When she turns and sees Astrid, Annie quickly pulls the door closed behind her. Cutlery clatters to the floor as she bobbles the dishes. She picks up the fallen items and hurries past Astrid with just a sideways glance and a nod.
When Astrid returns to the table, she says in an almost-whisper, “Annie was just coming out of an office back there. She was talking to someone inside, a bald man I think, unless there was someone else in there with him. When she saw me, she got flustered. Panicked, even.”
“Panicked?”
“Yeah. She got a look of shock on her face when she saw me, and shut the door in such a hurry she dropped the cutlery off the plates she was carrying. I had a sense she was panicked about me being able to see in. Like maybe I shouldn’t see the guy she was talking to.”
“He’s probably the boss. Maybe even the owner. You think that’s his Kubota parked out back?”
“Umm. Would a survivalist own a fancy place like this? Put on a fancy dinner like this?”
“Why not? Makes sense, actually. They gotta have money. And then that trail you noticed, if it leads to his place, would be handy so he can just get in his UTV and be here, probably in a lot less time than it would take comin’ in on that poor excuse for a road. Maybe he was on his way back from here when you, er, met him that day with Kathy. And he sure does set a store on his privacy so he might not want anyone lookin’ into his office. Did he look familiar?”
“Hmm. No. I only got a quick glimpse of him. Now that I think about it, I’m not even sure he was bald. His head was—I don’t know—shiny, or like the skin was puckered somehow. Must have been a skull cap like Muslims wear, or a yarmulke.” Astrid closes her eyes, mentally reviewing what she saw, but can’t bring the man into focus. She straightens, leans forward, and whispers, “I can’t figure it. What if it’s not that he likes privacy, but that he needs it? Because he’s hiding something? After what Kiersten said at lunch—”
“Kiersten didn’t really give you any details, though.”
“No, but you didn’t see the look on her face. She was horrified, or, er, more like panicked, when she realized she’d said something she shouldn’t have. Something that might get her in trouble. She looked around like she was being watched or something. I was worried if I pushed her further I might send her into another panic attack. And that’s odd too because I asked her if the heart monitor on her Apple watch helped her keep on top of the panic attacks, for a second I thought she didn’t know what I was talking about.”
She looks up and sees Annie coming toward them with two plates. “Oh, here comes Annie with our main course. I’ll ask her who she was talking to back there.”
“Probably better if you don’t, babe. Don’t want to embarrass her any more.”
“I’ll be diplomatic.”
“Babe, if Kiersten’s right and the new Lodge is just like the old one, she might be part of it. We don’t want to tip her off.”
“You believe me, then? Believe Kiersten? You must, because we unpacked Fletch’s guns. You didn’t do that just to shut me up, did you?”
“No. Maybe I don’t believe it, but I don’t disbelieve, either.”
Astrid is mulling it over as Annie gets to them.
Denver leans back in his chair, loosens his belt buckle a notch, and fixes a smile on his face. “Gads, Annie! I’m startin’ to hope the servings are small. Otherwise I don’t know if I’ll have room for dessert.”
♦ ♦ ♦
KEVIN IS ON the narrow deck outside the patio doors leading to his second-storey room at the Lodge, enjoying the fading rays of the day. Soon the sun will be blocked by the giant Douglas firs at the end of the cleared area just fifty meters away.
His room is not unpleasant, but it rankles that Hayward and Preacher got primo rooms on the front. Bigger, with morning sun and afternoon shade. A view of the water feature and tidy landscaping instead of the industrial-size propane tanks and remains of the construction debris out back and beyond that, nothing but forest. No hum from the heat pumps. No exhaust fans blasting out food and detergent smells from the kitchen and laundry.
Why are Hayward and Preacher even involved in this? Preacher can’t preach worth a shit. Read the sermon at Communion. Hayward is even more useless. They don’t have skin in the game and yet they’re higher status than he is, just because they were left over after the explosion.
