Page 72 of Brewbies
That violence lived in him, as well, but he couldn’t pull the pin on his grenade.
Not with his job.
“If they’re that young, they probably have some very healthy feelings toward breasts, in general, unless you’re formula folks.” Stepping around the man, he spotted McGarvey at the edge of the demonstrators, crinkling his forehead at a sign that’d misspelled the wordoffensive.
Janet recovered from her bristle at Ethan and shadowed him through the crowd. “We have a right to protest, young man! And we won’t stop until this circus of sin is shut down!”
“Like I said, can’t stop you. Just here to keep an eye on things.”
“We all thought that petition you circulated would be enough, but this bitch is burrowed in like a tick!” Janet’s voice rose to a level that had him checking his eardrums for leaking fluid. “Can’t tell when she’s not wanted!”
Ethan’s blood pressure rose twenty points as he whirled on the woman. “Listen here,ma’am.” He leaned on the word, to emphasize any number of things he’d opted not to call her. “Think what you want about the woman, but Darby Dunwell and her business are very much wanted here, or there’d be more people on this side of the street.” He motioned across to where more and more travelers pulled off the highway to peek in at what was happening. Townsend Harbor locals. Coastal road-trippers. Seattleites away from the city for the weekend. Bikers and RVs. Subarus of every age and flavor.
Pamela joined her friend, and they stood against him like steel-haired sentinels. “You fallen under the influence, sheriff? I thought you were on therightside.” She eyed him with overwrought suspicion.
Ethan’s sound of irritation was swallowed in the chant that had morphed toIf you love your town, keep it clean. Shut this down, it’s too obscene!“I take no sides, Pam. Everyone is within their rights to do what they’re doing,” he repeated. “My hands are tied.”
“OMG! So are mine!” Daniel—er—Dax Quinto sashayed across the street on four-inch-heels, their leg hairs crisply poking out of caramel silk stockings. Up top, they were in a fitted gray blazer and paisley ascot, whereas below they sported volleyball shorts over said stockings. “Mama, necesito mis medicamentos, por favor.”
Ethan’s jaw went slack as the tall Latinx kid—who’d had to have dislocated their shoulders to fit them in such tight, intricate knots—bent down to receive two cheek kisses from a stout, dark-eyed protester.
The chanting died down as the crowd patiently waited for the woman to set down her sign, dig an inhaler from her purse, and hold the mouthpiece toward the tall performer.
“Here you are,mijo,” she said, patiently pressing twice so her child could inhale.“¡Que todo salga bien!”
“Gracias, mama. Ciao.” They kissed each other, and the woman patted the retreating performer on the bum like she’d changed it a million times.
Quietly, she gathered her sign—Dios ama a todos! (incluso a estos pendejos)—met the very confused eyes of her fellow demonstrators—none of whom read Spanish, apparently—and made a face. “What? I’m only here because Father O’Leary said protesting would count as penance.” Hitching a thumb in her kid’s direction, she finished, “After sunset I’m going over to watch them suspend Dax from the ropes.”
A couple murmurs of assent rose from the Catholic contingency.
The Latinx woman leaned closer to Ethan, crossing herself. “I heard one of the men from the Magic Mikes is here.” She thrust her chin toward Officer McGarvey. “You think that’s him?”
He opened his mouth to deny it, then changed his mind. “Can’t remember,” he lied. “You should go ask.”
“Ah,gracias, jefe.” She patted his shoulder and waddled off.
Ethan glanced across the highway, scanning the colorful crowd for a strawberry swirl of hair.
The air tasted like a barbecue, not just the smoke but the sweet sauce and the tang of a little vinegar to hold it all together. Pots of coffee brewed at several stations, and the scent mingled with fudge cooking, pastries baking, and burgers sizzling.
A few of the gathered artists stopped to antagonize the demonstrators by flipping the bird or doing something needlessly crude, but by and large they were ignored.
Ethan gazed at the community of outsiders, then back at the demonstrators.
This was wrong.
He was standing on thewrongside of the street with thewrongpeople, who apparently thought he’d summoned them.
This entire time, he’d been so sure it was the other way around. That he was doing his job for the constituents. Keeping his town happy. Safe. Wholesome. Economically sound.
Not to mention your emotional and coital conflicts of interest,his conscience reminded him.
Fuck.
“Did the devil woman procure the proper permits?” Janet asked. “If not, you have to shut this circus down, don’t you? It’s your job.”
Ethan scowled at the woman. Mostly because she was right.
