Beers and Fears Read online

  “Easy enough to find out.” Trevor went into the stockroom and began pushing the junk off to the side, guessing where the door would be. When he noticed Jackson wasn’t with him, he called out.

  “Yeah?”

  Trevor smiled. “You’re not interested in this mystery?”

  Jackson nodded. He looked uncomfortable and he’d turned on the lights but still had the flashlight, which he was using to shine into the dark corners of the large room. “It’s creepy back here.”

  “You notice anything odd about this building?” Trevor asked.

  “Besides the creep factor I just mentioned?”

  Trevor stopped digging through the trash to make a path. “No spiders. No ants. No bugs at all.”

  “I thought I heard mice last night,” Jackson said.

  “I’ve yet to find droppings. Mice shit all the time. Dirty little fuckers.” Trevor grabbed a broken shelf and tossed it deeper into the room. “You know, if this gets rolling, and we can clean out this room, you’d be able to store a shit-ton of beer to sell. The rollup doors would need to be replaced, too, but that’s an easy fix. Then you can have a fleet of trucks, in and out, delivering Trevor Beer to the Tri-State area.”

  “Trevor Beer? That’s funny.” Jackson had already had the logo designed for the place and he knew a guy who could do the sign once he got the money. Jersey Jackson Brewing was going to be huge. “Did you know one of the old businesses in this place was called Lost Demon Brewing?”

  “Cool name.” Trevor pushed more stuff out of the way. “I got this, by the way. I don’t need your fucking help, bro.”

  “Not giving it so that worked out.” Jackson was still shining the light around and it was starting to annoy Trevor.

  “Here we go,” Trevor said and pulled a rotting wooden shelving unit from the wall. It wasn’t nailed to the wall, which made it easy. The wood crumbled in his hands.

  There was nothing on the wall. No door on this side. Trevor rapped his knuckles on it.

  “Well?” Jackson asked.

  Trevor turned to his brother and frowned. “Nothing.”

  “Maybe they put sheetrock over where it is.”

  “I don’t think so,” Trevor said. He turned back and tapped on the wall as far in either direction as he could. “Doesn’t sound any different. This wall is pretty thin, too. No way they added another layer. The wall, itself, doesn’t look any different. I doubt they added a different sheetrock covering. It’s all uniformly old and dirty. This is weird.”

  “Something else weird about this place,” Jackson said quietly.

  Trevor heard him but was too busy moving more shit to get further down the wall. He kept tapping every few inches but there was no change in the sound.

  “Give it a rest. It’s late. Let’s clean up and I’ll meet you back in the morning,” Jackson said. “I’ll even splurge and pick up a dozen donuts.”

  “Actual donuts? Like… Dunkin Donuts? And a large coffee, too?”

  Jackson shrugged. “Sure. Why not.”

  Trevor laughed. “What the fuck have you done with my real brother and can you make sure he stays away?”

  ***

  It was still dark when Trevor came back. He’d been unable to sleep and, when he finally fell out, he’d had nightmares he couldn’t remember details of but knew they were bad. He’d taken a quick shower, since he’d apparently ben sweating despite the cool October air, and decided to get a jump on work.

  Besides… he needed to figure out why there was a door and where it went. Before they’d left a few hours ago, Trevor had told Jackson he wanted to start in the stockroom and clean it up. Start filling the small dumpster out back until they could arrange for an industrial one to be delivered. Hire a crew.

  Trevor could get it done but then Jackson would ask too many questions. The guy he’d been working with doing odd jobs was Connected. A Made Man in New Jersey. He worked for The Family, and, even though Trevor knew hooking up with mobsters was a bad move in life, the money was too good. He could now brush aside his worries by knowing he’d still have enough in savings to work with his big brother for free. Everyone was a winner.

  Except when he’d mentioned the building to his connection, who’d frowned and put an arm around Trevor’s neck. “Never mention that place again to me. Never around anyone associated with me. You got it?”

  Trevor had gotten it even if he didn’t understand it.

