Olek and Vanko were still at the front door, Vanko nailing up a small sign and Olek watching him. They stepped away. A big padlock now hung on the door. Olek tested it, said, “Okay,” and the two of them started back to the SUV. They got in and drove down the Zinc Town road.
We rose and went to the ranch house door. Bernie read the sign. “‘Under new management. Closed for repairs.’” He tested the padlock with the exact same motion as Olek, like most of his mind was somewhere else. Then he stood there for a moment or two, his gaze on the Zinc Town road. Bernie nodded to me. We ran to the car.
Nineteen
“This case began with us getting followed,” Bernie said. “Now we’re doing the following. Feels right, huh, big guy?”
That was how the case began? How interesting! Once, we had a case that began with lingerie falling from the sky. But no time to go into that now. The point was that Bernie felt right. When Bernie feels right, I feel right. Whoa! Don’t two rights make something or other, something important? I felt a real big thought on the way.
While I waited for it to arrive, I helped Bernie with the driving, which I do by sitting straight up, eyes on the road. We were on two-lane blacktop in hilly country with lots of curves and no traffic, just the occasional red glimpse of taillights far ahead. Our headlights were off—maybe something I should have mentioned off the top. In short, we were doing some distant following on a moonless night with no headlights, and going pretty fast, maybe something else I should have mentioned. You might say, “Hey, Chet, that sounds pretty dangerous. Aren’t you scared?”
You don’t know us.
“They’re not in any particular hurry, Chet,” Bernie said after a while, sitting back, one hand on the wheel. “It’s just that they like to drive fast. Is it a Ukrainian thing?”
For a moment, I was puzzled. Then it hit me. Wasn’t that vodka Ukrainian? Speed and vodka: I saw at once how they fit together. Bernie was right, as usual. Speed had to be a Ukrainian thing. Were Olek and Vanko passing a bottle back and forth in that big SUV, now angling up a steep rise with a tall shadowy cliff on one side, a cliff that finally merged with the night? There wasn’t a doubt in my mind.
Not long after that, we were on the same steep rise ourselves. A breeze came curling down from the top, carrying the sweet and heavy smell of a big white flower you only see at night. When we got to the top, Bernie stopped the car. Were we going to hunt around for the special night flower? We’d done that once, Bernie carrying a real big one with inky tips on the petals in a red plastic beer cup back to Suzie. She’d laughed with delight, and at the same time, her eyes filled with tears. I missed her.
I know what you’re thinking. With Suzie now married to Jacques, who would this new flower be for? I was thinking the same thing, and also—what about Olek? Bernie didn’t get out of the car—meaning the whole flower thing was off the table—but he did do something I’d hardly ever seen from him—namely, stand up on his seat. I stood up on mine. Chet doesn’t need to be told twice, or even once when he’s really cooking. We peered out at one of those huge desert views that come along from time to time in these parts.
Wow. Our world, mine and Bernie’s, went on forever, maybe longer at night than in the day. Over on one side we had the Valley, all shining and gold, going on and on to the edge I mentioned before. Straight ahead was rough and hilly country with clusters of light here and there, some of them pretty big, but nothing like the Valley. On the far side stood mountains, the tallest one with two peaks and a level dip in between. Our road twisted down and down, dark and empty, finally meeting one of the Valley freeways on one side and some smaller roads on the other.
“Where are they?” Bernie said, his voice low.
Meaning the red taillights? Ah! What an excellent question! That was Bernie, of course.
“No way they made it all the way down.”
Bernie switched off the engine. Now we had silence to go with the darkness, usually a very good combo for us. We got out of the car and stood side by side. Darkness, yes, but not quite silence. From down below—but actually not that far, only a switchback or two away—rose a very faint little snick, and then again. Snick snick. I have quite a lot of sounds in my head, in case that wasn’t clear already. This particular snick was the sound of a match getting struck. It came from behind a rocky outcrop between the switchbacks. I sat right down.
“Chet?” Bernie’s voice got even quieter. He followed my gaze, then kept his own on that outcrop. After a while, cigarette smell came drifting up to us. Bernie sniffed the air. “Smell anything, big guy?” he said in that same low voice.
