Steve looked up, his forehead furrowed, tension in his eyes. "Are you ready to do this?"
His partner swallowed heavily and bit his lower lip before he nodded. "Yeah. God knows what's going to happen… This could be one of the most dangerous, and stupidest, things we've ever done. But we can't back out now."
With a deep unsteady breath, the younger man nodded. "I agree. Okay, here goes."
They stared at each other uneasily. It was Mike who laughed first, dropping his head to rub a hand over his face. Chuckling, Steve picked up the large, heavy tray covered with a dishtowel and turned away from the counter. Mike fell into step behind him as they entered the living room, Steve trying not to limp too noticeably.
As Steve crossed to the coffee table to set the tray down, Mike stood to one side. "Gentlemen, you're probably wondering why we called you here today."
Their guests exchanged glances, nods and grunts.
"Believe me, it was more than just… difficult… trying to find a… mutually convenient period of time when you were all free, and when we could secure the, ah, how shall I put it, accommodation of your significant others to provide everyone with safe passage home after our little… soiree."
Steve shot a glance at his partner, frowning. "You've been reading that French cookbook again, haven't you?" he whispered with a low chuckle.
"Okay, Mike," Sergeant Dan Healey chimed in, glancing at Norm Haseejian with a confused frown, "you usually don't beat around the bush so much. What the hell is going on?"
Grinning broadly, the tall lieutenant raised both hands in a quasi-surrender gesture. "Okay, okay." Steve had taken a step back and was now beside him. "As everyone knows, Steve and I spent a… bit of time in Kentucky recently and, ah, well, you all know pretty well what happened." His smile disappeared briefly and he cleared his throat. "But we're both on the mend and, ah, we'll be back at work very soon," he glared in a mock threatening manner at everyone in the room, "so the holiday will be over… Norm." He finished with a stare at the sergeant, who pulled his head back quickly and shot furtive glances around the room.
"What're ya looking at me for?" he stammered, and everyone laughed.
Laughing, Steve took a step forward. He flashed another look at his partner, shaking his head. "What I think Mike is trying to say is, it's gonna be great to get back but before we do, we brought a little some'in' back from the Bluegrass State that we thought ya'll might like to try."
As the younger man leaned forward to take the dishtowel off the tray, Mike said quietly, "You sound just like Eli when he gets his Kentucky on." They both laughed.
"Ta-da!" Steve said with a flourish as he unveiled the tray.
"What the hell?"
"Oh my!"
"Good lord!"
"Hah, I had a feeling that's what it'd be!"
"Where did you get the second jar?" Lieutenant Martin Pierce looked with wide eyes from the tray to Steve.
"Um," the younger man stretched out the word, glancing sideways at Mike, unsure of just how much he should reveal.
"Now, now, now," Mike said quickly, coming to the rescue, "Marty, how many times have I told you, never look a gift horse in the mouth."
Steve took the bottle of bourbon, that had been lying down, and stood it up.
"Oh… my… god," Inspector Bill Tanner said under his breath as he leaned forward from his seat on the couch and picked it up. "Where the hell did you get this? This is the best bourbon you can buy. I've never tried it, only heard about it."
"It, ah, it was a gift," Mike said vaguely.
"And the rest, I take it, is moonshine?" Healey asked tentatively, waving vaguely at the two mason jars of clear liquid.
With a deep chuckle, Captain Rudy Olsen leaned back in the armchair and crossed his legs. "So, ah, Mike, Steve, what exactly is going on here tonight?"
The partners exchanged wide-eyed looks then Mike clapped his hands enthusiastically. He winced, his left hand going quickly to the brace over his still healing collarbone. "Ow, yikes, forgot… I still have to be a little careful," he whined quietly, embarrassed.
"You're wearing one of those figure 8 braces, right?" Inspector Lee Lessing asked. On Mike's nod, he nodded back. "I had to wear one of those when I was a kid; I fell out of a tree. They're a pain, aren't they?"
Mike tilted his head. "Hoy, you can say that again."
"How much longer?"
"At least two weeks. I would kill for a shower right now," the older man said dryly, rolling his eyes. Everyone laughed.
"You were saying…" Olsen prompted, looking from the lieutenant to the inspector and back.
"Right," Mike nodded as Steve began to lay out the small glasses that had been previously stacked on the table. "Gentlemen, we are going to have a taste testing tonight – two… vintages of homemade moonshine and, as you've already heard, the best bourbon money can buy. Now, before anyone gets on their high horse, we came by all this in a legitimate way; this is all above board.
"However, we quickly realized that it would be, well, inappropriate for the two of us," he gestured quickly between Steve and himself, "to imbibe all of this intoxicating beverage on our own. And so we thought, let's share it." Gesturing grandly towards their guests, his face split into a wide grin, matched by his partner who added a wide-eyed nod.
Before anyone had a chance to react, Mike raised an index finger. "And…" He waited till he had their full attention again. "We have steaks to grill on the bar-b-que and baked potatoes roasting in the coals, not to mention a salad chilling in the fridge. You guys are getting the full treatment tonight… just our way of saying, thanks for covering for us and just, well, you know, thanks…" He finished with his right hand over his heart.
Suddenly speechless, every eye in the room was on Mike as he dropped his head slightly and cleared his throat. Realizing he had put them all in an awkward situation, he raised his head quickly and turned to his partner. "Ah, Steve, could you do the honors?"
