina had talked her way into this Louie still wasn’t sure.  She played cutthroat poker.  He hoped she remained calm and didn’t make blood bets. 

Gill picked up his cards one by one.  He gave a low whistle, winked at Louie, and turned his cards over.  The squirrel gods were smiling on him tonight. “Explain the rules again Louie.”

Louie smiled back at Gill.  “Thank you for asking.  It’s football season, my friends.”

Grunts and nods followed.  Louie carefully laid the undealt cards on the table.  “We’ve got humans coming in to watch the games.  They’re gonna bet on the outcomes.  Gill and I are attending gambler’s anonymous meetings thanks to our local squirrel wrestling event a few months back.”

Three heads shot up as Louie finished his last remarks.  Eyes narrowed as they gazed at Gill. 

 Bettina rapped on the table.  Everyone turned to face her.  “Hear Louie out.  I am backing this.”  She flashed her fangs and went back to examining her cards.

“Thank you Bettina.”  Louie cleared his throat.  “In your hands are football trading cards.  The rest of the deck is other player’s cards like those you have.  Gill, you came up with the basic idea for this.  Please elaborate.”

Gill gulped.  He grabbed his beer glass and downed a hefty portion of his acorn beer.  He rubbed his lips together, inhaled, and sent a few quick prayers heavenward.  “All right.  We’re forming a fantasy football group.”

A few titters and snorts sounded.  Gill shoved his chair back and rose.  “Rattigan’s patrons want to mix in with the locals from the towns close by.  They’re human for the most part.  So what better way to get a conversation started and mixing happening in a natural way?  Males and some females like football.”

Louie held up the deck.  “I’ve given you each the number of cards equal to the starting line up for a team.  This is your team.  We’ll toss dice and see who goes next to draw to fill in their roster.  There’ll be cards left over.  As the season goes on, you can trade or bench players.  Some of you may work out trades.  Each week one of you will play a wild card match against Rattigan’s team.”

Murmurs grew in volume as the men looked at their players.  Bettina glanced at her cards and leaned back grinning.  Louie glanced around the table again.  “Since Bettina is the only female present, she represents Rattigan’s.  I’m playing with the rest of you for fun.”

“So where do the patrons come in,” Hadley asked.

“You have something common to discuss with them.  You’ll watch the games and talk, maybe even cheer together.  And. . . .”  Louie shot Gill a harsh look.

Gill slumped back into his chair. “Yes, Louie.  There is no hard-core betting.  No cash, no credit cards, nothing that can be traced. That means gents and lady, only nuts, pretzels, popcorn, and buying a round for the bar is permissible tender.”

Gill let go a deep sigh.  He wasn’t cut out to be anyone’s bend over boyfriend, except maybe Melinda’s while they watched the Friday night game.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy Weekend Gang!

Football season officially starts.  Thus fall is in the air.  Be safe as the weather changes and the last of summer fights to hang on before letting fall take over.  

Hope you enjoyed this week's flash.  Figured Talbot's Peak could use a new sport or two.  Maybe next week I'll have the sand castle contest figured out to continue Jackson and Abebi's story.

Until then, share a few good books with your spice and loves,

Solara

Bambi and The Scapegoat

Bo glanced up when he heard Bambi open the door to the Ranger Station. Then he did a double-take so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. His longtime friend and coworker was no metrosexual by any means, but he was a mule deer and mulies tended to be very neat about their appearance. At 5’10” and 160 lbs, Bambi had the sleek build to pass himself off as a model in his US Forestry Service uniform. Most of the time. At the moment, Bambi was covered in paintball splatters, bird shit, and goat hair. Bo was pretty certain he hadn’t looked like that when he left the station for his regular patrol.

“I take it you ran into something out of the ordinary out there,” Bo said, trying his best to school his facial expression into something mature. It didn’t work; he could not keep the corners of his mouth from spasming in and out of a half formed grin. Bambi glared and shook his head as he stepped all the way into the station then off to one side.

