by Keri Hudson
Bazz looked over to see Freddie glaring at him. Of course he was torn by a sense of gratitude and humility, but Bazz could also detect a strong streak of protectiveness about his sister. And he seemed attuned to the chemistry that Bazz also felt brewing between him and the lovely Phoebe.
Bazz didn't say anything, instead letting his quiet calm answer for him. He’d saved their lives, his money was paying for their clothes, and he was about to join their crusade. Bazz wouldn’t use those things as bargaining chips against the man’s sister, of course.
He didn’t think he’d have to, and that seemed to bother Freddie even more. It didn’t bother Bazz, not one bit.
***
Bazz took Phoebe and Freddie to buy a new smartphone for them to share, as a matter of modern necessity, and a few other sundry things before springing for dinner at the dark and elegant Arcana, where local flavors filled the plate and fine wines filled their glasses.
The arugula and honeycrisp apple salad was both sweet and pungent with pickled celeriac and Toma cheese. The black garlic and shrimp oil bagna cauda featured cucumber, radish, walnut, and winter radicchio. The wood-roasted salmon was served with wild rice and winter luxury pumpkin.
Freddie seemed to be enjoying his ribeye, a frosty Stella Artois to wash it down. But whenever he caught Bazz’s glance, an uncomfortable air seemed to take him, and Bazz knew why. He wasn’t about to mention it, however, hoping the erstwhile brother would just get used to the idea of Bazz and Phoebe hooking up, not to mention that his pretty sister would too.
“We’re so grateful to you, Bazz,” Phoebe said, clearly picking up on Freddie’s increasingly long stretches of silence. “The clothes, the phone… it’s too much, really.”
“Not at all. I’m glad to help the cause if I can.”
“The cause,” Freddie repeated with a little chuckle before shoving a big bite of steak into his mouth. Bazz chose to ignore it and Phoebe did the same. By the way she was keeping things light, he had the feeling she wanted to promote the good feelings as much as he did, and as her brother increasingly did not.
Phoebe asked Bazz, “Do you have parents, Bazz? In town, I mean, or…?”
“My parents were, um, they were good people. We lived here as long as I could remember; in Boulder, I mean. My father was the… well, he was a great man of the household, let’s just put it that way.”
Freddie asked, “What’d he do? For a living, I mean.”
“Zoologist.”
“Oh,” Phoebe said with a coy little smile, “a scholar. So it runs in the family.”
Once again, Freddie seemed distinctly dissatisfied with the conversation. But he seemed suddenly aware that he was the center of their attention. Freddie said, almost too quickly, “No, that’s… that’s great. I mean, there’s a place for people who prowl around the universities all their lives.”
Phoebe said, “Freddie,” with a tone that denoted her warning.
“I see what you mean,” Bazz said. “So much time in classrooms and libraries, dorms and lecture halls. Don’t get me wrong, I love my work. But it gives me a deep appreciation for the real thing. Up there on the mountain…” Bazz couldn’t help but recall the sights, the sounds, the smells of the forest, the feeling of power that coursed through his veins when he was the king of his domain, where no comers could be his equal.
Bazz was brought back to that dark restaurant, where he wanted little more than to be just another regular person, one among many.
But he was not that, and never would be that. And there was good reason for Bazz to be what he was, where and when he was. He was needed for events forthcoming, some sooner rather than later. Bazz was ready to fulfill his duty, whatever the price. But the nagging worry in the back of his head and heart suggested that the price would be too high, and he surely would not be the only one paying.
Phoebe smiled and asked, “Would you excuse me?” Bazz nodded and stood as she stepped away from the table, Freddie remaining seated. Bazz sat back down and a tense moment passed between them.
“Like I was saying,” Freddie said, taking another good gulp of Stella, “you’ve really been cool, I… we really appreciate it.” Bazz nodded, saying nothing. He could tell Freddie was getting ready to air his grievance, and Bazz was ready to hear it. “But, y’know, the thing is… Phoebe, she’s… she’s my sister.”
