Page 47 of Bourbon Bliss
“They wouldn’t… would they?” Leah Mae asked.
“It makes some sense,” Cassidy said. “He is too big, even for all of them.”
I squinted, trying to see what was going on at the lake. “What are you talking about?”
“Let’s go,” Cassidy said.
We raced down the street with Scarlett leading the way. The cool air stung my cheeks, my skin sensitive after the facial.
The Bodine men were indeed standing around the big wooden structure. It was on wheels and could be pulled by a tractor, but why had Tom Hammond brought it down here?
And where was George?
My second question was answered when George staggered out from behind one of the wooden supports. He splayed his big hand against the side of the trebuchet and leaned against it, like he was having trouble holding himself up. He had a mason jar in his other hand, and by the expression on his face and the way he leaned to the side, I could tell he’d had his fair share of moonshine.
Bowie slapped him on the shoulder and took the drink out of his hand.
Scarlett stopped at the edge of the sand and flung her arms wide to keep the rest of us from passing her. “Best to just let it happen.”
Bowie leaned closer to George as he set down the mason jar and said something too quietly for me to hear. Both men laughed. I narrowed my eyes. Bowie was suspiciously steady on his feet. He was a Bootlegger through and through, so of course the man could hold his liquor. Maybe George had just gotten a little carried away and Bowie hadn’t.
“Now!” Bowie shouted.
Gibson, Jonah, Jameson, and Devlin all raced to George, letting their drinks drop to the ground. They grabbed him by the arms and legs while Gibson pushed against his shoulders from behind.
“What’s goin’ on?” George asked, his words slurring.
They muscled him closer to the replica siege engine and Gibson fastened what looked like a harness onto him.
“Hold still, big guy,” Bowie said, his voice strained.
George tilted to the left. “What’re you doing?”
“He secure, Gibs?” Bowie asked.
Gibson pulled on a strap. “He’s good.”
Jameson let go and grabbed a white motorcycle helmet, then forced it down over George’s head while the rest of the men held him still.
“What are they doing?” I asked.
“What is this?” George asked, making a half-hearted attempt to grab the helmet. Gibson and Jameson held his arms down.
“Ordinarily, we’d just toss your ass in the lake,” Bowie said. “It’s a thing that needs to happen if you’re going to be courtin’ June. I’m sure you understand. But you’re too damn big. We didn’t think we could get you down the dock, let alone pick you up to toss you in. So we came up with an alternative.”
“Cassidy, what are they doing?” I asked again, my sense of alarm increasing.
“Tossing him in the lake.” Cassidy’s voice was very matter-of-fact.
“That’s not tossing,” I said. “That machine is going tolaunchhim into the lake.”
“Sure is,” Scarlett said.
Leah Mae covered her mouth with her hand, and her eyes widened.
“Lie down, now,” Bowie was saying to George. “Good. Come on. All the way.”
“But…” I sputtered, struggling to get any words out. “But… why?”
