by Craig Dirkes
I took off my shoes and walked down the short hallway to the living room. There sat her dad on the couch, using a yellow oilcloth to polish the blued steel of an antique side-by-side shotgun with a walnut stock. He wore blue denim overalls and a red flannel shirt similar to mine. His head was shaved bald, and a sturdy black beard grew from his bronze cheeks and chin. He wasn’t smiling.
“Where’s Taylor?” I asked. I was spooked, considering the guy was holding a gun and I liked to look at his daughter’s boobs. “Nice to meet you, I mean. Is Taylor home?”
“This isn’t what it looks like,” he said. “I’m not polishing my shotgun to make a statement.”
“Whew,” I said, exhaling loudly.
Then he did smile, before dropping the oilcloth onto his lap and shaking my hand. His shake was vise-like and transferred a slippery sheen of gun oil from his hand to mine. I wiped it on the back of my pants. He said I should call him Bruce.
“Taylor took off with Bristy and Hope,” he said. “I don’t know what’s so important, but she said they’d be back soon. You might as well have a seat.”
The room went quiet.
“Nice shotgun,” I said.
“It was my grandpa’s, then my dad’s, and now it’s mine. When I’m gone, it’ll be Taylor’s.”
Awkward silence again. I cleared my throat and made a lame comment about how nice it was that the gun had stayed in the family — a comment that launched Bruce into a long backstory filled with tangents and dead-ends, from which I learned more about Taylor’s family than I cared to know — maybe more than Taylor cared to know. Bruce told me his grandpa, Barney, traded a stack of wolf pelts for the gun in the forties. Barney had lived and died in the tiny village on Anvik, where Bruce’s dad grew up before coming to Kusko, where he met an Italian girl named Isabella who became his wife and Bruce’s mother. And on and on he went.
By the end of it I knew Bruce had lived in Kusko his whole life and he’d met his wife, a Swedish immigrant named Cindy, in a biology class at the University of Anchorage’s extension campus in town. I did a lot of nodding and tried to stay focused on him while I mostly just wanted Taylor to show up and rescue me.
“Here comes the prettiest girl on Earth now,” Bruce said as the sound of footsteps came from the hallway.
I stood up and turned around to greet Taylor, but in walked someone who looked like an older, paler version of her. I wouldn’t have said Cindy was the prettiest woman in the world (or even in her own house), but she had things together. Dressed in black jeans and a white blouse, Cindy smiled and said hello. She had Taylor’s pouty lips and butt-chin, and she looked fit as an Olympian.
“So, Eddie,” she said. “Are you enjoying summertime in Kusko?”
“I guess so, but I could do without the wind and the mosquitoes,” I said. “I’m just glad there aren’t any wood ticks.”
I wanted to groan at my own stupid comment, but it only sent Taylor’s folks into another stream of shit I could not have cared less about. Cindy hadn’t seen a wood tick since she lived in Sweden. Bruce couldn’t recall having seen one at all. They had ticks in Alaska, but they were very rare. They attached to imported livestock, but the state… oh my God! It took every once of effort I could muster to keep nodding, to keep looking interested, to keep from falling asleep.
But when they started asking about me and my story, I wished we could’ve stuck with the ticks.
“I’ve been reading your stories in the Patriot,” Bruce said. “Nice work. You seem like a smart kid.”
“Dalton keeps me running,” I said. “I hope I’m doing okay.”
“How much longer will you be in Kusko?” Cindy asked.
Her question caught me off guard. Had Taylor not told Cindy and Bruce I was supposed to leave at the end of the year? If so, was it because she didn’t care enough about me to tell them? Or did they know and they were only testing me? What did and didn’t they already know about me?
“I’m supposed to leave in late December,” I said, leaving my answer somewhat open-ended.
“That’s a long ways off,” Bruce said. “If you stay that long, you’ll set a new record.”
“Record for what?”
“In the past few years, no reporter has lasted more than a few months,” Bruce said. “They can’t hack Kusko.”