Bazz cracked a little smile, a slow blink over his eyes. “Yes.”
“And, no matter how cool some old guy comes off—”
“I’m only thirty-five—”
“Our parents are dead, okay? It’s up to me to take care of her, and that’s just what I intend to do.”
“I’m no threat to your sister. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m doing all I can to help keep you alive.”
“As you never miss an opportunity to mention.” Bazz chose not to take offense, though he knew he easily could have. Some offense was certainly meant, and to ignore it was the best way to counter it. “Look, I’m just sayin’… she’s my sister.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
“And if you hurt her, cool guy or not, smartphone or whatever…” Freddie leaned forward, one red brow raised over his huge bald egg of a head, “…I’ll kill you.”
Phoebe returned to the table, Bazz standing again to greet her. “How are you boys getting along? Hope I’m interrupting something.”
“Your brother was just telling me how… how cool I was. I didn’t know that was still a thing.”
“It’s not,” Freddie said, draining his beer and raising the empty to wink at the waiter. Bazz and Phoebe shared a little glance, but said nothing of it. The new smartphone rang and Freddie pulled it out of the pocket of his new field jacket and checked the screen. He and Phoebe shared a glance. He said, “It’s an email blast, from the ICU.” Bazz and Phoebe glanced at one another, then both returned their attention to Freddie, who explained, “There’s a meeting… outside of a place called Mountain Meadows.” He asked Bazz, “You know where that is?”
“‘Course.”
“Twelve noon in a clearing at the end of the road on the north side of the park.” He looked at Bazz.
Bazz didn’t have to think about it for too long. “You’re staying at my place another night?” He glanced at Phoebe and she smiled, glancing coyly downward.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bazz brought his guests back to the house for the night. He figured they’d pushed their luck far enough by staying out in Boulder and it was better to lie low, especially before such a big event. Bazz reasoned that if the Blaire siblings’ associates were still buzzing around the area, they were likely enough to cause some trouble, inadvertently or not. And Bazz knew neither he nor the two with him needed any more of that.
But all three were eager to catch up on the news, Bazz knowing what they would find eventually.
Local news reporter Kyle Keller, a lean African American with movie-star good looks and a close-cropped cut, sat behind a chrome and glass desk, a green screen behind him alive with computer graphics and windows. In one window, the graphic read, Massacre in the Mountains!
“Just over twenty-four hours after authorities discovered the brutal scene of five dead men in the mountains overlooking Boulder, police are learning more about what may and may not have happened.”
The reporter was replaced by video footage from the evening before, when police cars surrounded the area, bodies with sheets laid over them.
“Viewers will recall from my report yesterday that two of the bodies were found literally torn to pieces, three others found bound, gagged, blindfolded, and executed in what police call a gangland style hit.”
Another clip replaced the roadside clip with one shot in front of the Boulder Police Department, where a rumpled Asian man in his fifties stood in a poorly fitting suit. A subtitle under the man read, Dt. Marvin Chin, Boulder Police Department.
“At this time we're working with the theory that three of the men, a third was found nearby, similarly brutalized, killed the
three others. The smell of the blood or perhaps the gunshots attracted one of the many local grizzly bears. The bodies were not eaten or scattered by scavengers, but local experts tell us that this is common, that a big alpha male will keep a territory cleared of competition, scavengers, and the like. I’m not a zoologist. At this point, our job is to find out why the three bound men were killed. On that, we have a few leads which we’re not ready to share at this time. But anybody who knows anything is encouraged to come to the BPD. We have reason to think that somebody, perhaps more than one person, escaped the crime scene. That person could go a long way to bringing closure to the families of those who died on that mountain road yesterday.”
Kyle turned to the camera and said, "Kyle Keller reporting for Boulder 8 TV News.”
Bazz clicked on the mute button and set down the remote control. Phoebe said, “Should we go to the police?”
