Craft Beer Burning

By Brad Carl

How far would you go to eliminate a threat to your business?

Moving back to his hometown of Silver Hollow, South Dakota, gives Oscar the opportunity to reconnect with Doug, his childhood friend. He soon becomes fascinated with Doug's home brewed beers and, when Doug finds himself unemployed, convinces him to open a craft brewery with Oscar's financial backing. But the area already has a brewery and its owner is not pleased to have competition.

Although married, Oscar insists Doug move in to his guest room while the brewery takes off. This puts a strain on Oscar's already rocky marriage and his wife does not hold back her frustration.

After the brewery's successful grand opening, the two friends continue to learn about each other and the stress of running a business. Their sole employee appears to be a valuable addition, but his character is soon called into question.

As the tension mounts, will Oscar and Doug's bond wind up crossing a line that changes their relationship forever?

Trust and loyalty clash with deceit and revenge as author Brad Carl explores the depths of friendship and business in Craft Beer Burning.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brad Carl
• Release date: Feb 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370907748

Brad Carl

Brad Carl is a former radio personality who still earns part of his living by doing voiceovers. Growing up in the Midwest, reading and writing were passions of his for many years. It wasn't until recently that he decided to release his work to the world. Brad is also a successful businessman, networker, and speaker. He currently resides in Kansas City with his wife, Kristi, and daughter, Presley. The family also has a dog named Ali.

Book preview

CRAFT BEER

BURNING

BY BRAD CARL

Copyright © 2017 Brad Carl

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

Cover art adaptation by Matt Downing Photography

Copy editing by Free Range Editorial

The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

Thank you so much for buying Craft Beer Burning. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends about it. Reviews are very important to indie authors.

When you finish reading Craft Beer Burning you will also find the first 4 chapters of Grey Areas - The Saga (Books 1-4). If you enjoy what you read, you can get the rest of Book 1 for FREE. (Or if you’re really daring you can get the entire set for nearly 1/2 price!)

Thanks again for supporting my work and spreading the word.

YOU

ARE

AWESOME

—Brad

A friend is someone with whom you dare to be yourself. - Frank Crane.

YEAR

1995

Chapter 1

How do you think you did on Neustrom's pop quiz? Oscar Rollins asked his best friend, Doug McGrath. The high school sophomores were walking Doug's dog, Crackers, and enjoying a mild Saturday afternoon in April in the cozy community of Silver Hollow, South Dakota.

I don't know. I think I did okay, but that doesn't mean anything, Doug said. "I mean, I hope I did okay. What about you?"

Pretty much the same. I fell asleep the other day in class, Oscar said.

What else is new?

Oscar playfully shoved his friend onto the grass. You better watch it, buddy. I get my driver's license in a month. If you wanna hang with a cool guy this summer — while you're still taking driver's ed, I might add — you should think about treating me a little better.

Doug regained his balance and pulled his dog's leash, guiding her back to the sidewalk. Crackers was a three-year-old cocker spaniel-golden retriever mix the McGrath family had adopted a few weeks earlier. Are you saying you don't fall asleep in chemistry a lot?

I'm not denying it, Oscar said. I just don't like being made fun of for it.

I'm not making fun, man. I'm impressed by how you hide behind Grant Bowman and never get caught.

I have a method, Oscar explained. Any class where there's open seating, I make sure I sit behind someone with big bones.

Doug let out a cackle.

What?

Big bones — it made me laugh.

I was trying to be P.C. and not use the word 'fat.'

Since when do you ever hold back from telling it like it is?

There you go again, making fun of me.

Without warning, a large black dog — possibly a Rottweiler mix — raced across the lawn next to the boys and aggressively made its way toward Crackers. It happened so fast that neither boy had a chance to react until it was almost too late. The Rottie viciously charged at the passing dog. When Crackers began to defend herself against the attack, Doug instinctively let go of the leash and allowed his dog the freedom she needed.

Get out of here! he screamed at the snarling black dog as he tried to intervene. Doug's attempts to protect his pet were met with razor-sharp fangs. He jerked his face and limbs back to protect them. Crackers!

