Line Throwers: The Floating Party Pub
Comedy Short: A runaway bar and Riverborn's biggest opportunity
The Line Throwers is an ongoing comedy series about Riverborn County’s elite river lifeguards. New readers can jump in or catch up with earlier stories:
Trailer Line Throwers - Trailer
Previous Installments
Line Throwers 1 - Stonehouse 3: Meet the team responsible for one of the river’s busiest stretches.
Line Throwers 2 - Aspen of the Lowlands: A tourist’s big day goes sideways as he drifts into Eastbank Bend.
Line Throwers 3 - We Need Heroes: Recruiting season introduces Johnny, a trailer park lifeguard with big dreams.
A pedal-powered bar meandered through Riverborn’s shopping district. Eight tourists wearing Becky’s Last Splash t-shirts lazily turned the pedals while country music thumped the speakers. At the center, the captain shook a cocktail mixer with one hand and steered with the other.
The bride adjusted her tiara, then tossed back a shot of cinnamon whiskey.
“Woooo!” The rest of the boat cheered.
“Alright, ladies,” the captain called. “Who’s up for another round?”
The party vessel kept cruising as it headed into Restaurant Row. Two elderly couples eating brunch scowled at the disruption.
“Whoop, whoop,” Captain Randy said. “They wish they were on board, don’t they girls?”
The group erupted.
Captain Randy cranked the wheel, narrowly missing a parked kayak. “I can mix and mambo.”
“I like this guy!” the maid of honor said.
Randy grinned. “I’ve heard that before.” He finished making a margarita, took a quality control gulp, and passed it to one of the bridesmaids. “Still got it.”
The women laughed.
“So where y’all from?”
“Tampa.”
“That explains why no one is pedaling.”
More laughter.
Randy leaned against the bar while shaking another cocktail. “So, Miss Bridesmaid. You bringing a date to this shindig or what?”
“Maybe,” she said. “Depends if you’re busy.”
“Hiooooo,” Randy said and clanged a bell overhead. “Next rounds on me.”
Another resounding cheer.
One of the bridesmaids looked toward the front of the boat. “Uh? Captain… weren’t we supposed to turn back there? This says, ‘Do Not Enter.’”
Randy smiled. “Nah. We’ve got plent—” he looked downstream. “Oh, God.”
*****
Rebecca was eating a coffee cake muffin from her stand overseeing the river, when her radio crackled to life.
“Stonehouse 3. Stonehouse 3. Wayward Pedal Pub in your district. Restaurant Row. Come back.”
“Rebecca here. Confirmed.”
“Rochelle too. Confirmed.”
“It’s all yours, ladies. Last visual: passing Wolf Pack Bar and Grill.”
Rebecca switched to the Stonehouse 3 channel, knowing Rochelle would be doing the same. “You hear that, Rochelle?”
“Already en route, babe. That’s only a few blocks from the pedestrian bridge.”
“See you there. Clean throws.”
“Clean throws!”
Rebecca jumped down from her stand and took off. The muffin rolled into the water.
******
“Everyone pedal!” Randy shouted. “We need ‘em spinning in the opposite direction. Now!”
The bride looked around. “What?”
“Backwards! Pedal backwards.”
The group fumbled to find the wet pedals beneath the bar. Their shoes slipping.
The current kept pulling the pub toward the pedestrian bridge. They’d never clear the overhang.
Diners began standing at their tables, watching the disaster unfold.
Captain Randy reached for the radio again. “We’re not gonna be able to stop!”
Rebecca appeared first, sprinting along the east riverwalk.
Rochelle matched her stride from the opposite bank.
Without hesitation, two throw bags arced over the water. Rebecca’s wrapped the grab rail. Rochelle’s caught the boarding ladder.
“Pull tight!” Rebecca said.
Both women leaned back.
The ropes snapped taut.
Drinks sloshed into the water. The bride’s tiara fell from her head. The Party Pub lurched and slowed, stopping just short of the bridge.
Then applause erupted from Restaurant Row.
Captain Randy exhaled. “You saved more than my tip jar, ladies.”
