Arctic Floor

by Mark Aitken

  ‘I’m due at the dentist soon.’

  ‘I’ll ride with you.’

  ~ * ~

  The dentist mapped the molars on the other side of Gallen’s mouth, fed the information into a machine, and they talked while replacement teeth were machined out of a ceramic composite material. After two hours in the surgery, Gallen emerged into the cold sunlight with two new crowns.

  ‘Feel like a drink?’ said Aaron.

  ‘Four or five should do it.’

  Gallen ate soup and drank cold beer at the bistro that was set back from the street. He was half in the bag by the time they cut the small talk.

  ‘My nurses and doctors call me Mr Brown,’ he said, raising his finger at the waitress for another Bud. ‘And I can’t find my team. Where’s Kenny and Mike?’

  ‘We’re in a security situation right now,’ said Aaron. ‘Our CEO’s plane is bombed, and his bodyguard hunted down.’

  ‘I noticed.’

  ‘So I had everyone in different hospitals, under assumed names.’

  Gallen looked at him. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’re wondering about Ford? ‘

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘He’s okay but I sent him on leave for a while.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Can’t say, Gerry,’ said the spook. ‘But he didn’t want to go and he wanted to see you and Winter.’

  ‘What about Florita?’

  ‘Her frostbite was contained and she’s back at work. I asked her to stay away from here, for her security and yours.’

  ‘We still employed?’ said Gallen as more beer arrived.

  ‘Of course,’ said Aaron. ‘You did your job.’

  ‘So you read the RCMP interviews?’

  ‘I spoke with Clancy,’ said Aaron, meaning Detective Inspector Charles Clancy, who’d interviewed Gallen at his hospital bed as soon as he was conscious. ‘Given that Harry brought a gift on board, I don’t see the crime. I would have missed that too.’

  ‘Yeah, but I missed it.’

  ‘Like I said, you still got a job,’ said Aaron. ‘Take a few days off and I’ll see you back here Monday. I’d like a full report on all this, by the way. You can email it.’

  ‘So I don’t have a few days off?’

  ‘You can drive a laptop?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Then gimme a report, Gerry. Do it from the farm and when you get back Monday, we’ll talk about the gig.’

  ‘Who would I bodyguard?’ said Gallen.

  ‘You haven’t read the papers?’

  Gallen shrugged.

  ‘Florita Mendes was named the acting CEO yesterday.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Gallen, surprised.

  ‘I’m now the VP security.’

  ‘What happened to Mulligan?’ said Gallen.

  ‘He’s not around.’

  They looked at one another, deadpanning.

  ‘He resigned?’

  ‘Harry sacked him the day before he flew to Kugaaruk,’ said Aaron. ‘He left and hasn’t been seen since.’

  Gallen drank deeply. ‘That’s not like Paul Mulligan, walk away from a trough when his snout was just getting wet.’

  ‘You can sort that out, and while you’re at it, you can launch an investigation into who bombed our plane.’

  ‘You want me to head an investigation?’ said Gallen. ‘What happened to bodyguarding?’

  ‘You’re taking my job, should you want it,’ said Aaron. ‘Almost twice the pay and you won’t need snowshoes. That MasterCard of yours is now unlimited. Well, almost. Just make sure you can justify the expenses—the accountants are tough at Oasis.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Gallen.

  ‘Not me, the new CEO demanded it.’

  Gallen smiled. ‘Okay, we’ll investigate. But I’m not a spook or a cop.’

  ‘I’ve seen your file and you were always half-spook.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ said Gallen.

  ‘Pretending to be a logging contractor in Mindanao, collecting better intel on the Moros than we got through NICA or the Agency— if that ain’t spooking, what is?’

  Gallen laughed. ‘That was a frustrated first lieutenant who talked his CO into getting some first-hand intel.’

  ‘I asked around, you were pegged for DIA, but you said no. Twice.’

  Gallen looked out at the street. ‘Not everyone wants to jump head-first onto an av-gas fire. So thanks, man. I owe ya.’

  ‘I’m no hero, Gerry,’ said Aaron, finishing his beer. ‘I just reacted.’

  Gallen smiled. That was what the really brave ones said.

  ~ * ~

  When he got to the airport the next morning, Gallen checked for eyes in the terminal and then checked his bank account at an ATM, confirming payment of the leave bonus he’d been promised.

  Buying his ticket to Cheyenne on the Oasis MasterCard, he rang ahead and hired a Chev Equinox for a week. He made sure the basics were in the Oasis name so he could save his cash for more interesting things. Because the one thing Gallen hadn’t mentioned to the RCMP investigators was the beacon planted in Donny McCann’s watch. Aaron may have wanted him back at the farm, but Gallen had a stopover planned before he got there.

  ~ * ~

  CHAPTER 35

  The East Side Motel on Highway 220 looked half full as Gallen pulled into the reception drive-through at 7.13 pm. The drive up from Cheyenne Airport to Red Butte had been easy if you discounted the aching ankle and the burns that he wanted to scratch.