He paid nothing to get in either, but at least he contributes. Where else would they find a lawyer who would turn a blind eye to everything? And he does all their legal work with never so much as a thank you. If only the explosion had happened a day later! Hayward and Preacher would be gone with the rest of them. Instead, they’re Elders and he’s not, so he gets the room on the back side. I get the backside, he thinks. Always the backside.
He got the backside at communion, too. Nothing more than a smile and a quick squeeze from the hot Acolyte as she applied the scented oil, and during the Mingling, it was the three in the red robes the so-called Ceremonial Wives flocked around.
Once they got a look at Bearon’s junk, it was almost over for Hayward and Preacher, too. Wonder if he’d still be so popular if they saw what’s under the balaclava! He’d like to see it himself. The little bit that shows when he pulls the bottom flap of the balaclava down under his mouth gives a hint of what a gnarly mess the rest must be. Like he was the victim of an acid attack or something.
Despite Bearon’s assurances he’d get as much pussy as the Elders, it hasn’t worked out that way. He complained to Bearon and got assigned to the Emmy project. She has the vocabulary of a grade schooler and is not much to look at, skinny as a crack ho, but he has to admit she makes up for it with youthful vigor in the sack. She’s more than twenty years younger than he is, after all. He slipped her some folding stuff to pay for her score when they “accidentally” met at the pub and he’s been enjoying her attentions regularly ever since.
Since he learned of her fondness for nose candy, he brings her a little something from the company stores each time he comes. He even gave her a pair of earrings he told her were diamonds. He gets lots of goodwill out of those! Until she tries to pawn them, anyway.
He can’t complain, but it may not last much longer. Maybe this hide-away weekend is the last he’ll see of her, what with Trent on his way back. Then again, maybe not. It depends on what they do with Trent. He doesn’t know if he even wants it to continue. They ought to be able to hook him up with someone a little easier to look at.
Being treated as if he’s on the same rung of the ladder as Clint stings, too. Bearon acted like giving him the Emmy project was a perk. Some perk! Does Bearon really think he’s too stupid to realize he was the only choice for the assignment? Clint couldn’t do it even if he was home since Emmy is his son’s girlfriend. Clint wouldn’t rat on his son even if he would fuck his girlfriend. No way Hayward or Preacher could do the job. Neither of them would ever get into Emmy’s pants! Too old and too fat. The girl might be free with her favours but she wouldn’t stoop to that! Well, not for a twenty dollar pair of earrings. Maybe for the drugs.
His phone chimes and he picks it up off the table to see it’s from a blocked number. He touches the accept button and says, “Hey.”
“Hey,” Bearon responds, “those clients of yours that you didn’t want to see you are here. You better keep out of sight.”
“Don’t worry. I plan to.”
“Good. I just told Annie to take up a trolley with your meals. Meanwhile, any news?”
“Yeah. I’m taking her home first thing tomorrow.”
“He’ll be back in town so soon?”
“Tomorrow or Monday.”
“Okay. Make sure she calls you as soon as he gets to her place.”
“Yeah.” He touches end call and hisses, “Fuck you!” Bearon presumes to micromanage him? Like he wouldn’t know what to do otherwise? He drops the phone on the table next to his chair.
A reed thin woman in nothing but a lacy thong panty and full sleeve tattoos comes thr
ough the sliding glass door onto the deck, fresh drinks in hand, just as the phone clatters to the table. She puts the drinks on the table and sinks to the chair across from him. “Something wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing for you to worry about, baby,” Kevin tells her. “They’re bringing our meal up pretty quick.”
He takes a long drink of the Cuba Libre Emmy just brought him as he ponders how to change the status quo.
Even if he wanted to get out, which he doesn’t, they’d never allow him to go. Not knowing as much as he does. They’ve already quashed his suggestion they renegotiate their charter so they could have four Elders, so there won’t be room at the top until an Elder dies.
Maybe there’s a way to facilitate that.
Twenty-seven
The Kiersten Shuffle
CLINT PULLS THE laundry truck up to the stanchion. The driver’s seat is too high for him to reach the touch pad so he opens his door, slides out, and punches his code in. As the gates roll open, he climbs back behind the wheel and drives to the basement parkade entrance.