“It’s a good question,” Bazz said. “Do you two have any reason we shouldn’t?”
Freddie snapped back, “Do you?”
“Yes, Freddie. Like I said, the police department here is… unreliable at best. They probably bought a few off before ever coming here; your fracking company, I mean. And another good question is, what happened anyway?”
Phoebe and Freddie shared a worried glance, but they traded a nod and turned back to Bazz. “We were camping out with the rest of the ICU, near a place called Pine Brook Hill.”
“Yeah, I know it.”
Freddie watched as Phoebe explained, “Well, Freddie and I and the other three, Randall and Patrick and Jack, went into town to stock up on supplies. We were loading up the cars in the parking lot when those three men rushed us, masks over their heads. They hit us with stun guns, hurt like hell.”
“Hell on steroids,” Freddie added.
“We woke up in the van, blindfolded, and... well, you know the rest.”
Bazz nodded as he thought it through. His blood began to boil just to think of Phoebe being imperiled that way, but he was careful not to show it, at least not for Freddie's benefit. Instead, he said, “So, no real information to give them.”
“No,” Phoebe said.
“And if you do come forward, you risk being exposed to the person who wants you dead.”
“That fracking dick,” Freddie said. “Brandon Malone.”
“So let’s keep him in the dark for a while,” Bazz said. “You’ll be safer if you lie low, at least for now.”
Freddie asked, “And what about the meeting tomorrow?”
Bazz gave it very little thought before shrugging. “Is it casual or semi-formal?”
***
Bazz drove Phoebe and Freddie to the meeting at Mountain Meadows, a cluster of cars and vans parked in the clearing at the end of the dirt road. Aspens and cottonwood surrounded the clearing on most sides, making it accessible, roomy enough, and still somewhat secluded.
The group seemed about thirty-five people strong, most under forty, dressed in jeans and hoodies and other casual wear. They were collected in a crowd in the center of their cars, surrounded by the Rio Grande cottonwood, a ring within a ring within a ring.
Bazz didn’t like it strategically. Though the area was hidden, it could also be a natural trap if they were attacked from the road leading in.
Bazz parked and walked up to the crowd, Phoebe and Freddie stepping up ahead of him. They were instantly recognized and the others fell upon them. There were hugs all around, questions bursting and crackling around them. Several of the men chided Freddie on his new look, a striking difference from his previous image. Unknown to any of them, Bazz earned some dirty looks, but he was more concerned with their safety than their acceptance.
One man of about thirty years or so, long, black hair and a thick beard, stepped right up to Bazz, chest out, looking Bazz up and down. Bazz recognized him from the crowd shots in Arizona from his internet research.
“Who’s this?”
“He’s a friend of ours,” Freddie said, turning to Bazz. “Bazz, this is Jason Corr—”
“Shut up, Freddie,” Jason said. “I don’t know this guy. Probably a plant for Armstrong.”
“He’s a professor at the local university,” Phoebe said. “He saved our lives, Jason.”
The two men stared each other down, Bazz unassuming in his spectacles, almost one of the crowd with his long, brown hair.
“What’re you doing here, professor?”
Bazz didn’t flinch, casual in his confidence. “Ready to help.”
“S’that so?”
Bazz looked around. “Seems to me you need all the help you can get.”
Jason turned to survey his supporters, urgent worry on their faces. Phoebe stepped forward to say, “Stop worrying about him! We have to start thinking about Armstrong!”
The crowd nodded and muttered their agreement. Somebody shouted, “We gotta get outta here, is what we gotta do!” The crowd parted and the young man stepped forward, short, blond hair and a small, scrawny body. “Three of our guys shot in the head? Shit, I’m only here because you guys’re my friends, didn’t wanna leave you high and dry, but… if the cops won’t protect us, and if this guy’s so ready to go as far as he’s ready to go, I say we back off.”
Bazz asked, “What’s your name, friend?”
“No more names!” Jason shouted. “Jesus, what’s the matter with you people?”