  Paying in cash and checking in as Roland Smith, Gallen showed a British Columbia driver’s licence he’d claimed at the bar at Calgary Airport. There were three lost licences jammed in the mirror behind the cocktail station, and he’d been close enough to read the name and see the real owner had dark hair.

  Taking a large room on the second floor—two along from where he’d stayed during Tyler Richards’ fundraiser—he looked down on the internal courtyard and waited to see if the manager would double-check the false vehicle rego he’d listed on the guest information form.

  Sipping on a beer from the minibar, Gallen cased the motel, looking for surveillance, looking for a tail. It looked clear and, finishing the beer, he went down to the business centre, a small room with a table, a computer and a scanner-printer. Creating an iGoogle account under the name Igor Olafnowsky, he accessed his new account and Googled the story on Harry Durville’s death. The Calgary Herald had the best photo spread and when he’d found Donny’s USMC picture, he printed it and switched off the computer tower, in contravention of the sign that said: Do Not Turn Off This Computer!!!

  Gallen got to the motel’s restaurant a little after eight o’clock, and taking a corner booth saw a face he recognised.

  ‘Hi,’ said the girl with the biker rings as she dumped a menu in front of him and poured a glass of water. ‘Soup of the day’s minestrone. Chef’s special is barbecue pork ribs with ranch fries and beans.’

  ‘I’ll take ‘em both,’ said Gallen with a smile, not touching the menu. ‘And in the same order. A handle of Miller too, thanks.’

  The waitress returned his smile, having just been introduced to the easiest table of the week.

  ‘Your leg okay? Need a cushion or sumpin?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Gallen, winking. ‘It only hurts when I run.’

  ‘You were here a couple weeks ago, right?’ she said. ‘Marines get-together?’

  Gallen saw her name tag, saw a figure that was holding together for someone north of thirty. ‘Fundraiser, actually, Glenda, for an old brother in a wheelchair.’

  ‘Oh no,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I hate that, hate this fucking war.’

  ‘There’s nothing to love.’ Gallen nodded. ‘But those of us over there, we do our best.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Glenda, embarrassed. ‘Not the guys. Not the guys. You know what I mean—the oil people: Cheney, Halliburton, the Bush family. All those shitheads wouldn’t know a yellow ribbon if it ate them in the crotch.’

 
Gallen laughed as she stalked off, wondering if she knew there’d been a new president in the White House for two years.

  The tab came to $34.85 and Gallen left five tens on the table. ‘Keep it,’ he said as Glenda scooped up the notes.

  ‘You from around here?’

  ‘Down from Clearmont. I was actually trying to find what happened to my buddy.’

  ‘Who?’

  Gallen shrugged. ‘Old Marines buddy who was here for that fundraiser.’

  ‘Perhaps I can help?’ said Glenda, putting her weight on her left hip. ‘I’m outa here at ten-thirty.’

  ‘Great,’ said Gallen. ‘The name’s Roly, by the way.’

  ~ * ~

  They sat on stools at a roadhouse bar, watching bikers and cowboys shooting pool around a red baize table. The juke box seemed to have nothing but Jennings, Cash and Haggard, and Gallen let his strapped leg swing free to the music he’d grown up with.

  ‘So, she happy now?’ said Glenda, who looked a lot sexier in her jeans and tank top than she did in her waitress dress. ‘This Marcia?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Gallen sipped at his beer. ‘She wanted more than a Marine, and she got it. End of story.’

  ‘I think she’s nuts,’ said Glenda, drinking bourbon and Coke.

  ‘You don’t know me like she knew me.’

  She smiled. ‘Well, Roly, we can fix that.’

  ‘I have to find out what happened to Donny. I feel terrible for his family.’

  ‘What do you need?’ said Glenda.

  ‘I’d love to know who he was kicking with when he was staying at the East Side.’

  ‘Gotta picture?’ she asked, flicking her hair and giving Gallen the eye.

  Pulling the printed picture out of his inside pocket, he handed it over. ‘That’s Donny, nineteen years old.’

  Her face lit up. ‘Oh, so that’s Donny.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, I remember this hound,’ she said, grabbing him by the hand. ‘Let’s go.’

  Staying seated, Gallen pulled her back and Glenda leaned into him, kissed him on the lips. ‘I have someone you should meet, so let’s go, Marine!’

  ~ * ~

  The house sat on a secondary street, a wood-sided Wyoming house with a brick chimney and a closed-in porch which was a boot room in winter.

  Pulling him inside, Glenda left him in a living area where a blonde woman lay on a sofa watching Cops.

  ‘Beer okay?’ came Glenda’s voice from the kitchen.

  ‘Beer’s good,’ said Gallen, smiling at the blonde as she sat up and arranged her hair.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, reaching out her hand. ‘Ellen.’