Bearon must have seen him on the monitors, as the overhead door is already rumbling up. He swings the truck around and slowly backs in past the row of empty stalls to the reserved spot at the end wall, turns the engine off, and gets out.
Several minutes pass before the elevator door opens and Bearon hobbles out.
“Shit, Bearon,” Clint says, “what happened to you? Fall off your UTV? Couldn’t you send someone who’s in, er, a little better shape to help with this?”
“If I could, I would. I’m here alone tonight. Whatcha got?”
“Just two.”
“Two? Thought you already had two three days ago.”
“Goes like that sometimes. These two are prime, though.”
“Okay. Well. Nuthin’ we can do about that now.” Bearon adjusts his balaclava to cover most of his face and points into the box. “Let’s get after it. We can take ‘em both at once. I got places to be and it’s already midnight.”
Clint opens the rear door and climbs into the box. Shoving aside the rolling bins heaped with sheets, he pulls metal shelving away from the back wall to expose a door. He flicks the light switch next to the door as he opens it. “Okay, girls, wakey wakey!”
Two girls huddle together on the lower bunk, squeezing as far into the corner as possible as he comes toward them. “Come on, honey, I’m gonna take you to a much more comfortable place,” he tells them. He holds out his hand and says, “here. Take my hand. I’ll help you.”
When neither girl moves, he takes the nearest one by the upper arm and pulls her to her feet, propelling her out the small door and through the box to the rear door where Bearon waits.
When the girl sees the masked man in dark clothes, she sobs and shrinks back against Clint. “Don’t worry,” he tells her, “he can’t bite with that thing over his mouth. That’s why we make him wear it.” He pushes her down onto the floor so Bearon can grab her, and goes back to get the other girl.
Bearon takes the girl by the hips and pulls her off the truck, then holds her firmly by the arm until Clint returns with the other girl. With both girls out of the truck, Clint hops down and corrals the two of them against the wall next to the truck while Bearon unlocks the door marked “Electrical”.
Inside the small room is a bank of metal boxes. Wires of all sizes and colours stapled to the walls and ceiling feed in and out of the boxes. The back wall houses tall steel cabinets with knobs and dials and more wires feeding in and out. Clint goes to the center cabinet, turns the knob at the top, then pulls. The door swings open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into the dark. He flicks a switch. Lights come on and they go down. At the bottom, they come out into a windowless hallway with half a dozen doors down one side. Clint stops at the first door they come to.
“Next one,” Bearon tells him. He has each girl by her upper arm and pushes them to the next door. Clint follows to unlock and open it. The room is not much bigger than a jail cell, with upper and lower bunks, a small table, two plastic chairs and a narrow door on the back wall.
When Bearon releases their arms, the girls scurry to the far end of the room and turn back to face the men. “Toilet and shower in the back,” he tells them. “Someone will bring you breakfast in the morning.” He closes the door and when he hears the lock click, gives it a tug just to be sure.
He turns to Clint, pulls the bottom of the balaclava down under his mouth, and says, “by the way, that comment about me biting wasn’t funny.”
“Oh? Sorry.”
“You won’t like what happens if you come out with a smart ass remark like that again,” Bearon warns. He stands rigid, glaring at the smaller man.
“I said I’m sorry! It just came out. I’m tired. It’s been a long trip. It won’t happen again.”
“It better not.” After a moment, Bearon relaxes and asks, “where’d you get these two? A junior high school? They look like they’re about eleven.”
“Runaways. I picked ‘em up west of Calgary. They claim to be nineteen and that they’re singers, on their way to fame and fortune in Vancouver.”
“Jesus. I doubt they’re even sixteen.”
“Well, they’ve got tits.”
“The start of tits, you mean. Just babies. ”
“They don’t think so. When I gave them the cash, grass or ass options of paying for the ride, guess what they chose.”
“You fuck ‘em?”
“What do you think? They weren’t virgins, so, no harm, no foul.” Clint’s attention is drawn by thumping on the first door. “What the hell, Bearon? Someone else brought someone in?”