Poor Bernie. But no worries. I had him covered.
We waited, I wasn’t sure for what. Waiting is part of the job. It might look like we’re doing nothing, but we’re not. Once Bernie said, “They also serve who only stand and wait.” I’ve thought about that from time to time, getting nowhere, but I knew it was important.
Down below, a lit cigarette butt came spinning out from behind the outcrop and landed in the road, glowing faintly. An engine started up. Headlights flashed on. The black SUV drove out from behind the outcrop and headed down the road.
“We’re dealing with pros.” Bernie patted the top of my head. “Good to know.”
Was it? Well, that was nice. I felt very happy. On the way down we ran slowly over the still-glowing cigarette butt, squishing it under one of the tires. From the look on Bernie’s face, I got the idea that maybe Olek was in fact some sort of bad guy. Was Olek mad at us because we didn’t take the job? How many times has Bernie said that it helps to have a theory of the case? And how many times have I failed to get what he was talking about? The same number! Wow! What an amazing thought! But it wasn’t even the amazing thought that was amazing me at that moment—namely, that I finally understood what theory of the case was all about! Plus I had my very own theory of this case! Which was … was … was that Olek was mad at us for turning him down. Whew. Almost lost it there for a second.
* * *
Headlights off, we followed those two red taillights down through the switchbacks, keeping some distance but closer than before.
“Only obsessives would try that trick again, and we’re not dealing with obsessives,” Bernie said. I love when he talks like that, so in command, and could listen to it forever. Whatever obsessives were, it sounded scary, but they weren’t in the picture. We were good to go.
Down we went, then up, then down some more, closing in on the freeway. Soon, I could hear the freeway traffic, but the red taillights didn’t take the freeway exit, instead turned onto another two-laner. This one took us out of the hills and across a flat plain, the tall two-crested mountain in the distance. The black SUV sped up, and so did we. I see pretty well at night, but was Bernie having problems? I glanced over. He was deep in thought, one hand on the wheel.
The black SUV started up the two-crested mountain, the red taillights disappearing and reappearing. Bernie made no attempt to get any closer. “Ponderosa Mountain,” Bernie said. “Only one way up on this side. Skied up here as a kid, big guy.” He smiled at me. “Once, the chairlift got stuck, and I was alone with Lizzie Wheeler for an hour. Couldn’t think of one single thing to say. Ten degrees and blowing like crazy. Lizzie was shivering, so I wrapped my jacket around her. ‘Thanks, um, what’s your name again?’ Lizzie was a year ahead of me, the most beautiful girl in the school. ‘You’re welcome,’ I said. Forgetting to mention my name!” Bernie laughed and laughed. What was funny?
We began climbing Ponderosa Mountain. It got steeper and twistier. Now Bernie had both hands on the wheel. You didn’t see that every day. Up ahead, the beams of the SUV shone on a line of metal chairs hanging in the night sky. I’d seen some skiing on TV but hadn’t realized how dangerous it was. Those chairs so high and flimsy looking! Did Bernie ever get his jacket back?
Not long after that, I began smelling water. The road straightened out, and a lake appeared in the headlights of the SUV, the two peaks of the mountain ris
ing on either side and the road turning to gravel. The SUV came to a stop and bright lights flashed on from the nearby trees, gleaming on a metal gate that blocked the road, tall fencing on either side. Bernie stopped the car and switched off the engine.
Olek got out and unlocked the gate, his sneakers crunching on the gravel. The SUV drove on through. Olek locked the gate. The bright lights went out. Then Olek suddenly looked in our direction. We weren’t far away, could easily have been seen in the daytime, but it was night and he was human. Olek got back in the SUV. It moved toward the lake. Farther along the shore, lights went on in a big house.
We sat where we were. Bernie thought. I felt him think. The SUV’s headlights blinked through the trees, closing in on the big house. We were actually closer to the other side of the lake, although there didn’t seem to be a road going that way. After a while, Bernie backed the car behind some bushes. He opened the glove box and took out the binoculars, then paused for a moment. Was he thinking of the .38 Special, locked in the office safe back home? I was.