Go home! Oscar bellowed, kicking at the tangled mess of fighting dogs. He desperately aimed to connect with his long legs, trying not to hurt the wrong dog. While swinging his foot at the black dog a second and third time, he noticed Crackers's own savage baring of teeth as she made every effort to challenge her attacker. It was impossible to detect any damage amidst the jumble of fur, legs, claws, and jaws as both boys continued to yell.

Finally, as if someone had flipped a switch, the black dog retreated from the skirmish and casually began trotting away toward the house from which it had come. The beast turned around and gave one last glance at Crackers before disappearing around the side of the garage.

Son of a bitch! Oscar hollered at it for good measure.

Crackers! Doug called out. Crackers, come here, girl! Are you okay?

The instant she was released by her assailant, she had resumed trotting down the block. The boys hadn't noticed at first, as their eyes had remained locked on the retreating mutt. Every few steps, Crackers would turn her head and look back to make sure she was not being followed by the black dog.

You ever heard of a leash law! Oscar yelped at the top of his lungs in the direction of the house where the hostile dog presumably lived.

It's okay, Doug said as he jogged after Crackers. She doesn't seem to be hurt.

Oscar hustled after his friend. It's not okay. That's bullshit! That dog needs to be put down!

Doug didn't respond as he reached Crackers. Hey, girl, it's okay. It's just me.  He reached out and rested his hand between her ears. Crackers instantly stopped and allowed her master to pet her.

Let's go back and knock on the door, Oscar suggested. That dog is dangerous.

Doug examined Crackers from head to toe again, without saying a word to his friend. Seems to be more scared than anything, he said. You okay, girl?

Dogs aren't supposed to be loose like that. Especially not ones that are aggressive. Come on. Oscar touched Doug on the shoulder and turned around to walk back to the house.

Oscar, no! It's over. Let's just get back to my house.

What's your problem?

You don't have a dog, so you might not understand. Things like this happen sometimes. No one was hurt.

Yeah, and what about next time? Oscar asked.

There won't be a next time. We'll just take a different route on our walks. Doug stood up, now holding Crackers's leash. Come on, he said with a motion to his pal. Let's go.

Oscar Rollins let his shoulders sink and with a quick shake of his head, followed his best friend.

Chapter 2

Lee Hawthorne opened the front door on Sunday morning to retrieve the newspaper from the driveway. A couple of years ago, he could simply bend over and pick it up on the front step. But the newest paperboy was not going the extra mile for his customers. In fact, the past winter Mr. Hawthorne was forced to put his boots on and carefully step through four inches of snow to where his driveway hit the street. On this Sunday, he found the paper in front of his garage, which made it a pretty good day. He glanced at the front page and saw a headline that was no surprise after watching the news the entire evening before: PRESIDENT CLINTON DECLARES A NATIONAL DAY OF MOURNING FOR OKLAHOMA CITY BOMBING VICTIMS.

There sure are a lot of sick people out there, he thought.

Next, it was time to find that dog of theirs. He had never even wanted the thing and yet somehow Mr. Hawthorne had wound up being the one who hunted the dog down every morning, made sure he did his business, and got fed.

Where was that big black bastard?

Zeus, he called out casually. Usually the dog came trouncing down the sidewalk. The eighty-pound mutt was always scaling the fence and wandering the neighborhood in the morning.

After calling the dog again, Mr. Hawthorne headed back inside and meandered through the living room. In the kitchen, he flung open the sliding glass door and slid the screen to the left. He stepped onto the concrete slab in the backyard. Whistling faintly, Hawthorne summoned the family dog one more time. Zeus?

Making his way through the grass, his gaze darted from lawn to lawn throughout the back end of the neighborhood.

Where the hell was that damned dog?

He skimmed the area, expecting to see Zeus galloping in his direction from between the fence lines. As his eyes returned to his own property, Hawthorne noticed something sitting on the wooden fence next to the storage shed he had built with his brother five years before. He briskly walked over to see what it was.

The early morning light played tricks on Lee Hawthorne as he approached the shed to investigate. He thought it was a practical joke — that a prankster had thrown someone's laundry on the fence. When he got closer, he believed it was a Halloween mask. It wasn't until he arrived ten feet in front of the dark mass that reality sunk in.

He immediately turned away in disgust at what he was looking at: the most horrific scene he could ever have imagined.

Chapter 3

Hi, Oscar, Doug's mom said as her son's friend came through the back door. You want some orange juice?