  He might be dumb, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d never talk about it around anyone even remotely connected to The Family.

  There were still enough guys looking for work and needing cash he’d have no problem getting a few guys together to help. Trevor smiled. He’d do well for Jackson. He wanted to see his big brother succeed. They’d had a shitty life so far. Maybe not as bad as crack houses and people being killed in front of them bad, but still worse than most. Shitty parents and shitty upbringings. It would be nice to get ahead for once.

  Make a real mark in the world. The first step was Jackson’s brewery.

  After an hour of moving shit around and trying to make a dent in the piles of old newspapers, busted and rusting beer kegs and machine parts that looked ancient, Trevor gave up for the night.

  There was always tomorrow to deal with this mess.

  Right now, he needed to make a delivery and get some more cash in his pocket.

  ***

  Jackson had only been upstairs once, when the realtor had taken him on the initial tour. It had been clean and boring, so they hadn’t spent much time on the second floor.

  There were six rooms and a bathroom, and all opened onto the hallway. Each room had an identical window looking out to the street and a closet. As you came up the stairs, the wall to your left was a solid sheet without windows; although, faint markings on the wall itself left Jackson to believe years ago posters or paintings had been decorating the space.

  He ran a hand over the wall and felt small grooves where the holes for pictures had been painted over. Maybe he’d have the brewery logo put into a mural on the wall.

  Jackson’s original excitement about the building wasn’t just about the brewery downstairs. He could eventually fix up the six rooms and create apartments or rooms for rent. It would be another way to generate income.

  One of the other buildings he’d look at had a similar setup and Alli had been excited about the possibility of rentals. She would’ve loved the idea Jackson was going to do it sometime down the line.

  He missed Alli. Despite some of the fights and her mother’s interference in her life, Jackson held out hope she’d come back. Maybe when the brewery was open and they had the grand opening. Jackson would make sure to get word to her somehow, so she’d know he’d done it.

  In the meantime, he needed to double-check all the rooms. He didn’t know why. Unlike downstairs, these rooms looked like they’d been built ten years ago instead of a hundred and ten like downstairs.

  Even though the rooms were bare of furniture or even blinds on the windows, Jackson went room by room, checking behind the door and opening the closets.

  He slipped into the bathroom and frowned. The toilet bowl had a nasty ring in it from lack of flushing. For now, he’d dump bleach into it and hope for the best. If he wanted to have tenants, he’d need to replace it.

  As he turned to leave and go back downstairs, he stopped and opened the medicine cabinet. At first it was stuck, as if lack of use had rusted the hinges.

  It popped loose like it had been vacuum sealed.

  A slip of paper fell and landed on the floor before Jackson could catch it.

  Jackson’s mind screamed for him to run and never look back. He’d seen how this worked in every horror movie Trevor had made them watch as kids, and it never ended well.

  It was either a curse on whoever found the letter or a clue to find a dead body. A serial killer confession. A black and white photo of a creepy child with long, stringy hair.

  The paper had fallen in such a way only the blank back was vi
sible.

  Jackson walked out of the room. He realized he’d been holding his breath.

  Run. Run.

  He thought of Alli and her fear of the building. Had she been right? Maybe all the hocus pocus bullshit her family did wasn’t all nonsense. Maybe she could really see or hear something wrong with the place. Feel the evil. She’d been staring at the upper level when she’d been spooked. Jackson couldn’t remember if she was looking at the bathroom window or another room.

  It didn’t matter. She was frightened. Did he believe in her gypsy shit now?

  Jackson shook his head. Fuck all that noise. He was a grown man.

  He took a deep breath, walked back into the room and knelt down next to the piece of white paper, yellowed and soft on the edges. Maybe it was the deed to the entire block. A copy of the Declaration of Independence.

  Jackson fought his hand to move and turn over the paper.

  He gingerly gripped it with two fingers and flipped it over, jumping up and back like it was a snake.

  “What the fuck…” Jackson knelt back down to inspect the writing.