“Oh, that record,” I said, cranking up the B.S. machine. “Yeah, I know about that. I took my job fully aware that my boss hadn’t been able to find a reporter for quite a while. I like a good challenge. I’m not a quitter.”
Cindy cleared her throat. “But, didn’t you quit in college?”
Wood ticks, I thought. How can I get them back on wood ticks? But maybe, in a roundabout way, their giving me the third degree signified I had a chance with Taylor. Why else would they want to know the dirt on me? Maybe Taylor had told them she liked me. I shut down the B.S. machine and tried the opposite approach.
“That’s not quite right, Cindy. I didn’t quit college,” I said. “I flunked out, actually.”
Bruce and Cindy exchanged frowns, then stared at me poker-faced.
“I took this job to make up for my mistake,” I said, hoping I wouldn’t have to divulge the reason (beer) behind my academic missteps. “My goal is to get back into college and ace every class.”
“That’s commendable,” Cindy said without a smile, or a nod, or any visible indication of understanding. “Everybody makes mistakes.”
“Cindy and I are teachers,” Bruce said. “In this household, we take education seriously.”
Sweet, merciful fuck, I thought. Where is Taylor?
She had no apology when she finally did show up. She only shouted “Hey, guys!” from the entryway and headed upstairs. When her dad called her into the living room, she looked at me, scrunched her brow, and said, “Didn’t you get my text?”
“Crap,” I said, standing up and pulling my phone from my pocket. I’d been so nervous before I came over and so overwhelmed with talk since I arrived that I hadn’t thought to check.
Her message read: “Emergency meeting with Bristy and Hope. Come at 8 instead of 7. We can hang out after.”
“Shoot,” I said. “What happened to Bristy and Hope?”
“They’re outside firing up the steam bath,” Taylor replied. “I wanted to fit in a steam with them before you came over.”
“Go join them, Eddie,” Cindy said. “Have you ever had a steam?”
“Yes, one time. I liked it.”
But wait now. A steam? With Taylor? And Bristy and Hope? With them naked? With me naked? Was this a joke? A mom suggesting that a strapping young lad strip down with her gorgeous daughter inside a tiny, hot, steamy, dark room?
“Excellent,” Bruce said. “Enjoy your second one.”
* * *
As I stood outside the small building in the Sifsofs’ backyard, the purple bath towel I’d draped over my shoulder flapped in the cool, dusty wind. The steam bath was about the same size as Nicolai’s but with a larger vestibule. It was also much newer, with fresh, varnished logs fused together by caulk instead of mud. Taylor had told me to give her a two-minute head start to get situated with Bristy and Hope.
I ducked into the vestibule and saw the girls’ clothes lying on the floor. Their towels hung on wall hooks. There wasn’t another hook for my towel, so I dropped it on the ground near the steam bath door, next to a small stack of wood and a long fire stoker.
I knocked on the door and said, “Ready for me?”
“Come in,” I heard Bristy say from inside.
I stripped off my clothes and dumped them on top of my towel, then opened the door. A rectangular patch of light glared into the pitch darkness and exposed the girls’ feet. Total darkness enveloped their bodies from the ankles up.
I saw two sets of feet to my left and one set to my right. Straight in front of me, the light il
luminated the bottom of a stove. I guessed I was supposed to sit in the vacant spot to my right, closest to the door.
“Shut the door, Eddie,” Hope said, her voice coming from my right. Those were her feet nearest the stove and next to the empty spot. “Hurry.”
I closed the door and got situated, and in that moment, the atmosphere went from hot to suffocating. My pores gushed sweat. My hair felt like I’d dunked my entire head underwater.
“You’re good right there,” Hope continued. “You’re welcome for giving you the spot closest to the exit. If your vagina gets too hot, jump outside to cool off.”
Taylor and Bristy giggled.
Hope sounded just like my brother back home, which didn’t amuse me.
“Dear Lord!” I said, coughing.
Laughter from all around me.
“Give it a second,” Taylor said. “You’ll get used to it.”
