by Alan Mulak
From where he sat he could look up at room number six – Anna’s room.
It was almost ten P.M., and according to the first text she had sent him the previous day, by now, Jacques would be asleep. Yellow light shone from the slider of her second story room.
Alex took out his phone and texted Anna. It read:
Thanks for the letter.
To his surprise, the response came almost at once.
You’re welcome. Sorry about the jumbled way I wrote it.
Alex wrote:
No problem. I feel many of those same emotions. Then he added I love you, Anna. I will always love you.
Nothing. No reply. By now, the moon had cleared the peaks, flooding the meadow and the lodge with white light. Alex gazed up at room six and could imagine Anna inside, staring at her phone. Was she in the chair at the desk? Lying on the bed next to her sleeping husband? In the bathroom, door closed for privacy? His phone chirped.
I love you too, Rob
Alex stared at the screen on his phone, blinking away tears. Then, acting on their own accord, his fingers typed:
I was such a fool. Then: Thank you for not forgetting me.
Another pause, then the reply:
I am wearing the charm you gave to me. I wish you could see.
Again, Alex’s fingers started typing, as his dumbfounded brain just looked on.
I could. I’m sitting outside your room on the fence near the hot tub. I am staring up at your balcony.
Another long pause. Too long. Shit! He thought. I should never have said that. Now she thinks I’m some sort of stalker or peeping-Tom pervert. Way to go, Alex. You screwed up again. Alex kept glaring at the phone; willing it to respond. Nothing.
Then it chirped with Anna’s message:
When we met at the hot tub, you were worried about me wearing recording wires or some such recording devices. Now, I’m going to show you that I’m not.
The light went out in Anna’s room. Then the slider opened, and Anna stepped out. Alex, about fifty feet away, could plainly see her, standing in the moonlight, wearing a white terry cloth robe. Then, ever so slowly, she opened the robe and let it drop to the deck. There, between her breasts, was the gold locket he had given her all those years ago. And she was correct: she wore no wires.
Anna looked up at the moon for a moment; her face illuminated its glow. Using both hands, she pulled her long hair back behind her head, and then let it fall. Then, after a moment, she picked up her robe and went back inside.
27
Gone Fishin’
Alex struck a wooden match, lit the Coleman stove, and placed a flame-blackened coffee pot over the blue flame. Buttoning his coat against the dawn chill, he walked over to the fire pit, crumpled some newspaper, piled a handful of kindling on top, and started a small fire. After a few minutes, fire happily crackling, steaming mug of coffee in hand, he pulled up a camp chair. Nearby, two scrub jays were eyeing him suspiciously from a tree, hoping for a burnt piece of toast or some such treat. The sun had not yet cleared the canyon wall, and no air was moving. Alex watched the smoke from the campfire rise straight up. Other than the gurgle from the river and the snap of burning juniper in the fire, there were no sounds.
He had been there for three days, camped in the canyon formed by the Lower Dolores River. After Anna left the balcony, the room light did not come back on and there were no further text messages. Eventually, well past midnight, haunted by the image of her standing naked in the moonlight, Alex left. He drove home, packed up his camping and fishing gear, tossed in some groceries, and left town. Because towering canyon walls surround the Lower Dolores, there is no mobile phone reception. Although Alex craved to hear from Anna, he knew he would not. This place of complete and total isolation was just fine.
For two days, he did little other than smoke cigars, drink scotch, and mope around. Finally, yesterday afternoon, he broke out his fly rod and went fishing. It was grasshopper season and the trout were gulping down those unfortunate enough to miscalculate their jump and plop into the water. A skilled fly-fisherman, armed with a good hopper imitation, could do quite well. And he did.
After a while, the silence was broken by a distance hum of a car engine. It was approaching along the gravel road that led past the campsite. As it came even with the dirt trail into the campground, the sound changed and the car turned in. Alex sighed. His solitude was about to be violated. The vehicle stopped beyond the trees - over near the clearing - and the car doors were shut. A crunch of gravel foretold approaching visitors on foot, several by the sound of it. Alex stood and turned. They were not fellow campers as expected, but instead, MacKenzie, Lucy, and Neil.
“Hey,” Alex said. “This is a surprise. What brings you all the way out here? I’ve got a fresh pot of coffee going. Want some?”
After a few minutes, they were all seated around the freshly stoked fire.
Neil broke the silence. “How’s fishing?”
MacKenzie looked up and glared at Neil. “Alex has been missing for three days. Disappears in the middle of the night. Doesn’t answer his phone or email. We’ve all been worried sick about him, imagining the worst, and that’s what you ask? How’s fishing?”
Lucy sighed and shook her head. “Guys.”
Alex chuckled. “Sorry about my ducking out. I decided I need some time off after all.”
MacKenzie said. “You could have left a note.”
Alex nodded. “My bad. Sorry. How did you find me here?”
MacKenzie nodded towards Neil. “He said you’d be here. Something about the trout eating hoppers.”
Neil made an I-told-you-so gesture with his hands.
Lucy got up and strolled around the campsite, examining the items on the adjacent picnic table. She said, “Let’s see, here we’ve got a mostly empty bottle of scotch, and half a box of Cuban cigars. And in your trash, I see several empty cans of Campbell’s pork and beans, and what’s this; two empty tins of sardines in mustard sauce. It’s good to see you’ve adopted – in your seclusion - a heart-healthy diet.”
Alex chuckled again. “Sardines are fish. They’re supposed to be healthy.”
“In mustard sauce?” Neil asked. “Got any more?”
“No, fresh out. Sorry.”
Lucy grabbed the white water bucket, dumped the contents, flipped it over, and used it as a seat. She sat next to Alex.
“So how are you doing?”
