Elliott took a seat across the table from the Brewmaster with Roger on one side of him and Shavian on the other. Higgins, who looked skeptical at best when he looked at the Brewmaster and dangerous at best when he looked at Elliott, sat next to Shavian. Junie and Fipps took seats to the left of Roger. Once they were settled, Aubrey stood up and made introductions. People still milled around them though no one joined them at the table.
“Brewmaster,” she announced, “this is Elliott Bradbury, Shavian Quinn, Roger Gillespie, Junie Harkness, Ed Fipps, and Higgins.”
Shavian’s mouth fell open. “Even his name is just one word?” she exclaimed. “Like… Madonna?”
“Or Sting!” Roger said.
Aubrey, taken aback, shrugged and said, “Sergeant Higgins?” Shavian glared at her. Higgins patted Shavian’s shoulder consolingly but added nothing to the conversation.
“I have a greater concern,” Roger said loudly to forego any more argument. “How in the hell do you know who we all are?”
Elliott frowned: Roger was right (for once). They’d never introduced themselves to Aubrey either time they’d run into her, yet she knew them all.
Aubrey had the grace to blush. “There’s an APB out on you with pictures and everything. We saw it before all this went down.”
Elliott blushed too, but out of the corner of his eye he caught Shavian fighting a grin. “Yeah well, where did you get Higgins’ name?”
“He’s wearing a name tag,” Shavian said not able to keep the mirth from her voice.
“But all that is beside the point,” the Brewmaster said with a large smile. “You’re here and I have a good feeling about you all.”
“So you saw we’re wanted criminals and that made you all warm and fuzzy towards us?” Roger asked doubtfully.
Aubrey laughed. “We saw that you were wanted criminals. Then we saw the young woman you kidnapped remains with you. She could easily have run away on any number of occasions. It’s telling.” She cast a glance at Shavian and hid a smile.
Shavian’s face scrunched up. “What, that I have Stockholm syndrome?” She began biting on the jagged fingernail that Elliott had noticed earlier. She was probably not the only one there wondering why she hadn’t tried harder to escape.
“See what I mean about the wisdom, huh?” the Brewmaster said, tugging Aubrey close against his side. “And I haven’t even gotten started!”
“So what do you want with us?” Roger asked, in a way that suggested he expected to be tied up and suspended upside down over a tank of hungry sharks at any moment.
Tedd clapped his hands together jovially and laughed. “Just to help if I can. Offer advice, assistance, perspective. Whatever is needed.”
“Jeans,” Shavian said abruptly.
“Pardon me?” Brewmaster Tedd said.
“I… we need clean clothes,” Shavian said, “to start with.”
A line of servers in the starched white aprons and shirts of the hotel staff trooped out of the kitchen bearing plates of food. They were all presented with frosty glasses and pitchers of orange and apple juice, platters of pancakes, waffles and French toast. There was hash browns and scrambled eggs and toast. There were also pitchers of beer but in deference to the early hour, it was a citrusy ale. Elliott hadn’t felt all that hungry but his stomach rumbled when a waitress passed a carafe of maple syrup under his nose. She was a pert-nosed little brunette with square rimmed glasses and a shy smile, which she cast at Elliott. Shavian turned away as they all dished up plates of food and started to eat.
“Well, that shouldn’t be a problem,” the Brewmaster said. “There’s a mall not far from here. We don’t think it’s been looted too badly so you should be able to find something in there that suits you. We’ll give you directions after breakfast.”
Shavian’s face lit up at the thought of shopping. Well, Elliott supposed it was more like looting or stealing but he somehow didn’t think that would be a huge deterrent for Shavian. She dug into a plate of pancakes happily.
“So,” Roger said, still wary, “what kinds of beer do you brew, Brewmaster?”
Tedd’s face lit up and he sat up straighter. He shoveled a forkful of eggs into his face, chewed and then replied, “Oh, all kinds, but I specialize in the unusual.”
“Unusual?” Roger asked quickly. If Elliott knew Roger he was probably imagining a porter made of arsenic and tear gas; his mild paranoia reared its head at the strangest times.
“Yeah, I love Northwest flavors,” he said, oblivious to Roger’s suspicion, “so I try to incorporate them. I have a huckleberry hefeweizen that’s very good. But the next one on the list is going to be the big one, the piece de resistance.”
“And that’s French for what exactly?” Roger demanded.
“’It.’ ‘The one.’ ‘The beer to end all beers!’” The Brewmaster stood and spread his hands again. “Salmon beer! It’s going to be huge!”