I pinpointed Taylor’s voice. She was sitting directly across from me. It struck me: The girl of my dreams was sitting five feet in front of my face, naked. No bra. No panties. No nothing. Not even a bracelet around her wrist. Naked.
Insta-bone. I was grateful for the dark, which was still nearly complete, even as my eyes had time to adjust. I leaned forward and tried to think of anything except Taylor. I couldn’t.
She spoke up. “Sorry about my parents. They try to come off as laid back, but they can be intense.”
“Good people,” I said, knowing it sounded stupid but not caring.
“What’d you talk about?” Taylor asked.
“You know, this and that,” I said. “But at the end, I told them I flunked out of college. They might think I’m stupid.”
Taylor went quiet for a moment before saying, “You’re not stupid, Eddie. You were just really thirsty for a few months. But you’re good now.”
I loved, loved, loved that she said that. But I wondered whether she said it to be nice or because she was into me.
Hope poured water on the rocks. The water sizzled into a scorching cloud of steam that rolled across the ceiling a few inches above my head. Gradually, the heat descended across my head, shoulders, and chest.
“Taylor’s mad at us for getting high,” Bristy said.
In that moment, my chubby deflated. Bristy and Hope knew too much about me, and if they were coming clean with Taylor, would their confessions include Finn and me? They knew I dealt the stuff, that I only had one more delivery to go to earn the final six hundred I needed. One whisper of that, and I’d be dead to Taylor.
“Oh?” I said. I didn’t know what to say next, so I played stupid.
“Well,” I continued, “I’m sure you guys will patch things up.”
“Oh, we’ll see,” Taylor said. “Tonight was one of many conversations we’ve had and will continue to have. Meanwhile, we’re doing our best to set the issue aside and not allow it to do any more damage.”
“Well, that’s mature,” I said, hoping the topic would end.
We sat in the dark and quiet, and I stared at Taylor’s feet. She wiggled her toes, and I wondered if she knew what I was up to.
“Have you ever smoked weed?” Bristy asked.
Very funny, I thought. I went with my pat story, which used to be true.
“Yeah,” I said. “Twice in high school. The first time, nothing happened. The second time, I got real paranoid. Haven’t done it since.”
“Have you ever sold weed?” Hope asked.
Why were they screwing with me? They must have been pissed that they were in trouble with Taylor but I wasn’t. Did they know I smoked with Finn on the tundra? How far were they going to go with this?
I sighed in frustration. “If I don’t smoke weed, why the hell would I sell it?”
Saying that out loud made the marijuana deals I’d been making seem all the more ridiculous.
“I don’t know,” Bristy said. “You’re always flying out to the villages. You could stick it in your ass and make a fortune.”
Hope laughed. Taylor didn’t.
“Quit bugging him,” Taylor said. “You two are not funny.”
“Stoke up that fire, Hope,” I suggested. “Those rocks aren’t kicking out much steam anymore.”
She had just poured more water on the rocks, but the steam didn’t seem nearly as powerful. My eyes were finally adjusting, and as the steam faded I could see Taylor’s form across from me, just her shape in the darkness.
“Open the door and grab a couple more logs,” Hope said. “There should be a fire stoker too.”
I got on my knees and felt for the door. “Okay, ladies. Unless you want to see all of me, shut your eyes for a second.”
Light blinded me as a wash of cool air doused the hot coals in my lungs. I felt around for the logs and fire stoker. I found both and pulled them into the sweltering humidity of the steam bath.
“Here,” I said to Hope in the dark, touching the stoker to her leg. I heard Hope shuffling things around before she opened the stove door and threw the first log in, then the second. She used the stoker to stir the hot coals. The first log caught fire right away. The second one was being stubborn.
“Come on!” Hope said, agitated, poking the coals.
The second log burst into flames, lighting the space like a camera flash. In that split-second burst of light, I saw all of Taylor. Everything. Every last inch of skin. From head to toe. I might’ve gasped. Just before the light faded to blackness, my eyes met Taylor’s. Her face went from surprise to a slight smile.
In the dark again, everybody acted as if the flash of light never happened.
Everybody except Bristy.
“Eddie has a boner,” she said.