  They shook and Gallen introduced himself once more as Roly.

  ‘Wanna seat, take the weight off that leg?’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Gallen, removing magazines and chocolate wrappers and taking a seat beside the woman.

  Handing him the Coors as she came into the living room, Glenda sat on the arm of the sofa. ‘Meet my roommate, Ellen,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Donny’s girlfriend for just one night.’

  ‘Shut up!’ said Ellen, wrapping a cardigan around her breasts.

  ‘Roly’s trying to find out what happened to Donny. Remember Donny, from that Marines night down at the East Side?’

  Ellen lit a cigarette, grabbed Glenda’s beer and took a slug. ‘Well, the first place I’d look would be in the morgue up there in polar bear land. What the fuck they call that Indian reservation? ‘

  ‘Nunavut,’ said Gallen. ‘I know he’s in a morgue. I’m trying to work out who put him there.’

  ‘Donny’s dead?’ said Glenda, shocked.

  Ellen looked at her. ‘Don’t you watch the news? He was killed in that plane crash where the oil billionaire died—-whatsisname, Durban or Durville or sumpin?’

  Gallen focused on Ellen. ‘You knew Donny? ‘

  ‘I did that night,’ said Ellen, not so cocky. ‘We were fooling around, you know?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Gallen, remembering Donny partying in his Cutlass. ‘You were fooling around in a red Oldsmobile.’

  ‘Yeah, I remember ‘cos he was looking out for someone and then he suddenly stops when this dude goes up to his room.’

  ‘What kind of dude?’

  ‘White guy. About six foot, athletic. I only saw him from behind. Looked like a bull rider.’

  ‘And?’

  Ellen thought. ‘Donny says, Okay so the pigeon has landed, or sumpin like that.’

  ‘Like he was waiting for the white guy to show?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Ellen. ‘So he tells me he’s going up there in a few minutes but there’s still time for—’

  ‘Okay,’ said Gallen, getting the picture. ‘What then?’

  ‘About five minutes later, there’s this banging sound and Donny’s looking in the mirror and freaking, saying Shit and Fuck, and something like He doubled back, then he’s out of the car and running across the parking lot in his shorts.’

  Gallen remembered the night well. ‘And then? ‘

  ‘There’s this talking and arguing behind us, and then Donny comes back, gets in the car and lets me keep the whisky and the smoke. Tells me the party’s over, see ya later.’

  ‘That was it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Ellen. ‘I was getting my shirt done up and this guy turns up beside the car, and Donny is outa there, snapping to attention.’

  ‘Like Donny’s boss, maybe?’

  ‘Just like that,’ said Ellen. ‘Except Donny was scared.’

  ‘Know the guy? This boss man?’

  ‘Well, I thought you all knew each other,’ said Ellen.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I saw you in the restaurant. I work in the kitchen.’

  Gallen was confused. ‘So?’

  ‘I work the breakfast shift, Roly,’ she said, like it was elementary. ‘You had breakfast with the boss guy.’

  ~ * ~

  CHAPTER 36

  It was low cloud and not much above freezing when Gallen picked up the mail, dropped the red flag and drove up the drive, aiming at the big white sign that said Sweet Clover.

  The muffled bark of a dog sounded from inside the farmhouse as Gallen eased himself onto the muddy turning area. A red Dodge Ram was parked alongside the farm labourers’ bunkhouse. The house door opened and a black retriever limped out, barking like Lauren Bacall.

  ‘That you on the TV?’ said Roy, stretching on the porch.

  ‘Not the dead one,’ said Gallen, patting Roy’s old dog as she sniffed his foot.

  ‘Coulda called.’

  Gallen handed over the mail as he walked past. ‘Anyone been here?’

  ‘Like who?’ said Roy, shutting the door as he followed Gallen into the warm kitchen.

  ‘Like men wanting to check the gas or the power lines; someone who turns up, says you need your satellite dish adjusted?’

  ‘Just your girlfriend,’ said Roy, face flushed with last night’s whisky. ‘She’s riding that jumper.’

  ‘Yvonne?’

  Roy smiled. ‘Like I said.’

  ~ * ~

  The weak sun warmed his back as he watched Yvonne take Peaches over the low practice jumps in the arena. The front hooves were hitting the top rails and they weren’t yet the height she’d be jumping at the first competition in Douglas County.

  Smirking as he heard her cussing, Gallen resisted the temptation to light a smoke and instead lowered himself to the sandy surface and walked to the second jump, tender on his leg.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she said, walking the horse to where Gallen stood at the jump. ‘This was working yesterday.’

  ‘Eye-line,’ said Gallen, replacing the rail and walking across the arena to the fourth jump.

  ‘Where am I looking?’ said Yvonne. ‘At the cute cowboy?’

  She was joking, but Gallen didn’t get that immediately, and in the time he took to turn and squint into the sun at her face, he blushed.

  ‘Sorry, just k
idding around,’ said Yvonne.