It was a pleasant evening, right up to the moment when Ron and Jack both cut in.
''I think we need to leave,'' the mayor said.
''Problems,'' Kris said after just one glance at their faces.
''My Chief of the Peace has a problem. Hans isn't too happy, either. I'd like a Naval officer's opinion as to what is just sailors blowing off steam and what is an assault on my city.''
Kris collected her wrap and left quickly. Steve Jr. was waiting for them and, the injunction about speed having expired, headed for the Oktoberfest at only slightly below light speed.
Hans and the Chief of the Peace were waiting outside a large daub-and-beam building signed the Edelweiss. One light post down four sailors were cuffed and laid out on the ground while a dozen good-sized men looked on. All twelve sporting a red armband with a hastily sewn, gold cloth star that, apparently, identified cops tonight. This might have passed for a normal night when the fleet was in. What didn't look normal were a couple of dozen sailors standing around giving the cops dark glowers and occasional encouraging words to their buddies on the deck.
Kris could tell a riot looking for a way to happen.
She did a quick survey of the street. Cops walked in pairs or foursomes. Other locals moved up and down row upon row of tables and benches that covered the street, handing off foaming glasses to sailors shouting for them. There were a lot more sailors shouting than hands passing out beer. ''I don't see any women,'' Kris said. ''No barmaids on Chance?''
''We sent them home,'' Hans said. ''We run family businesses. The women working here are our wives, daughters, their friends. Some of the things the sailors said to them…'' He shook his head.
''It was better to send the women home before they started dumping more beer over sailors heads than they put on the tables in front of them. Or their sons and husbands started fights… and I know we don't want no fights,'' Hans said to Ron.
''Mayor,'' he continued, ''we really need more guys to shell out the beer or there's going to be a riot. Half those men Gassy has wearing armbands have worked here. I need them.''
Ron eyed his Chief of the Peace. ''I have barely enough, Boss. And if things get any worse, I won't have anywhere near enough. These guys keep drinking and things are only going to go downhill. I know you don't want to hear this, but I think you better close down the Beergartens.''
To Kris's surprise, Hans' only comeback to that was a weak ''I hope you don't do nothing like that.''
''Who's paying for the beer?'' she asked Ron.
''The city's paying some, and Hans's friends are selling to the sailors at half price. About midnight, we're going to let them tap out the older stuff that's gone stale. What we usually make them pour down the gutter.''
''Well, if you don't have a riot before midnight, I'll bet on one after that,'' Jack said.
''We thought they'd be too drunk to notice,'' the garten owner said with a shrug. ''The way they're swilling my best, they can't have any taste left by then.''
Kris did a second look around. Yep. most were going through their large glasses as fast as she'd come to expect of college boys—or girls, but there were no girls on a Peterwald ship. On closer study, she spotted, here and there, a fellow who looked a bit too old to be an able seaman. And those few were nursing their glasses. Come midnight, at least a few would know what was being served. And a shout would…
''Jack, you see what I see?''
He nodded. ''There're troublemakers out there.''
Gasçon following where Kris looked and scowled at what he saw. ''You think we're being set up, Princess?''
''That's what the Peterwalds do. I don't see any Shore Patrol. Have they checked in with you?''
''There is no Shore Patrol,'' the Chief of the Peace said.
''I think now would be a good time for you to call Hank,'' Kris said to Ron.
The mayor nodded, a deep scowl on his face. With a sigh and a shake, he turned his face to pleasantly friendly. ''Oh, Kris, you better get over there,'' he said, pointing to a piece of pavement well in front of him. She and Jack did.
Ron held up his wrist and said. ''Ron Torn here. Connect me to Marta Torn.'' A moment later he was talking to his mother. ''Things going well on your side?''
''No blood on the carpet. I guess that counts for success tonight. You out on the street, Mr. Mayor?''
''Yes, Mom. Is our visiting commodore close? I need to talk to him.''
''I figured you would when I saw the company you left in. How many times have I told you, son, if I'm ever going to have any grandkids, you have to leave with just the girl. Not her papa, not her best friend. Find one girl, and leave with her.''
Ron scratched his forehead. ''You're right, Mom, I blew it again,'' he said, casting a not-all-that-brotherly look Kris's way. She returned it just as enthusiastically.
''I always tell guys, listen to your mother,'' Kris whispered.
''Here's the man you asked for, Mr. Mayor,'' Marta said, the mother gone, the senior manager solidly in place.
''I missed you, Ron,'' Hank said, effusively. ''Last time I looked around for you, you were no where to be seen. I've been dancing with all your old girlfriends it seems.''
Jack elbowed Kris. She tossed him a glare before turning a wide-eyed, innocent face to Ron. He was trapped by the camera on his wrist and Hank.
''Didn't know I had that many old flames,'' Ron said, maybe for Kris, then cut straight to the chase, ''but you, Commodore, have lots of sailors. Now, I'm glad they're enjoying themselves, but quite a few of them can't seem to handle their beer. We've had fights, sailor on sailor, sailor on innocent civilian.''
''Oh, I wouldn't be so sure those civilians are innocent. There're Longknife provocateurs everywhere. Longknifes throw money around like it's water when one of our ships is in port. If our sailors don't protect themselves, they'd be tied up and hauled off to some pig farm in the backwoods.''
''Our judges will help you sort that out tomorrow.''
''Judges?''
''Yes. From where I'm standing, a couple dozen of your boys will be sobering up courtesy of the sovereign city of Last Chance, and talking to a Court Commissioner in the morning.''
''I should hope not, Mayor,'' came in a voice devoid of all the Hail and Good Fellow that Hank had been projecting.
''What would you hope for, Commodore? My Safety people can't just leave them on the street to start another fight.''
''What does the old song say, Mayor, ‘roll'em up and put'em in the longboat?' Run them out to the liberty launches. We'll take them from there. I'm certain you'd provide such a courtesy to any visiting U.S. ship.''
''Don't most U.S. ships have a Shore Patrol to work with the local Safety folks…'' Ron started and trailed off.
''Sorry, son, he just turned his back on me and stomped off.''
''Didn't anyone teach that man manners?'' Hans muttered.
''Apparently not.'' Ron growled. ''Gassy, it's up to you.''
''What can you give me for back-up, Boss?''
''Most of what I'd normally back you up with is up there,'' he said, giving a thumbs-up that Kris suspected meant her station. ''But I do have some reserves.''
''Not the boys,'' Hans and Gassy said together.
Ron's hand was back up and he was talking to his wrist. ''Coach, I need all the help you can give me.''
''You want just the wrestlers, or should I call in the football teams as well?''
''Everything you got, college and high school level.''
''You going to let high schoolers into the Oktoberfest?''
''I got Gassy right here beside me. I promise that none of your underage kids will be busted for either serving beer or waltzing through the gartens twirling a nightstick.''