CHAPTER 18
STING
Dalton left the office early to go bowling, ducking out just after five o’clock. He competed in a league at Kusko Lanes, which was the closest thing to a bar in town. Although Kusko’s laws forbade alcohol to be served in public places, the cops pretended not to notice that all the bowlers scored in the hundreds during their first games and tossed gutter balls at closing time. Every team showed up with a cooler filled with liquor and mixers and solid-colored plastic mugs. As long as the cops couldn’t see the drinks, the drinks didn’t exist. Even Sheriff Buzz Berger was in the league. He liked to pound whiskey Cokes from a coffee thermos, Dalton said.
Mikey Colosky hung up his camo apron for the night right after Dalton left, leaving me alone in the Quonset hut. I sat at my desk, putting the finishing touches on a story about the Kusko School District’s budget problems. Droves of parents had attended a board meeting the night before to ream out the school board for upping the price of school lunches by fifty cents. I never realized how much shit school board members ate until I started writing stories about the decisions they made. I didn’t feel altogether sorry for them, though. Half the time the parents were right.
I finished writing and shut down my computer. I sat in silence for several minutes, listening to the wind blowing outside and the electric hum of florescent ceiling lights, thinking about the phone call I was about to make.
I stared at the phone. Its buttons were coated with the same dirty gray residue as the keys on my computer’s keyboard. I rubbed my thumb over the phone buttons and created enough friction to lift the residue away in little clumps that looked like eraser shavings.
You’re stalling, I thought.
I picked up the phone and dialed. Three rings later, Linetta Wassily answered.
I said, “This is Eddie, the guy who sold you the weed.”
Her TV blared in the background. Apparently, I’d interrupted her busy day of doing jack squat.
“Yeah?” she snarled.
“You want some more?”
She paused a moment. “Yeah, okay. But I don’t have the money right now. Pay you back?”
I, too, paused to think
for a moment. “No problem,” I said. “I’ll drop the stuff off Monday. I’ll fly to St. Mary’s again when the dividend checks get cut next month.”
“Fine,” she said. “See you Monday.”
I hung up and made another call, this time to Betty Bennis in Mountain Village.
After that, I drove to Kusko Lanes to talk to Sheriff Buzz Berger. I found him seated at a scoring table, ten lanes down from Dalton, who never saw me through the crowd of other bowlers. Buzz wore a black button-down bowling shirt that read STRIKE FORCE on the back. I pitched him a plan that would help both of us.
* * *
Just before the flight to Mountain Village took off, I sent my dad a text saying that I loved him. I had forgotten to tell him so during a short phone conversation we’d had on Father’s Day. I was too nervous to remember, stumbling over my words, trying not to get caught in all my lies. I wanted him to know now, just in case something went wrong.
I landed in the village just after ten in the morning. Its VPSO waited near a kiosk by the runway. He was a short, middle-aged Native guy who appeared to have dusted off his navy blue, state-issued VPSO parka for the first time since spring. It was late enough in summer that morning temperatures hovered in the forties. The titanic foothills surrounding the runway were covered in low-lying brush that was beginning to show hints of fall color.
I walked straight to the VPSO after I got off the plane.
“Ivan Hurley,” he said, with a crippling handshake. “You’re the newspaper kid, right?”
“I am, sir. I was here for Quyana Fest last month but didn’t see you. It’s nice to meet you.”
“What brings you here?”
“I couldn’t get a flight to St. Mary’s today, so I came here,” I said as the pilot handed me my backpack. “Do you know where Betty Bennis lives? I’m going to borrow her four-wheeler and cruise over to St. Mary’s for my story.”
Ivan gave me a ride to town in his truck, dropped me off at Betty’s place, and went on his way.
The four-wheeler parked in Betty’s front yard looked like it was worth more money than her dilapidated home. She opened the door with a smile and handed me the keys to the vehicle. I took off the leather boot on my right foot and pulled out a nug of weed. To keep the nug from smelling like athlete’s foot, I’d covered it with a cellophane wrapper from a pack of cigarettes.