Rebecca recoiled her line, letting the pub drift into the public landing lane. “Maybe try a little more steering than shaking next time, Randy.”
Randy rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s fair.”
Rebecca met Rochelle at the edge of the riverwalk. The two bumped fists.
“Clean throws.”
“Clean throws.”
*****
Mayor Ray Whitlow clipped the end off a cigar while Sarge stirred a glass of sparkling water with a lime wedge.
“You know,” the mayor said, “one day I’m gonna get you to smoke one of these.”
“You’ve been saying that for fifteen years.”
“And one day I’ll be right.”
Sarge smiled. “That’ll be the day you trade brisket for broccoli.”
The mayor laughed and lit the cigar. He leaned back in the leather chair, taking a long puff.
Sarge watched him for a moment. “So, what’s the scoop, Ray? You know I don’t like cigar bars.”
“Well, today was cause for a celebration.”
“What’d you do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” the mayor said. “They called this morning.”
Sarge sat forward. “The Park Service?”
Whitlow nodded. “We’re finalists.”
Sarge slapped the padded arm of the chair. “No way!”
“As sure as the river flows.”
“So… what’d they say?”
The mayor walked to the window overlooking Restaurant Row. Tubes wandered beneath the evening sun, covered in light from the flickering street lanterns. “You know what this county looked like when we were kids?”
Sarge laughed. “That’s not what I asked, but I’m guessing mostly mosquitos?”
“Mosquitos and bait shops.”
“We’ve still got plenty of both.”
The mayor smiled. “Now look at it, though.” He gestured toward the water. “Families. Modern hotels. High-priced outfitters. People flying in from all over the country just to float our river.”
“It’s been fun watching it grow,” Sarge said. “And brings me back to my question, what’d the Park Service say?”
“They think Riverborn’s ready. National Park designation.”
“Hot damn, Ray. I’m gonna need something stronger than this seltzer.”
Ray turned from the window. “Communities spend generations chasing something like this, Sarge. New investors. Property values climb. Businesses stop worrying about surviving the winter and start thinking about expansion. We’ll no longer be a hidden gem. We’ll be all the ore in the mine.”
“Game changing,” Sarge said.
“There’s just one minor catch.”
“Lay it on me. Nothing we can’t handle.”
“We’ve got to prove Riverborn is safe enough for the designation.”
“Is that it?” Sarge stood. “That’s all they want? Tell ‘em to take a canoe downstream. Hell I’ll paddle myself. You hear about that save of the Party Pub this morning? Routine for us.”
Mayor Whitlow nodded. “Of course I heard. But here’s the deal. We get one shot. July fourth weekend, they’re coming for an evaluation. There can’t be any safety incidents.”
Sarge’s jaw tightened. “The Fourth? Come on, Ray.”
“They want to see how we handle peak season.”
“Listen, I stand behind every Line Thrower in this county, and my crew’s the best of the bunch. But that’s the busiest weekend of the year. Every cocky gunslinger with a brand-new jet ski thinks he’s invincible, and every tourist who can’t swim rents a tube.”
Mayor Whitlow took a puff.
Sarge exhaled and looked back toward the river. “Hell of a weekend to judge safety.”
“Agreed. And they won’t be announcing where they’ll be or when. They just want to experience Riverborn.”
Sarge rubbed his chin. “What if we make it bulletproof?”
“How so?”
“We hire. Really hire. Five times the crew. Flood the river with Line Throwers.”
The mayor shook his head. “Not gonna happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because people pay for ambience as much as adventure.” He pointed toward a couple getting into a tandem water bike with ice cream cones. “You staff every block with rescue stations and emergency crews, suddenly folks stop seeing a vacation destination. They start seeing a place they might not make it back from.”
Sarge sat for a moment, knowing the mayor was right. “So we do what we’ve always done.”
“Which is?”
“Make clean throws.”
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See you soon,
—Ricky C.
Just got all caught up, Ricky. I'm loving this and can't wait for the next installment. Clean throws! Funny prose!
This is definitely a house of cards. LOL. The July fourth weekend will probably see it all tumble. I like the build-up and the muffin falling into the water had me rolling. Great work, Ricky. Haha.