  It was old. Not ancient. But a few decades, he guessed.

  Jackson began reading it and smiled.

  It was a beer recipe for a company called Bayberry Bluff.

  He thought he remembered the name as one of the original bars or breweries in this location.

  Jackson picked it up and got excited. He’d found the recipe for the first beer he’d brew when they opened. He just needed to do some research and make sure no one owned the copyright or trademark or whatever it was.

  ***

  Trevor stood in the back parking lot of the building and smiled at the ten-day laborers he’d offered work to today. “Like I said… if my brother asks, you’re doing this because you know me and you’re getting paid in beer.”

  “But you’re giving us cash. Right?”

  “Yes. Everyone gets a hundred bucks at the end of the day. Plus, lunch on me,” Trevor said.

  One of the men, an older guy with a scraggly goatee and shaved head, stepped forward. “And beer. Right?”

  Trevor smiled. “Of course. If there was no beer how else would you get paid? I appreciate it. We’ll make two piles out here. As you bring shit out, I’ll point. Really simple. The goal is to get everything out of the stockroom before night.” He clapped his hands. “I have a dumpster coming. I’ll buy beer and subs for lunch. Let’s get to work.”

  “What’s going on?” Jackson asked, coming outside. “Who are these guys?” He lowered his voice. “I can’t pay them.”

  “Relax, bro. I got it covered. They’re friends. I’m buying them lunch and beer. They’ll have the backroom cleaned out in a couple of hours. Maybe three. Then they can help with the shit in the basement.” Trevor tried to act casual, but he knew Jackson could usually see through his bullshit. “I worked this morning. Did a delivery for a friend and got paid.”

  Jackson looked pissed. He hooked Trevor by the arm and pulled him off to the side. “Please tell me you’re not mixed up with the fucking mobster guys again?”

  “No,” Trevor lied. “It’s legit. A guy who delivers bread and donuts into Brooklyn had a driver sick. Called me up and paid me in cash to do him the favor.” Trevor grinned. “If he keeps asking me to do it, I might need to get my CDL license. The money is unreal. You shoulda bought the building for a bakery, bro.”

  Jackson was staring hard at Trevor and it was all he could do not to look away, a definite tell he was lying. “You’re not telling me something.”

  “You’re right… I got half a dozen donuts with the idea to share with you. I ate them all.”

  Jackson was still staring. He finally smiled. “I appreciate the help but keep track of every dime you spend. I will pay you back. I promise. I’m going to the bank in a few days to try to secure another loan. I have an idea.” He held up a folded sheet on yellowed paper in his hand. “This could be the key. Bring back some nostalgia for the place. The new and the old kinda shit.”

  Trevor took the paper and read it. He nodded. “Sweet. A fucking recipe for beer. Add it to the collection. Right? Like grandpa’s illegal hooch he used to make.”

  Their grandpa used to make his own alcohol. Moonshine. Various beers. Personal use amounts of whiskey or bourbon. The crazy bastard had grown weed in his bedroom. He was a hipster before they had a word for it, making his own drink and smoke under the radar. Trevor knew he’d learned some of the techniques while he was in prison for a few years, too.

  “I think tonight I’ll actually leave at a decent time and see if I can replicate this. It sounds interesting. Some odd ingredients in it, too.” Jackson took the paper back, folded it and stuck it in his wallet. “What are you going to work on besides being a supervisor for your new crew?”

  Trevor grinned. “I want to find out what the fuck is with the door. There’s no way it leads into the stockroom. But it is a fucking door. What do you think it could be?”

  “Nothing. It maybe was a door, but they sealed it up.”

  Trevor shook his head. “Then why not pull the door from the wall? And why no doorknob? They camouflaged it into the wall. It makes no sense.”

  “We have more pressing things to do,” Jackson said.

  Trevor shrugged. “Fine. I’ll work on it after five tonight. I’m off the clock.”

  “You’re wasting your time but good luck. I hope you find the secret,” Jackson said.