The younger man said, “Just call me Butch.”
Jason blanched, but there was obviously little he could say.
“All right, Butch,” Bazz said. “I have to say, you make a good point. And anybody who doesn’t feel right about making the same sacrifice your friends did, well, you should go.”
“No,” Jason said. “Y’see? He’s just here to get rid of us. He’s a plant, I knew it!”
“He’s not,” Freddie said. “What’s your point, Jason? What’s your plan?”
“My plan?” Jason leaned forward a bit, pointing an angry finger. “My plan is that we don’t let our friends’ lives be sacrificed in vain. That’s my plan, Freddie!” He looked around and the others seemed unconvinced. “Look, they were sending a message, and the message was received loud and clear. But now it’s time we sent a message back! We beat them back in Arizona and we can beat them back here!”
Butch asked, “How? Go to the media with what happened? Shouldn’t somebody come forward?”
“Y’damn right we should!” He turned to Phoebe and Freddie. “You two need to come out as the survivors of that attack.”
“You’re the leader of this little group,” Bazz said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Why don’t you step forward?”
“I wasn’t kidnapped, professor.”
“If they step forward, their lives will be very much in danger. Aren’t you willing to take the same risk you’re asking them to take?” Skeptical expressions overtook the fear in the crowd’s faces. Bazz said, “It would still have the same impact, against Armstrong and in favor of, what do you call yourselves?”
“Independent Citizens United,” Butch said.
“Right,” Bazz said. “ICU... also stands for Intensive Care Unit. Eh?” The crowd stared Jason down, and he looked around to see that he’d backed himself into a corner.
“All right,” Jason said, “I’ll go on air, sure.” Jason nodded as he began to pace a little circle to address the crowd. “And I’ve got a lead on the land they plan to mine, it’s just a few miles from here. I’ll blast you all the coordinates. I say we do a sit-down strike right on the plateau. Regulations won’t let them start work if unprotected civilians are on-site. We don’t wear a hardhat, they can’t dig a teaspoon of dirt!”
The crowd looked at each other, some shrugging and others shaking their heads.
“I’ll pitch it on the local news,” Jason said. “We won’t be alone! Remember Arizona? We had hundreds of people!”
But Butch said, “Arizona is why three of us are dead!”
“No, Butch, that shooter is why three of us are
dead!”
Bazz asked Jason, “Even though it was established he was working alone?” The crowd grumbled, and Phoebe and Freddie shared a nervous glance. Jason stared Bazz down, but Bazz was nonplussed, casual. “I’m just trying to get things straight, make sure we’re all on the same page.”
Jason didn’t seem to buy that, but he obviously had little enough room to maneuver. “That was a fluke thing,” Jason said, to Bazz and to the rest. “We can’t be undone by that radical any more than by Armstrong or any of the other fracking companies. And there’ll be more and more of them if we back down now! That’s what they’re counting on, and we can’t let them win!”
Nobody offered any contradiction, and Jason turned to sneer at Bazz. “That sound okay with you, professor?”
Bazz shrugged. “Sure does, chief.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bazz and Phoebe and Freddie watched the live news broadcast on CNN, shot from the local studio and featuring ICU leader and spokesman Jason Corruthers, his long hair pulled back in a ponytail, sitting cross a glass desk from handsome African American Kyle Keller. His name and title were superimposed as a subtitle along the bottom of the screen.
“That’s right,” Jason said, “three good men were murdered. But that’s not even the least of the damage that is and/or could be involved. The damage fracking does to the environment and those living in that environment is a matter of public record. There are almost one million fracking sites throughout the United States. Roughly thirteen thousand wells are drilled every year. More than fifteen million Americans live within a mile of these sites. In states where fracking occurs, drinking water is routinely found to exceed the level of contaminants allowed by the US Department of the Interior.”
“But… what’s the connection between natural gas mining and those contaminants? For our viewers’ benefit.”