We got out, crossed the road, and headed into the woods on the near side of the lake, the trees of the piney kind you find up high in our part of the world. The night was even darker in these woods. I led. Bernie followed. I trotted along a route that seemed quite clear, at least to me. I smelled the way, heard the way, saw the way, in that order. It’s hard for me to get lost.
The lake began to appear in glimpses through the trees. Lakes and streams, even on the darkest nights, somehow make a little light of their own. The water smelled lovely. Were we going to be able to squeeze in some swimming? You can always hope, and I always do.
Meanwhile, we were getting closer and closer to the lake. We came even with the big house on the other side, stepped through an opening in the trees, and onto a small sandy beach. An owl hooted, far away. And then again, much closer.
We gazed across the water at the big house. The wind was rising, ruffling up the surface of the lake, each tiny wave topped with reflected gold from the lights of the big house. We got our first good look it at, tall and wide, with lots of windows and balconies, plus a rooftop deck, a ground-level deck, and a pier jutting into the water, with a large powerboat tied to the end. Two people seemed to be standing on the ground-level deck, possibly a silver-haired man and a blond woman, but they were far away and I couldn’t be sure.
Bernie raised the binoculars, fiddled with the little things to fiddle with, trained the binoculars on the big house. He went still, not even breathing.
Bernie has a voice for when he’s talking to himself. You can’t actually tell it apart from the voice he uses to talk to me, when it’s just the two of us.
“The Wrays,” he said.
Twenty
The Wrays. That had to be important. Out of the blue, I thought of two things, bumper stickers and horses. Was that a good start? I didn’t see why not.
Caroline Wray, if I was properly in the picture, was standing at the railing, maybe looking out over the lake, her arms crossed. Senator Wray was off to one side, glancing at her once or twice like he was thinking of saying something, which he ended up not doing as far as I could tell.
A new figure appeared on the deck, big, broad-shouldered, blond. This had to be Olek, not just from the way he looked but also from the way he moved, real easy and sure-footed. Actually, a lot like how Bernie moved, especially when his wounded leg wasn’t acting up.
The senator and Caroline both turned to him, Caroline letting her arms fall to the side. Olek spoke. I could tell that from the way his mouth moved, a tiny black hole that opened and closed, opened and closed. Senator Wray raised a hand like he was going to say something, but Olek made a sort of chopping gesture with his own hand, and the senator just stood there, his hand slowly dropping down. Caroline didn’t look at either man again. She walked across the deck, head up, and disappeared into the house.
Olek moved to the railing. His gaze swept the lake from one end to the other, slowly passing right over us. We didn’t move a muscle. Olek turned and went into the house. The senator watched him the whole way, then moved to a side table and poured himself a drink. Have I mentioned that the breeze was blowing across the lake, from the house toward us? This might amaze you, but I could smell what the senator was drinking—namely, bourbon. I was even pretty sure that it was the kind Bernie liked, the bourbon with red flowers on the label. Not that I could see the flowers from where I was. Please don’t expect too much from me.
The senator came forward, set his glass on the rail, and stared out over the water. They’d all done that, taken a nice long look into the night. I felt good about that. We were the night, me and Bernie. Then quite suddenly, the senator picked up his glass, drained it in one swallow, and hurled it into the lake. The splash was golden in the reflected light. The senator turned and headed into the house, slamming the door behind him, the sound of the slam coming to us twice, the second time as an echo. After that, Bernie lowered the binoculars and started turning away, so he didn’t see a fish jump out of the water, surprisingly high and quite near where the glass had splashed down. A big black fish, flexing its whole body, like it had plans. We headed back to the car.
* * *
“In silent movies, note cards explain the tricky bits,” Bernie said as we drove back into the Valley. “Where do we get our note cards?”
What’s worse than Bernie having a problem and me not being able to help? I couldn’t think of anything. As for movies, you can try sitting on the remote, which boosts the sound amazingly, but other than that, I had nothing to offer.