  “Oh, and I’ll be running late tomorrow. Have another delivery to do. Won’t be too late, though,” Trevor said. “Depending on how much these guys get done today we might ask them to come back tomorrow.”

  “I can’t expect these guys to work for lunch and beer,” Jackson said.

  Trevor waved his hand. “Nah. They owe me a few favors. It wipes the slate clean. Besides, there’s no other way for you to get this much labor this cheap. Leave everything to me. Maybe make a list of what needs to be done, too. Some of these guys might have some other skills like electrician.”

  “We need an actual electrician for the inspection. I can’t have anyone doing it.”

  “Sure, you can. You’re in construction. You know how to cut some corners.” Trevor smiled. “Might be a plumber in there, too. God knows they show enough ass crack when they work.”

  ***

  Jackson made a batch of Bayberry Bluff and loved it. It was delicious. He’d automatically picked up his phone to call Alli but realized that ship had sailed weeks ago. He tried his brother but there was no answer.

  He had a ton of work to do at the building in the morning but wanted to go to the library and use their computers to do some more research. He was sure he’d heard of Bayberry Bluff before, when he’d initially been interested in buying the place.

  Jackson turned on the TV and sipped on the beer for a while, but he couldn’t concentrate. He had to start on the common area past the bar, where the pool tables and dart boards would be. Eventually, when he got the money, he’d add a few TVs to the four corners so customers could watch the Yankees and Mets in the summer. Jets and Giants in the Fall. He envisioned people arguing and cheering over the Devils, Rangers and Islanders. The Knicks and Nets.

  Hell, Jackson could even get some Pay-Per-Views like WWE and boxing, something to draw in the crowds and sell the beer.

  Jackson finished the last drop of beer in his mug and stood. He was feeling really good. He knew he was too wound up to sleep tonight. He went into the kitchen and poured the rest of the beer he’d made into a travel container, took down one of his plastic mugs from the cabinet, found his jeans wadded up in the corner of his bedroom and his sneakers, got dressed and went back to the building.

  It was quiet inside. He immediately turned on every light, knowing he was being ridiculous.

  Setting the beer on the counter, he filled the mug with beer and took another generous sip. It had warmed up a bit more, but it was still delicious.

  Jackson needed to scrub the grime off the walls and see what
was underneath. He thought it would be wood paneling like they’d used in the 70’s. That would have to be pulled down and the walls repainted or something,

  More money to spend, he thought and took another sip. He knew, if he finished all the beer, he’d need to get some coffee and a power nap before he could drive home. Maybe he’d buy a cheap bed or futon and set up a room upstairs.

  Jackson smiled. Why was he paying so much rent for an apartment when he could live here? He’d need to look into the laws, but he was sure he could set up residence. What else were the rooms upstairs for?

  Trevor could stay, too. It would be like old times except without their horrible parents. They might be able to better reconnect. Even though they’d always stayed in touch and had gone through periods where they hung out a lot, Jackson didn’t really know Trevor. He was mysterious and aloof. He never talked about his work, which Jackson knew wasn’t exactly legal all the time.

  Then the other rooms could be rented out and eventually Jackson would have enough money coming in from the rentals, the bar sales, distribution and beer sales, as well as private events, he could afford a new place away from work. He knew being upstairs long-term was a bad idea. He’d need some space from work, especially if he wanted an actual life.

  Maybe he’d be able to show Alli how well he was doing, and she’d want to date again. If he lived at the bar, he knew she’d never agree to talk.

  One thing at a time, Jackson thought and chugged more beer.

  He wandered around the rooms, envisioning where the pool table would go. Speakers for music. TV placement. One thing Jackson hadn’t done yet was do this. He thought it would jinx him. He’d purposely kept in the moment when he was in the building, when it came to the bar area, but now he let his mind wander.

  Explore the possibilities. Get excited for the rooms crowded with people, watching as the workers made the beer on the other side of the wall or played pool. Everyone drinking and having a great time.