That would be great, Jan. The boys had been friends since kindergarten and were on a first-name basis with each other's parents. He maneuvered his tall, lean frame through the kitchen. Already standing nearly six feet, he had several inches on Doug.

Every weekday morning, Oscar and Doug would meet at the McGrath house and walk to George McGovern High School together. Most mornings Oscar would find his best friend seated on the couch, finishing his breakfast or brushing his teeth, depending on the timing. Today he was doing neither.

I was starting to think you had forgotten it was Monday, Doug said as Oscar sat down next to him. Crackers entered the living room and rubbed against both boys. Oscar reached out and scratched the dog's ears.

I love school too much to forget to go. Oscar tried to keep a straight face as he pushed his sandy-colored hair from his eyes and turned his attention to Crackers. How you doing, girl? You feeling better after the other day?

She's fine, Doug said. Really.

Oscar patted Crackers on the side. Maybe she is physically, but...

Dogs have really bad memories, Doug explained. They're smart as long as it involves food, walks, peeing and pooping, or getting affection. Everything else? Poof.

That almost sounded like you were describing me, Oscar said with a chuckle.

Well, we're gonna find out how good your memory is when we see the results of that chem test. Doug rose from the sofa and stretched before adding, Come on. We better get going.

The two teenagers gathered their things in preparation for the short walk to school.

Did you hear about the neighbor's dog? Jan McGrath called from the kitchen as the boys opened the front door.

Ma, we don't have time right now, Doug said. We're leaving.

I wasn't asking you. I was asking him, his mother said as she entered the room and pointed at Oscar. She smiled at the boys. I know you already know about it, Doug.

Know about what? Oscar asked, stopping in his tracks and holding the screen door open. Doug was already outside standing on the steps.

It was just awful. Made the TV news and everything.

Come on, Ma, Doug said. We're gonna be late. I'll tell him about it on the way. Let's go, Oscar.

Wait, Jan McGrath said, grabbing Oscar's arm and holding a full glass of orange juice out to him. For years, she had been more of a mother to him than his real mother. It was never something they spoke about — it was just understood. She had a soft spot in her heart for the boy who didn't know his father. You forgot your O.J.

Oscar snatched it from her grasp and took a giant gulp before handing it back.

Put it in the fridge, he called out as he jogged down the steps. I'll have the rest when I come through on my way home!

YEAR

2015

Chapter 4

McGrath, what is this?

Doug looked up from the email he was typing. It would have to wait...again. What had he done wrong this time?

What's what, Robert? Doug really wanted to call him Bob. But the fifty-two-year-old Robert hated being called Bob. Behind his back, the entire staff referred to the boss as Robert-don't-call-me-Bob. Everyone made the mistake of calling him Bob once. But Robert made it very clear that you weren't to do it a second time.

Who signed off on these prices?

Calvin did.

No, he didn't, Robert snapped. Cal isn't authorized to sign off on pricing.

Doug had seen and heard this trap before. It didn't matter what he said next, he was screwed.

Okay. Sometimes it felt better to say less. It helped ease the tension in his neck and soothe the ulcer Doug was almost certain was developing deep inside his stomach.

So, who did?

He hated this. How had he ended up here? Doug used to have high aspirations. Brock Lesnar had scrapped his way out of South Dakota. Cheryl Ladd, too. And Sparky Anderson. Other than not being able to wrestle or fight, act, or manage a baseball team, where had he gone wrong?

Umm... Doug scratched his head through his dark brown hair.

Here. Let me help you. Robert pounced forward and laid the paperwork on the desk in front of Doug. Who signed off on this? Whose signature is on this quote?

No one's, Doug admitted.

Then why did you enter the order? Don't we have a procedure in place?

Yes. I guess I just got sidetracked and didn't notice.

I guess you didn't. You're supposed to be the last check on this stuff.

He knew he shouldn't say anything, but he couldn't control himself. He just had to. This was so stupid, and he was tired of being scolded like a child.

It hasn't invoiced yet. We can still change it.

That's not the point! You're supposed to catch things like this. What would you do if I weren't here to find these mistakes?

Sorry, Robert.

Don't be sorry. Just fix it. Robert stormed out of Doug's cubicle and went looking for his next victim.

