“¿Por qué perseguiste una camioneta llena de cocaína?“ the Venezuelan asked.

”I told you.  No habla un sola palabra de español.”  I replied.  He motioned for his younger associate.

*thwap*

The Venezuelan hit me again in the gut.  For some reason they seemed to avoid hiting me in the face so as not to disturb my hair do.

“Volveré a preguntar, ¿por qué perseguiste una camioneta llena de cocaína?”  He asked again.

”I told you.  We weren’t chasing a cocaine van.  We were trying to catch the sasquatch chasing your cocaine van.”  Supposedly, they teach you at SERE the problem with telling an interrogator the truth, is they’ll never believe your story.

The Venezuelans pulled out a sixer of some hazy IPA and cracked open all six cans.

“Sabemos exactamente lo que te hará retorcerte.”  He said.

“Make me what?” I asked.

The Venezuelans pulled a black canvas bag over my head and pinned my head to the floor. They began pouring the warm beer over my face.

Ew. Okay. Ew.  Hold your breath.  Don’t panic. Ew.  Always remember to bring your towel.

”Fuck. I’ll talk. Just stop drowning me in this shit.”  The Venezuelans pulled the wet mop water scented bag off my head.  They scowled intently.

”We were after the Sasquatch.  He tasted your product, and wanted it all.”  It was the truth.  “Its why there’s enormous fist and claw marks all over the van.”

“¿Cómo espera que creamos eso?“

Then we all heard through the walls from the room next door.  Was that Sugarfree?

“No hables mal del lump. El lump está limpio. El lump es puro. El lump te encontrará, se adherirá a ti y mamará la dulce teta de tu esencia.”

”¿Cómo espera que creamos eso?”  Another voice asked.  Why would they interrogate us where we could hear each other?

“El lump se transfiere de hombre a hombre. Alimentación del huésped. Convirtiendo su esencia esencial en un rico aceite del que llena su saco para nutrirse mientras busca otro huésped adecuado,”  We all heard through the muffled walls.

”¿Está el lump en la habitación en este momento?”

”Sí. Está en tu amigo en la habitación de al lado.”

<hearty laughter in Spanish>

The Venezuelan motioned to his associate, and he picked up the black bag off the floor.

He stopped.

Looked awkwardly at the interrogator.

“¿Hay algún problema?“

”Hola, chicos… Hoy estoy aquí. Me pongo de pie. Y hoy lijo aquí. En pie. ¡Buenas noches a todos! A todos los trabajadores. Laborable. En pie. ¡Junto!”  The Venezuelan said.  He began to chew on the black bag.

He began scratching at the back of his neck.  Twitching, he lost his balance and slammed his head on the concrete floor with a dull thud.

”I don’t mean to be rude, but was your friend just vaccinated?”  I asked.

— Earlier that week —

I opened my front door to find Murdock staring back at me, unblinking.  As usual he said absolutely nothing to me, or anyone else but he did hand me a note.

¡Saludos!

Vengo trayendo noticias de que mi imperio de tráfico de drogas se simplificó en los últimos años ha traído enormes ganancias a mi imperio, y deseamos compartir con todos nuestros amigos en la recompensa. Le invitamos cordialmente a asistir a una visita privada de Cocaine Bear en mi majestuosa villa en las afueras de Tampastan el 17 de febrero de 2023.

Firmado,

Don Brett

“How did Brett get a copy of the movie when it won’t be released until February 24?”  I asked Murdock.

Again, he said nothing.

”Sounds great, I’ll be there.”  Murdock handed me an itinerary for a flight with Southwest Airlines. “….he can afford to send you in person to deliver a note, but he’s flying me Southwest?”

“¡Buenos tardes!  ¡Bienvenidos a la casa de Don Brett!”

“Hey its Brett!” Sugarfree said.

“Brett!”  Swiss shouted.

STEVE SMITH looked up from the tray of deviled eggs he appeared to have claimed for himself.  “HI COCAINE BRETT.”