“Ba-a-a-a-ah!”

Bo jumped at the unexpected noise and got up so he could see over the high counter between the office space and the reception area. What he saw dumbfounded him. A black and white goat—not a mountain goat, which would have been an expected sight in these parts, but a common farm goat—being drug into the station by a rope around it’s neck. It was also covered in paint and bird shit. And considerably less goat hair than one would have expected.

“Bambi, what the hell is this?” Bo asked after a moment.

“I’m guessing it’s a fucking scapegoat.”

“A what?”

“A scapegoat. You do know what that is, right?”

“Easy with the sarcasm, Mike,” Bo replied, using Bambi’s real name, something no one, not even Bambi’s family did unless they were trying to placate him.

“Fuck you and fuck those damned wolves and mountain goats, and whoever had the bright fucking idea to sell paintball guns, flash-bang grenades and god-only-knows what else to mountain goats and wolves!” Bambi snapped as he finally got the domestic goat into the office.

“So…” Bo hesitated, hating to agitate Bambi worse but unable to control his raging curiosity. “What’s up with the scapegoat?”

“I saw that stolen Mazda we got an APB on up on Trailridge Road. It was a fucking set-up.” Bambi paused long enough to stuff the balking goat into a holding cell. “I told them to give up, that I’d just come back with reinforcements if the perp didn’t give him or herself up. This apparently was some kind of signal, because the next thing I knew, someone set off a flash-bang grenade, which scared the shit out of a passing flock of geese—”

“Literally, I see,” Bo cut in.

“Yes, literally. The bang also startled one of the wolves, who pulled out his paintball gun and started going to town. The next goddamn thing I knew, there was paintballs and bird shit flying everywhere.”

“And the goat?” Bo asked.

“I found it in my patrol car afterwards with a newspaper clipping tucked under the windshield wiper. With a hand written note on it saying that if I really wanted a scapegoat, I could have this one.”

“So now what?” Bo asked, eyeing the goat.

“Now, I’m going to take a shower while you call Louie and find out if he’s the goddamned fool who sold the paintballs and grenades to the fools up on the Trailridge Road.”

“And the goat?” Bo asked cautiously.

“I have no idea what to do with the goat, but I figured I might as well bring the damned thing in for questioning…”

 

(Yeah, I know I said i wasn't going to post anymore mancandy obtained from the inter-webs, but I fugred we all needed to make sure Bambi got nice and clean after his ordeal, right?)

Olympics Squirrel Style

 

Gill crumpled the paper in his hand tighter.  “Damn you Nestor.  You can’t. . .”

Louie stuck his head out the kitchen door.  “What is the fuss about?”

Gill shrugged.  “Nothing, Louie.  I got ten more minutes on my lunch break.  I’ll unload the supplies from your pickup in a few.”

Louie nodded and went back to work. 

Gill turned back to the television.  “Bet on a sure thing, he tells me.  His cousin is the tree’s best representative.  Right, and I am nuts enough to believe him.  Shit!”

Gill cringed as the second squirrel body-slammed his opponent on the ground repeatedly.  Three more squirrels raced down the tree tossing themselves into the fray.  “Oh you dumbass shit for brains,” Gill screamed.

Louie raced out the kitchen door, meat cleaver in hand.  “Get the hell out of my. . .”  He looked around.  No one but Gill behind the bar greeted his eyes.   He inhaled and exhaled faster than he cared to.  Road kill wasn’t easy to come by.  If he didn’t carve it soon, rigor mortis would have the meal the jackals paid catering prices for.  Their weddings created enough stench to drive even the hyenas away for days on end.   Dead carrion required skillful quick accurate handling.  One more interruption and . . .

“Shit be double dammed!”  Gill tossed something onto the bar.  “I had to listen to that oversized walnut.”