With a chuckle, the younger man reached for one of the jars of shine. "So, just so you know, only Mike and I know which 'shine is which – not that it matters to you guys. What we've decided, though, is that we're going to do a bit of a taste test tonight between the two 'shines and when we find out your preferences, we're gonna let the sheriff back in Kearney know which one – "
"Kearny?" Haseejian interrupted. "That town in Kentucky is called Kearny? Like the street?"
"With an 'e'," Steve enunciated, grinning. "Pretty close though, hunh?" When the Armenian sergeant nodded, Steve turned back to the tray. "As I was saying," he sighed sarcastically to several delighted chuckles, "we're gonna let the sheriff back in Kearney know which one we prefer and leave it up to him if he wants to let the families know or not."
Pierce and Olsen exchanged wide-eyed looks and they both nodded, impressed.
"Now," Steve continued, as he clocked the look between his superiors with a subtle smile, "in order to keep our palates clean between tastings – Michael, if you please," he nodded to his partner, who disappeared into the kitchen, "we have prepared a selection of small 'palate cleansers'."
Mike returned and placed a large plate and a stack of napkins on the table beside the tray. As he removed the Saran wrap from the plate, they could see small piles of sliced baguette, crackers, and cubes of cheddar cheese.
There was a low whistle. "Wow," Healey said, his voice laced with admiration, "this is impressive. You've really thought of everything."
Mike looked at Steve and smiled. "Hope so."
Steve laughed. "So, before we get started, some ground rules. We're going to start this out like a real taste testing – we'll wash the glasses after each 'round', 'cause we want to get your honest opinions. But…" he held up a finger and grinned, "while I am going to join you and indulge, Mike here is only participating in the 'first round', so to speak."
Mike nodded. "Yes, I am going to recuse myself after the initial tasting to become your host for the evening. I will be doing the cooking and making sure you all get fed, and then I will make sure you all get home safe and sound, except those of you who are staying the night," he looked pointedly at Steve.
"Gentlemen," Steve took over with a wide smile, "our goal this evening is not only to arrive at a unanimous decision regarding which of these two jars contains the superior Kentucky moonshine, but also to empty said jars as well as this amazing bottle of bourbon."
"You don't have to ask me twice," Haseejian chortled as he took off his sports coat, tossed it on the back of the sofa and rolled up his sleeves. The others chuckled as they exchanged delighted looks and grins, settling in for what promised to be an entertaining and enjoyable evening.
Mike and Steve surveyed their guests once again. It was a little odd to see everyone dressed in mufti but having them all together in Mike's living room, they knew, was just the panacea they needed right now. It had been such a long and difficult road back from their eventful sojourn into the backwoods of Kentucky, but finally things seemed to be righting themselves.
"Mr. Keller," Mike said formally as he turned to his partner and bowed as low as he could, "once more, would you do the honors?"
With a wide grin, Steve nodded. "It would be my pleasure. Gentlemen, 'shine number one." He picked up the first Mason jar and poured eight small glasses, handing them out when he had finished. Mike had brought a legal length yellow pad and a ballpoint pen in from the kitchen and, sitting in a kitchen chair that had been brought into the living room, settled in to takes notes.
"So, ah, how do we do this?" Lessing asked. "Sip or gulp?"
"Well, I tried this stuff before," Pierce said with an embarrassed shrug. "One of my boys brought a bottle back from Georgia once. It tasted like rubbing alcohol. We were told to gulp it quickly." His eyes found Steve's and he smiled apologetically. "I'm sure this is much better," he finished lamely.
"Well, ah, okay," Steve said hesitantly, "I guess it's, ah… dealers choice. Whatever you want to do, Lee."
Lessing and Healey both looked into their glasses with suddenly concerned stares.
Everyone, except Mike, with a glass in hand, Steve stood straight and held his up. "Well, here goes." He tilted his head back, prepared to toss the liquor down his throat, then seemed to think better of it, lowered his head and took a tentative sip. The others watched closely.
Steve's face remained impassive as he swallowed and licked his lips, his gaze unfocused and his brow furrowed. "Marty, you, my friend, must have been drinking what is known in the vernacular as 'hootch'. This," he announced, holding up his glass, "is not hootch." Smiling, he took another sip.
As the others exchanged glances, all of them electing to sip instead of gulp, Steve looked to his partner. "Smooth, full-bodied… definitely tastes like an up-scale vodka. Recommended."
Chuckling, Mike made a notation on the pad. "Here, pass me my glass." As approving grunts could be heard from around the room, Mike took a tentative sip. Not a big drinker, he knew he didn't have much of a palate for hard liquor; his preferences were the occasional beer, or wine with dinner, with a preference for light whites.
Steve watched as his partner's eyebrows shot up and he nodded agreeably. "Not bad, hunh?"
"Not bad at all," Mike concurred, taking a second small sip before he set the glass on the corner of the coffee table and made another notation on the pad. The others were talking amongst themselves and sipping from their glasses. Tanner had almost finished his and Olsen was eyeing the Mason jar with undisguised approval.
Mike glanced up at Steve, catching his eye. In each other's face they could read everything they had been through the past few weeks: the fear, the pain, the anguish, the grief. But they could also see what they both needed so badly right now: the laughter of friends, the restoration of health, the return to normalcy… and the unconditional and enduring love.
This was going to be the night they needed.