“Yeah. Not what you’re thinking, though.”
Bearon goes to the first door, unlocks it, and stands back, saying, “after you.”
Clint pulls the door open to find Trent standing in front of him.
“Dad!” he sobs and lurches toward Clint, “look what they done to me!” He holds out his battered arms. His eyes are nearly swollen shut and his face is mottled with bruises and cuts under half a dozen butterfly band-aids.
Clint says nothing for a moment, then turns to Bearon. “What the fuck, Bearon?”
“He ran into some guys he should’ve known better than to fuck with. He’s lucky he’s still breathin’.”
“What’s he doin’ here?”
“Ask him. Can’t wait to hear what kind of excuse he’s dreamed up. Just know he was given a job to do in Pillerton and he fucked up, killed an old woman while he was at it. He wasn’t supposed to come back here, remember? Yet here he is. He stays here until I decide what to do with him.” Bearon starts away but turns back to say, “Lock up when you leave, but don’t hurry home. I’ve got a date with Kiersten.” The door clanks shut behind him.
Clint clenches his teeth and stares at the closed door for the seconds it takes for a slow burn to work its way through his guts. Doesn’t Bearon think maybe a guy who’s been on the road for over a week would be anxious to get back to his own bed? The bastard has been swinging his dick more and more lately and there’s no one to take him down a peg.
He needs to get home. Kiersten has been odd when he’s called her, and her texts have been terse. She didn’t answer when he tried FaceTime. Something’s going on, and now he has to cool his heels somewhere instead of going home? Even if he’s imagining things…even if there’s nothing wrong and they get jiggy as soon as he’s home, it’ll be sloppy seconds thanks to Bearon.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Trent says, breaking into his thoughts.
“What?”
“I know it sounds bad, about the old lady, but it wasn’t my fault!”
“Old lady? What old lady?”
“The one that croaked. It wasn’t my fault.”
Clint thinks, whatever went wrong wasn’t his fault. It never is his fault. He’s in no mood to find out more. He says, “I know, son.”
“The fuckers really hurt me, Dad,” he says with a sob. “I think they busted my ribs!”
<
br /> “Did you get x-rays?”
“All they done was put these b-b-bandaids on me.” He gingerly strokes the butterfly plasters on his brow and cheeks. “They n-n-never took me to no doctor. I tol’ ‘em I prob’ly need a tetnis shot but they w-w-wouldn’t listen!”
“Is there anything, I mean anything, that might connect you to, um, that old lady?”
“No, I never done nuthin’ to her! Besides, I know better. I never touched nuthin’.”
“Nuthin’ at all?”
“Well, a jewelry box, but I wiped that. And The Beast.”
“The Beast?”
“My Bronco. Cops were lookin’ for that. Someone seen it around the ol’ lady’s place I guess. But that’s…there’s no way they can tie that to me. It’s in the made-up name they give me.”
“Where is it now?”
“Dunno. The bikers took it off me. They’ve prob’ly got rid of it by now.”
“Okay, then,” Clint says, “I’ll take you and get you checked out. After that, I’ll stash you somewhere the boss won’t find you. Maybe you can go to your mother’s for a little while. It’ll be okay”
“But he said…”
“I know what he said.” He leaves his arm around Trent’s shoulders as they walk toward the stairs. “Fuck him.”
♦ ♦ ♦
“A FOUR-HOUR wait in Emergency and all they can come up with is yeah, you got two broken ribs, but they don’t do nuthin’ about it, just tell you they’ll heal on their own, and send you home? That’s the best modern medicine can come up with?” Clint scowls. “Waste of fuckin’ time.”
He and Trent come out the emergency room doors into bright morning sunlight, take the sidewalk to the parking lot and head for the Porsche at the far end.
“They give me a pill for the pain and I can get more with the scrip he give me tomorrow. Also, I got stitches. See?” He turns his head and leans in.
“Yeah, I see. Good to get ‘em cleaned out so they don’t get infected.”
The Bear Mountain Secret Page 27