”¿Confío en que sus alojamientos sean de su agrado? ¿Tienes suficientes bocadillos, bebidas?“ Don Brett asked.

“*burp* STEVE SMITH EAT WHOLE TRAY.”

”Yes.  This is most exquisite.”  Swiss said, as he scraped off a layer of Raclette onto a plate of reverse seared meat.

”You going to share any of that?”  I asked.

Swiss stabbed the knife into the table.

”Nein.”

“Por favor, lleva lo que quieras al teatro. Simplemente no derrames sobre las alfombras nuevas”.  Don Brett said, motioning us into his home theater.

”This is amazing.”  Sugarfree said in awe of Don Brett’s home theater.

<uproarious laughter at absurd movie about a bear on cocaine>

*brrrrt*

”Was that you?”  Sugarfree asked?

I shook my head no.

*brrrrt*

Everyone looked at Sugarfree. He just shook his head.

”Woof.”  Swiss muttered.

*brrrrt*

”TOO MANY EGGS COCAINE BRETT”

We all turned to see STEVE SMITH in the back row to himself.  He looked noticeably uncomfortable.

“El baño es la segunda puerta a la izquierda.”  Don Brett replied.

<more uproarious laughter at absurd movie about a bear on cocaine>

”ALL HAIL COCAINE SMITH”

”Huh?”

”What?”

”Shhhhhhhhhh.”

”COCAINE SMITH NOT FEEL ANY BETTER”

Then we all watched in horror as STEVE SMITH took a dump on Don Brett’s carpet.

“No mis alfombras nuevas….”

”COCAINE SMITH WANT MORE COCAINE.  FIGHT COCAINE BARE GHAAAAAAAAAAAAAH *burp*”

He stormed out of the theater in a flash, seemingly running into every wall and piece of furniture on the way out.

“COCAINE SMITH NOT TYPO”

”You had cocaine in the bathroom?”  Swiss asked.

”Si.”  Don Brett lamented. “Había 5 kilos debajo del fregadero. Ese fue mi premio después de golpear a los peruanos. Realmente enojó a sus intermediarios venezolanos”.

”He must be looking for the Venezuelans.”  Sugarfree said, having never taken his eyes off the movie.

“Es un buen primer lugar para mirar.”  Don Brett said, looking directly at me.

”Wait…you don’t have guys to hunt down STEVE SMITH?”  I asked.

”No.”  Don Brett replied in his customary Spanish.

”You don’t seriously expect me to chase down a cocaine fueled Sasquatch.”

Don Brett and Swiss looked at each other.  They both looked at me, and nodded.

Sugarfree swerved Don Brett’s Fiat 500 around another minivan going to slow.

”Florida man is terrible at this driving thing.”  He said.

”The van is too far ahead, you sure you can catch it?”  I asked

”As sure as nobody is going to question this enormous plot hole we’re coming up to.”  Sugarfree replied stepping on the gas.

”Florida man.  Florida man.  Does whatever Florida man can.  Snorts a line, every line, chases hookers of any size.”

”What are you singing?”  I asked.

”…is he high? Listen bud.  There’s a ton of meth in his blood.”

”Just make sure you keep your eyes on the road.”

”Look oooooooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuut….here comes the Florida man!

It was then were were t-boned by a black suv.  A group of Venezuelans pulled Sugarfree and I out of Don Brett’s Fiat 500, that somehow kept us remarkably safe in the wreck.

It wasn’t all bad.  I managed to sneak out one of Don Brett’s collection.    Great Divide Barrel Series Belgian Sour Number 1.  The first in a series  of experimental sours, this example being brewed over plums.  This one is rather nice.  Amber in color with the classic body expected from a Trippel Ale.  Some woodiness from the wine barrels, and overall the tartness is nicely balanced.  Reminds me of Three Philosopers, some of which happen to be aged in repurposed wine barrels as well.

Great Divide Barrel Series Belgian Sour Number 1:  4.3/5 9.3% abv