The Line Throwers: Stonehouse 3

Comedy short - Morning assignments at Riverborn County's most elite river unit.

“Alright. File it in, file it in. Tails in chairs. Move it,” the sarge barked.

The Line Throwers shuffled into the Stonehouse 3 briefing room, the sound of folding chairs scraping across the floor competed with the squeaking of wet sandals. The cinderblock walls were covered with county rescue maps, sun-bleached current charts, and framed photographs of legendary saves stretching back nearly forty years. Several staffers were unwrapping breakfast burritos.

“Now listen up,” the sarge said in a tone that drew all eyes. “I need this to be known. You did a hell of a job last week.”

The group erupted in cheers and whoops.

He banged a miniature oar on the podium. “Yes! That’s right. Great week, and I wanna keep it that way. I want everyone to remain focused. We have one job and one job only. What is that?”

“Safe shores, clean throws,” the group said in unison.

“That’s right. Riverborn County is thriving. We’re making all the charts for top places to visit. People wanna be on that river, but they wanna be on that river and safe. We got tourists floating through Restaurant Row for brunch. Paddleboards clogging the docking lanes. Bachelorette parties drifting past the marina, screaming country songs. Folks hop in tubes upriver and end up downtown three margaritas later. That river runs through this whole county. Shops, hotels, bars, rentals. Riverborn goes where that current goes. So let’s keep it that way.”

The unit answered with a series of sharp whistles and scattered applause.

“Now assignments haven’t changed. I’ll say this, Barrett, no more reports coming in about you hotdogging it out there.”

Barrett grinned. “The people demand a show.”

“The people do not demand a show. The people demand being safe while traversing the river. No more flair.”

Barrett high-fived a few supporters.

“Rein it in, now, I’m serious. You throw line better than anybody. You’re good, you’re damn good, that’s why you’re on Eastbank bend. That’s why you’re on Stonehouse 3. That’s why Stonehouse 3 keeps the Eastbank bend because we have the top talent. You’re the head lifeguard and Harbor Marshal. We need you. But tone it back. You make good throws, clean throws, but you don’t need to add all the theatrics. If a guy comes downstream with his Crocs a wiggling heading for the underbrush on an inner tube, grab him, center him, and send him on his way. That’s it. You don’t need to make a production out of it. Loopdeloops. Back hands. Behind the back tosses. Just clean throws.” Sarge swung the oar to his shoulder. “Safety. We watch each other’s backs out there. Folks spend good money to drift through this county. Riverfront condos, bait shops, rooftop bars, mechanical bulls. Doesn’t matter if they’re sipping $18 cocktails downtown or shotgunin’ beers upriver in a tractor tire. Once they hit that current, they’re our responsibility.”

A few veterans pounded the table while Barrett spun a practice rope overhead. “Stonehouse slings!” somebody yelled from the back.

Sarge cleared his throat. “Just wanna make a few quick acknowledgements. Rebecca and Rochelle, those double line catches on that wayward pontoon. Well done, ladies. That made it up the chain quick.”

The group applauded. Rebecca and Rochelle stood and acknowledged them.

“Skip. Outstanding redirect work near Ferry Cut. Family of six came through tangled like kielbasa links. Could’ve been ugly.”

More applause followed.

“Lastly, Rodger. Quick response on that drifter trying to settle at the hibachi place. Textbook work.”

The sarge raised his whistle and gave it a soft blow. “Alright. To your post, Stonehouse 3. Rivers already moving. Clean throws on three. One, two, three.”

“Clean throws!”

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See you soon,

—Ricky C.

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