Doug had spent ten years in customer service at three different companies before landing this position at Delmarco as the customer service manager. It only took Doug about twelve hours on the job to discover what a nightmare Robert Billings was, but by then it was too late.

On his second day at Delmarco, the department heads were in a meeting when Robert asked Doug to grab a folder that had supposedly been filed away in his cube by his predecessor. Doug had never seen the folder and had no idea where to find it. When he returned to the conference room empty-handed and asked for help, Robert-don't-call-me-Bob was furious. Apparently, he expected Doug to know where things were despite being the newest member of the company. The folder was later found — and not in Doug's cubicle. There was no apology from Robert. The incident perplexed Doug, causing him to wonder how he could've handled it differently. Things began to make more sense when a coworker clued him in at lunch the next day.

There's something you should know about Robert, Bryson Millar said.

What's that?

He's the definition of a micromanager.

What does that mean, exactly? Doug had heard the term for years but had never experienced it, to his knowledge.

It means he likes to get involved in everything, Bryson explained. "Needs to."

Okay, but that doesn't explain why he was mad yesterday when I couldn't find a folder — that wasn't where he insisted it was, by the way.

I think he's got an undiagnosed obsessive-compulsive disorder, too. Doug shrugged as Bryson continued. He believed that Tim, the guy who had the job before you, had organized everything before his last day. When you told him it wasn't there...

… he almost blew a gasket, Doug said, picking up where Bryson left off.

He just couldn't accept what you were telling him. I mean, because of his disorders and stuff. But I don't really think he was mad at you, Bryson said.

Could've fooled me. Doug took a bite of his hamburger. So, what about this micromanaging stuff. He sticks his nose into everything, too?

I've done some reading on this, Bryson said. It probably comes from insecurities.

He can't just let his people do their jobs and make him money?

"Well, it is his company. He has the right," Bryson said.

Maybe, Doug said. But at the time, he didn't believe it was a very intelligent way to run a business, and he still didn't think so six months later.

Robert Billings might own Delmarco, but that didn't give him the right to treat his employees the way he did. Every week Doug would witness more insanity from his boss. Sometimes the victim was a fellow employee. Other times it was him. Robert-don't-call-me-Bob was a loose cannon waiting to fire off. Doug truly believed Billings was certifiably crazy. He had been walking on eggshells for several months, realizing there was nothing he could say or do to change the situation. Except quit. But where would that leave him? Jobless, of course. It just wouldn't be practical. So instead, Doug sucked it up and went to work every day. Like many Americans, he hated his job.

Chapter 5

Oscar Rollins had spent the past fifteen years selling all types of real estate including homes, buildings, and land. His successful career began in Minneapolis, Minnesota, at the age of twenty, and took him around the Upper Midwest to various cities, towns, and states, including a short stint in North Dakota that he generally tried to forget. He met his wife, Courtney, while working out a deal for some farmland in northern Iowa. Courtney was attending a small private college nearby when Oscar met her one night at a bar in Mason City. After dating for three years while she finished school and he traveled the area working, they tied the knot and settled down in the Minneapolis suburb of Bloomington. The couple soon discovered they were unable to have children and never even considered adoption. It had always been Oscar's belief that neither of them really wanted a baby, but they were each scared to tell the other. It all worked out for the best as they instead focused on their careers and took countless vacations together. They had no additional responsibilities, financially or emotionally. It was just Oscar and Courtney. Courtney and Oscar. And for the most part it was good.

Despite all his success, Oscar longed to go back to his roots and return to South Dakota. Silver Hollow was where his heart was, still, after all those years. It sounded corny even to him, so Oscar chose to never say it out loud.

He had seen Doug several times since they had graduated from high school, including his wedding where, of course, Doug was his best man. But those visits were short, and all they did was make Oscar wish he had never left town in the first place. The values they had shared as kids were the guiding principles of Oscar's adulthood: commitment, loyalty, respect, and friendship. They meant everything to him. And he didn't hand them out to just anybody. His commitment and loyalty were gifts to a select few. Doug was at the top of Oscar's short list. There was also his mentor, Dean Beck. Dean was retired, but many years before he had taken Oscar under his wing and taught him the ups and downs and tricks of the real estate trade. Oscar had grown up without a father, and in many ways Dean had helped fill a void Oscar hadn't even recognized. Their first meeting outside of work included pizza, beers, and the quintessential real estate salesman movie: Glengarry Glen Ross. If it weren't for Dean's commitment to helping Oscar at such a young age, it was hard to say where he'd have ended up.

