Page 10 of Montana's Bravest

“Relax, it’s the vet. Max had a fever.” A glance at my four-legged pal confirms he’s not over the betrayal. “He’s not my biggest fan right now.”

“What happened?”

“He had a thermometer stuffed up his ass. Multiple times, I must say.”

Mark laughs. “Is he okay now?”

“He’s solid,” I assure him, scratching Maximus behind the ears. He gives me this look, probably thinking I’m mocking his ordeal.

“You still good for that talk?” Mark asks.

“Sure,” I say.

“How about Helena?”

That’s not where our usual haunts are, since our office is in Townsend, some forty minutes southeast of the capital.

Mark explains, “A change. We can chat over drinks. My treat.”

It’s too far for me to drive home to drop off Maximus, and I don’t want to say no to my partner, as I’m pretty sure the location is going to mean something for our conversation.

“Do you think I can take Maximus? I can’t afford to betray him twice.”

“Bring him. We’ll stroll by the Capitol, then find a dog-friendly spot.”

I look at Maximus, use our ‘walkie’ code. His tail thumps.

“He’s game,” I tell Mark.

“See you there.”

Downtown Helena? I hope he’s not hinting that our next client is yet another politician.

5

CASS

The happy hour crowd steadily flows into The Thirsty Fox.

“So we’re opening with jazz today?” Lisa, one of my bartenders, digs her cloth-covered hand into a beer glass, wiping its foggy bottom.

“Apparently it’s pirate jazz,” I respond as I take out a tray of clean jugs from the dishwasher.

Bars and clubs are the last things people associate with downtown Helena, but a Fox Friday is as busy as any other drinking hot spot in the country’s west.

“Another one, please, love?” One of our regulars, a Brit who claimed he was almost born a Montanan, sets an empty glass on the bar. Like a lot of patrons in this part of the city, he works for the government. We love Charlie. He has been an advocate for The Thirsty Fox since he got a job as an advisor to the attorney general.

Lisa moves to the service area with her trademark smile and passes Charlie his order.

“What’s pirate jazz?” she asks me as she cleans the counter.

“Jazz with a touch of the Caribbean.”

“It’s a risk bringing in new music on Friday.”

“Tell that to the boss.” I shrug. Whether the patrons warm up to pirate jazz is the least of my worries right now. High on my priority is the debut of Fallen Angel.

Montana has a strong love affair with beer, and the competition is stiff, but a failed ale isn’t an option for me—the Fallen Angelhasto become a crowd’s favorite tonight.

---