Louie dropped the meat cleaver with enough force on to the bar that he buried part of the blade into the wood.  The handle vibrated with a low hum.  “Gill, you been gambling again, haven’t you?”

Louie reached for the wad near the edge of the bar.   Gill scrambled up on the bar, chirping repeatedly.  Louie leapt toward the item in question.  “I suggest you leave that alone Gill.”

Gill crouched, his hand ready to grab the wad.  Louie vaulted on top of the bar, his arms raised. 

Bettina and Melanie stopped as they entered Rattigan’s.  The only sound emanating from within was the sports announcer’s voice on the television.  “Our opponents are sizing each other up.  One outweighs the other.  Size doesn’t always count.”

Bettina glanced at Melanie.  “I don’t know what this is about.  I think we best make our way to the office. We may need bail money before this is over.”  

Melanie’s wide-eyed stare almost undid Bettina’s composure.  “Louie may be compact, but he’s flexible.  Gill will try his squirrel tactics.  A free-for-all will ensue.  Thus our own freestyle wrestling match.”

Melanie leaned over and whispered, “How do you know the outcome?”

Bettina laughed.  “You don’t until the cops separate everyone.  See, squirrel wrestling gets the audience involved as well as the participants.  By the time the fines and penalties are handed out, everyone is broke or out their winnings.  The brawl becomes liberating, if you catch my drift.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

HAPPY WEEKEND GANG!

I hope you are enjoying the last of the summer regardless of this screwy weather we're having.  This week in honor of the Olympics and all the hype that goes with the events, I decided what if our shape shifting citizens of Talbot's Peak got their own contests going.  Well the rest is what my muse came up with.  

Remember to share a good book or two with your spice and loves!  

SOLARA

Ratigan's Stock Order

"Hey Louie, what's with this line on the stock order?" Gil asked as he walked back to his boss's office.


"Which line?" Louie grunted, managing to evoke every nuance of his New Jersey heritage with just those two words.

"The one that says 'grenades for goats.' Why would goats need grenades?"

"The guy who phoned in the order said they had a couple yahoos gallivant’n around the herd naked, wearing nothin' but goat skins. One of 'em was a monkey with a rifle and the other was a wolf."

Giil looked at his boss sceptically. He didn't doubt that Louie was repeating exactly what the customer had said--Louie never bothered with lies. Shifters could smell them on you and Louie's rat nose was better than most. No, it was the idea that the local goats' reaction to hunters would be 'get some grenades.' Rational people just don't think like that. Of course, rational people don't run around naked in a goat skin during hunting season, either, so maybe the herd had a point. That a wolf might do something odd like that was a given. There was no telling what a carnie might do, in Gil’s opinion.

"Was that your question?" Louie grunted, pulling Gil out of his reflection.

"Ah, no," Gil said as he inspected notes he’d made on the stock order form. "Our supplier said he could only get four HE grenades for the money the herd's willing to put up, not the dozen they asked for. They can get a dozen training grenades with a pack of replacement charges, or two flash-bangs and a half dozen trainers, or they can settle for the four real grenades for that price."

“Really, three hundred bucks for training grenades with spare charges? Put us down for three dozen and ask about how much for about a hundred charges,” Louie said. “I’ll call the goats and ask how they want their money to be spent, but that’s too good of a deal to pass up!”

Gil made the note on his paperwork and backed out of the cramp room Louie called an office, shaking his head. This was his black market stock order, of course. He had a normal order he placed weekly for Ratigan’s Pub, too, but Louie often wanted food supplies not on the USDA’s list of items approved for human consumption. Louie never asked for thing like live money brains or any of the other truly sick stuff humans like to eat. But he did ask for the ingredients for haggis and sheep intestines were not something he could run down to the grocer’s supply and pick up. How Louie got started into supplying arms and illegal alcohol, Gil didn’t know and didn’t want to know. He had a few black marked skeletons in his own closet so couldn’t point any high-moraled fingers at anyone else.