Oscar's commitment and loyalty to Courtney should have been as strong or stronger than his connection with Dean or Doug. For whatever reason, Oscar didn't treat her in quite the same manner. He loved her, sure. But the longer they were together, the more he seemed to unintentionally sabotage their relationship. In his defense, she treated him differently, too. No one had told them that marriage would be difficult, that the honeymoon wouldn't last forever. The challenge had proved harder than either of them had anticipated, and Courtney eventually caught Oscar being unfaithful.

Courtney's healing was still in progress when the opportunity to move to Silver Hollow came knocking. The decision wasn't made quickly or easily. It took some coaxing. Courtney had to be sold on the idea of South Dakota. As she had explained to Oscar, Growing up in Iowa was enough of a joke, and living in Minnesota was barely a step up in her book. But Oscar was a salesman. He knew how to make the sale. Despite Courtney's concerns about the future of their marriage, she gave in and told her husband that she wanted to make him happy. Oscar knew it was a gift, his wife's way of showing that she was all-in. He also knew that he would end up paying for it somehow.

Oscar wasted no time, and within two weeks things were in motion. In some ways, he knew he should've waited and made sure Courtney was really okay with the move. But he also knew from experience this could be deadly.

Never talk yourself out of a sale, Dean had told him years earlier.

And who was Oscar to argue?

Chapter 6

Hey, man! Oscar bellowed when Doug opened the door to his one-bedroom apartment in Silver Hollow. They shook hands and immediately pulled together for a manly embrace.

I still can't believe you're moving back after all these years, Doug said as he led Oscar inside.

It's like a dream come true, isn't it? Oscar said, following Doug to the kitchen. It's great to see you, buddy.

Ditto, bro. Where's Courtney?

She's in Sioux Falls, shopping.

You guys have the biggest shopping mall in the country up there, Doug said. What's she going to find here?

She's just checking it out so she knows what she's getting into, Oscar said. Although not the state capital, Sioux Falls was the largest city in South Dakota and less than forty miles southeast of Silver Hollow.

Does she have a gig lined up yet?

Not an art job, but she does have some personal training work already locked down at Maximum Fitness, Oscar explained. She's thinking she might want to just do the fitness thing full-time for a while. We'll just see what happens.

Courtney had a bachelor's degree in graphic design, but Doug knew she was also an obsessive workout nut. A few years back, Oscar had mentioned in an email that she had earned her personal trainer degree and was doing that on the side, while working full-time in the art department at an ad agency. Neither of her occupations were big moneymakers, and Doug had always assumed that Courtney only worked to keep herself busy, that Oscar was bringing home the real bread.

Want a beer? Doug said.

You have to ask? Oscar grinned as his host reached into the refrigerator.

All I have right now is my home brew stuff, Doug said.

That sounds great. I forgot you were still doing that.

What do you want? The wheat, the pilsner, or my latest experiment? Doug pulled out three brown bottles and set them on the kitchen counter.

Man, that's a tough call, Oscar said, stroking his chin. How about you split the wheat and pilsner with me so I can try them first before taste-testing your experiment? If it's awful, I don't want it to kill my taste buds.

Nodding in agreement, Doug cracked open the first bottle and poured it as evenly as he could into two pint glasses. Here's the pilsner, he said, handing a glass to Oscar. It's nothing special, but I wasn't trying to get crazy. I always keep at least six or so in the fridge because it's safe. It's something just about any beer drinker would like.

Cheers, Oscar said. The two clinked their glasses together and each took a swig. Not bad at all.

Well, thanks, Doug said. I mean, it's a standard pilsner, right? Hard to screw up.

I'll have to take your word for it, Oscar said. I don't know how to make the stuff, but I sure know how to drink it. He took another swallow, finishing his glass.

Next, Doug took the bottle of wheat, opened it, and distributed it between the two glasses. "Normally, I'd at least rinse the glasses first and probably pull out some pretzels to clear the taste buds, but I'm feeling lazy, and besides,