Porter: A Beer Noir

By Ryan Martinson

Porter was a stout man, oak barrel-chested and robust, if that can be said of a man; imperial pale in complexion, he stood a high gravity above most men. He spent most of his days swirling around a desk, waiting for a case to bottle-cap it and pop off.

Then she walked in … an Irish red she was, seemed to be floating almost carbonated in the way she drifted into his office. Said she needed a spot of help, had a husband who lager, rinsed and repeated himself downtown every night at the local bar.

“What business do I have traipsing around some dive, fishing a man out of barley river?” asked Porter.

“It’s not his drinking I’m worried about,” the red said. “It’s the people he mixes around with, a group of ABVs engaged in high risk content.”

Porter knew what was going on. A damsel in distress, a crimson-lipped beauty pinting that hour-glass figure to bail her hopped up man out of a bitter situation. His wheat skin was thick enough to deal with this, fermented in years of this wort that is life.

He went to the docks where he knew the men would be. Alcohol content with the successful racket they had going, they were too drunk with power to realize he was there. A motley brew they were, equipped with hand guns and tommys ready to spill foam all over the dampened beechwood. Porter did what he knew would work: He outsmarted ’em. Taking advantage of their 10% intellect, he tricked the men into believing he was a mob boss, fast talking with a lambic accent — they thought he was a foreigner. Afraid they might have an army at their backs across the pond, it scared the sediment out em. Small time crooks tend to fold like a weak poker hand.

Porter went back to office, picked up the phone and called Amber, the Irish Red, to let her know her husband was in the clear.  Her sultry voice whispered a thank you and let him know the money would be wired to him by week’s end. Another case in the bag, Porter thought, eying the black licorice and coffee beans strewn about his desk. A man has little time to keep things tidy when the city is pouring itself out of the bottom of the bottle.

2 Responses to “Porter: A Beer Noir”
  1. Deb Miller says:

    Wow, Ryan! I enjoyed this!

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