“Gil, the want the flash bang deal,” louie called.

“Got it!” Gil called back and added that to his list, too, then started chuckling. If the ATF ever got ahold of this stock order list, they’d have a cow. Grenades, sheep guts, and 150 proof blood whiskey. Maybe he’d add some Cuban cigars to the list just to round it all out.

Louie picked up the picture...

Louie picked up the picture laying on his desk. His heart skipped one beat, thenanother. He blinked twice. If he inhaled too deep, his chest ached. How had she found him?

He laid the picture back down. Picking up the envelope he’d recently opened,he glanced toward the office door. Good,it was shut. No one would dare botherhim for another thirty minutes. Being theboss had its moments, like taking lunches behind closed doors that nonequestioned. Well except Bettina, and shedidn’t follow protocol unless she made the declaration. Sometimes her queenly ass could be a royalpain. Their nightly strolls down to MissElly’s dinner for Red Blood Sundaes had folks talking. Miss Elly’s homemade ice cream topped withher secret chocolate sauce and dark Bing cherries cured many a shifter’s sweettooth. Bettina’s cravings had clearedout Louie’s baked goods as fast he could make them until he introduce Bettinato Miss Elly. Now sanity reigned most ofthe time.

Louie turned the envelope over, examining front andback. No return address. A smeared postmark revealed little of thecity of origin. The date showed1974. Thirty years plus. Where had the time gone? His little---no his grown daughter might be aparent herself. Maybe even agrandmother. Easing the card out of theyellowed envelope, Louie stared at the simple lettering stating Happy Father’sDay. His hand shook as he opened thecard.

The usual generic verse about Dads and their importancedecorated one side of the inside two pages. A handwritten note on the opposite page caught his attention. Louie swallowed hard. He knuckled a tear off his cheek as he read.

Louis,

Bythe time you receive this, Arisa and I will be gone. There was a time when love would have kept me by your side and ourdaughter not asking where Daddy is as I tuck her into bed each night. Your choices proved too costly and dangerousfor our safety to stay.

Nomatter how good the money and prestige, working for the mob, especially thesupernatural mob, is not worth putting your wife and child at risk. Maybesomeday, I’ll tell Arisa the truth about her father. Until then you are as dead as your name. Thank the Gods I never took your name. Nor do you know my real name. There was a time I would have trusted you withthat. Not now, probably never will youknow who I am.

Why am I even sending this picture to you? Maybe I want you to hurt as much as you’vehurt me. You’ll never know your daughter’slove or see her grow up. I will andevery day I’ll be the center of her world, not you.

Maybe someday you’ll findpeace. I doubt shape shifters know themeaning of the word.

Your soon to be ex wife

Louie carefully laid the carddown. He pushed away from his desk. He moved toward the window closest tohim. Closing the blind, he inhaled. No one would see the tears he needed toshed. He turned and made his way acrossthe office.

Life on the streets in NewJersey taught him many lessons, hard ones and ones that remained with him tothis day. Trust never came easily. It was earned and could be taken away just aseasily. Lord, how he had that oneknocked into his head many life times over. He’d taken risks along the way. Learned that life was given for a reason. He didn’t regret many of the last few choiceshe’d made. The one big one he did wasnot finding his daughter before now.

Louie lay down on the couch he keptin the office for late nights and naps. He needed one. Once he woke up,Mooney, Nick, and Penelope’s Aussie Penguin were getting a visit. Somewhere out there a daughter waited for herfather to find her. This Father’s Daysignified a new beginning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy Weekend Gang! Happy Father's Day to all our male readers! I'm glad the warm weather is here without the abundance of a heatwave. What a week! Two nights of power outages. One last Sunday authorities say a raccoon juiced himself on. Last night another two! The joke around the spice homestead is a squirrel or two decided to try jury rigging their power supply. Watch out Gill!

I'm off to enjoy a good book or two with my spice and loves!

Have a great weekend!

SOLARA