Bernie glanced over at me and smiled. “A lot to chew on, huh, big guy? Why don’t we—oh my god!” He checked his watch. “What time did we tell Weatherly?”
Something to chew on? That sounded perfect. I was certainly hungry—famished, in fact—if that was what Bernie was getting at. I started panting and kept on panting until the huge wooden cowboy came into view, a lovely sight, no matter what someone had been saying about it quite recently. Did I care about exactly who? I did not. Maybe it helps to know yourself in this life. I, Chet, cared about steak tips.
* * *
Some restaurants don’t welcome me and my kind. That’s a bit of a puzzler. Restaurants serve food. Me and my kind love food. Lots of humans are food lovers, too, but they can be fussy. Take Leda, for example, who sends something back at every meal. You don’t see that with my guys.
The Dry Gulch Steakhouse and Saloon is the welcoming sort of restaurant. Bernie and I were barely inside before I heard, “Hey, Chet’s in the house,” and “Alone, or did he bring what’s-his-face?” and lots of other funny stuff that Bernie enjoys, but he was only partly enjoying it now. Mostly, he was scanning all the tables. Looking for Weatherly? That was my guess. But she wasn’t inside, or out on the back patio, where the smells coming from the barbecue pit were making me a bit dizzy. Bernie got busy with his phone. “Pick up, pick up.” But no one did.
We stood out on the patio, the wooden cowboy towering over us, the air so barbecuey, happiness all around. Who invented all this? No time to figure that out now, because I could tell Bernie wasn’t enjoying himself. His eyes had an inward look, and not just inward, but worried. I made a move to slide over and sit on his feet, but at that moment, a man in the far corner of the patio called, “Hey, Bernie!”
I’m pretty good with voices—perfect, in fact. Once I hear one, I’ve got it forever. The man calling to Bernie was Jacques Smallian. Have I mentioned Jacques already? He’s half-American and half-French, an investor of some sort, also a onetime baseball player, just like Bernie. He’s smaller than Bernie, although not much, but the same body type. Their faces are a little alike—especially the noses, although Jacques’s, not quite as big, didn’t appear to have been involved in any dustups, rather different from Bernie’s in that way. Jacques was Suzie’s partner in their new start-up. Also he was her husband, possibly the most important fact about him. Is it a surprise that Bernie likes him? Maybe that’s the most impo
rtant fact.
We went over to Jacques’s table, and there, sitting in the shadows at the very edge of the patio, was Suzie. Those black eyes shining like the countertops in our kitchen—especially after a nice polishing, which hadn’t happened in some time—and the way her face always seemed about to smile: I hadn’t seen her in way too long. Who wouldn’t have hustled right over to greet her? The waiter had everything all mopped up in no time.
What a nice table we had, a corner table with a low brick wall on two sides! I lounged on the wall, gnawing on a nice, fresh barbecue bone, and then another after that, and possibly one more. Suzie and Jacques had been drinking wine, but when Bernie ordered a beer, Jacques said, “Let’s make it a pitcher,” and they all switched over to that. I had water in a big bowl with ice cubes floating in it, just another wonderful Dry Gulch touch.
“So, Bernie,” said Jacques after a while, “how are things on the exciting side of life?”
“I wouldn’t call it that,” Bernie said.
“I know you wouldn’t,” said Jacques. “Somehow that makes it all the more appealing.”
“We could trade pla—” Bernie began, suddenly cutting himself off. “Um,” he said, “meaning someone else’s, uh, occupation can look greener on the other, ah, side.” He reached for his beer and took a big gulp.
Then came a few moments of quiet eating. A sort of uncomfortable cloud that had appeared faded away.
Suzie filled everyone’s glasses. “But when you get to the other side,” she said, “it’s not the other side anymore. That’s why some people can’t settle down.”
“Meaning anyone in particular?” Bernie said.
“Absolutely not,” said Suzie. “Well, not true. I met a man last week from up in Quintana who’s been married eight times, twice to the same woman.”
Tender Is the Bite Page 17