(Page 1 of 2) Bad Luck in Beer City by Sean Regan
 (4 ratings)
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SUMMARY: For the July 2008 flash fiction contest; theme is deception.Johnny Johnson realized he was in the wrong town when Buck Hilliard, the mayor of Beer City, told Johnny he was in the wrong town.
"Those dimwits in Texas may pay for lies," said Buck, "but lies ain't gonna get you nothing in Beer City except a beating and a night in jail."
The beating came first. Buck nodded to the sheriff and the sheriff directed three farmhands to roughly handle Johnny. Buck and the sheriff stood and watched with big grins. They'd even split Johnny's last eight dollars.
As he was thrown to the dirt and kicked in the gut, Johnny evaluated his situation. Johnny and the truth simply didn't get along. A month back, he persuaded some farmers near Shattuck to pay him fifty dollars, plus expenses and two square meals, to explode dynamite in the sky to bring rain. He brought lots of bang, no wet. Outside Turpin he told a widower that his stomach troubles were cancer, and he could draw it out for twenty-five dollars. Cash in hand, Johnny applied a salve of turpentine and corn starch to the painful spot. He disappeared before things got messy.
Lies had paid his way from Alabama, but on his second day in Beer City, Johnny went too far. He was talking to a young cowhand outside the Elephant when he brought up little green men from outerspace. The cowhand was Johnny's favorite type - gullible - and Johnny told the kid he'd show him these green men for thirty dollars. They were from Mars and they were hiding in a cave outside town. But the kid's friends appeared, and Johnny couldn't change the story. The men were onto him quick, and they laughed and fetched Mayor Buck to listen to this huckster's tales. That's how the rough handling started.
"He's had enough," said Buck, and the rough handling stopped. Buck's grin never left his face. He turned to the sheriff. "Round up everyone, and tell Pussycat Jane to bring some girls. We'll go out west of town and welcome the Martians to Beer City." The mayor leaned over Johnny. "We're gonna have a party tonight, and you're our guest of honor. Now, I don't want any hard feelings between us, so I'll pay you a thousand dollars for every Martian I see." Everyone laughed.
Later that night, a Friday, fifty people gathered outside Beer City. Everyone proceeded to get drunk, most on moonshine. They'd tied Johnny's feet together and stood him in front of the headlights of Buck's fancy car. His ribs hurt.
"Can I have a cup of that good stuff?" Johnny asked Buck.
The mayor of Beer City guffawed and brandished his private whiskey bottle so Johnny could read the label. Johnny couldn't read.
"I had this bottle imported from St. Louis, Missoura," Buck said, pronouncing the city's name like it was Paris, France. "I have two men working a still in town. We got plenty of the homemade tonight, but I ain't gonna give you none. Hell, I ain't even gonna give you a beer."
"You in fine form," said Johnny.
"I should be," said Buck. "I'm the mayor of Beer City."
Johnny was the only sober person, and it pissed him off. He'd noticed all the cars were from Kansas.
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