Alex sipped his coffee and stared at the fire. “I’m fine. Really.”
MacKenzie got up and poured more coffee for everyone. “Anna’s gone.”
Alex shot MacKenzie a look.
MacKenzie sat back down. “Of course we figured it out. Please give us more credit than that!”
“I need to go on record as stating this was not my idea,” Neil said. “I said we should mind our own business and leave you alone, but clearly, as you can see, I was over-ruled.”
MacKenzie looked at Neil and said, “Thank you, Mr. Sensitivity. Duly noted.”
Lucy put her arm around Alex. “So, how did it go?”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“And I’ve been elected Pope. Come on. We’re your friends. What happened?”
Alex watched the fire for a minute, then said, “To be honest, I’m still trying to sort it out. I got so many mixed messages, I really and truly can’t make heads or tails of where things stand. One thing’s for sure – and this is about the only thing she’s clear about - she ain’t leaving her husband, especially now that he’s facing death. So maybe…so maybe I ought to move on.”
28
A Stranger Comes to Town
Business at Slater Ranch continued to be crazy busy. At the end of another long day, McKenzie asked Alex for a ride into Dolores, where she offered to buy him a beer at the Brewery. They had just gotten comfortable - two drinks on the bar – when Neil came over. As he emptied the dishwasher, they chatted. Then he snapped his fingers and said, “I almost forgot. Some guy was in here earlier looking
for you.”
Alex raised his eyebrows. “Me?”
“Yeah,” Neil replied while putting clean beer mugs on the shelf. “A weird-looking dude, covered with tattoos. Said he knew you in New Jersey. He’d been by your house but you weren’t there. I told him you were working up at Slater, and he turned and left without another word. Strange dude. Had some sort of facial twitch going. A friend of yours?”
Alex froze in his seat.
Neil hurried off to pull a calzone from the oven.
McKenzie studied Alex. Many years ago, when she was just a little girl, walking along a sidewalk with her father, a large dog, snarling and barking approached them. The dog seemed to ignore her father but made straight for her. After shooing away Fido, her dad said, "Dogs can sense fear. You were frightened and the dog knew it. I was not. That's why the dog honed-in on you. They can sense fear." For the first time in her life, she could sense fear - and it was coming from Alex.
“I can see this isn’t good news.”
Alex said nothing, slowly shook his head, and turned his trembling hands palms-up.
They sat in silence, Alex staring at his beer, McKenzie staring at Alex.
Finally, quietly, she asked, “What’s up?”
“I have no idea.”
McKenzie sipped her beer. Yeah, bullshit! “There’s way more to this story than you’re tellin’, and it may be none of my business but a blind man could see you want no part of this guy.”
Alex said nothing.
“Maybe you should disappear for a bit. You know, go camping somewhere. I can have the guys at the ranch snoop around. There are only a few places to stay in our town. We could check this guy out, and find out what he’s up to.”
“Thanks, but no.” Alex stood, touched Mackenzie’s arm, then left.
There were no sightings of the tattooed stranger the next day or the next, but then on Saturday night, Thomas “Tatman” Irving made his move. At about 11 pm, after another long day at Slater, McKenzie turned off her desk lamp, opened the window, and sat in total darkness, listening to the crickets. She felt a headache coming on and from past experience, knew it could be defeated by a little quiet meditation. A few minutes later, she heard the back door open and close, and then the crunch of footsteps as someone left the lodge. It had to be Alex calling it a day, as he was the only other staff member still working. When the footfall was just outside of McKenzie’s open window, she heard a staccato voice say, “long time, no see.”
Alex’s footsteps stopped. He said, “Who are you and what do you want?”
Mediation time was over. Silently, McKenzie got up from her chair and tip-toed to the open window. In the pale illumination of a last-quarter moon, a man, his bald head covered with tattoo’s – which seemed to be alive and crawling like so many tiny snakes – was pointing a handgun at Alex. Alex had his hands partially raised, palms outward.
“Who are you? What do you want with me?” Alex repeated.
The tattooed man cackled, the high pitch of his crazed laugh piercing the stillness of the night. “To start with, twelve kilo’s that were stored in your mattress.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The man fell silent, studying Alex. Using his gun as a pointer, he beckoned to a brighter spot which was illuminated with a wall-mounted light on the back on the lodge. “Step over there.”
Alex did so.
McKenzie picked up her phone, hit a Recently Contacted Person, and texted COME IMMEDIATELY - DANGER. Then she backed away from the window, frantically rummaged through her broom closet – umbrellas, hiking staffs, broom, mop, tripod - and finally located her 12 gauge Remington model 870 pump action shotgun. Then she paused. Where the hell did I put the box of ammo? She looked back outside to see what was happening.
The tattooed man was studying Alex. Finally, he broke the silence. In a loud whisper, almost as if he were talking to himself, he asked, “Who the fuck are you?”
Alex, voice cracking, said, “Alex Delvecchio.”
“Bullshit.”
“Bullshit?”
The tattooed man cocked his head, twitched several times, and then said, “You’re taller. But you can’t be. And your face is…”
Alex found his voice. “Look, you’ve got the wrong guy.”
“Bullshit. You’re Alex Delvecchio from Camden, New Jersey. But somehow…”
To ensure silence, McKenzie kicked off her sandals, and then barefoot, slipped out of her office, down the hall, and out the kitchen door. Keeping to the darkest shadows tight against the wall of the lodge, she crept towards the moonlight spot where the two men stood.
Alex was talking with a pleading tone to his words. “I can explain. My real name is Rob Santos. I took on the identity of Alex Delvecchio to start a new life out here. I have no idea who Alex was or what he did. All I know is he was a soldier and he’s dead. I’ve never even been to Camden, New Jersey. As I said, you've got the wrong guy."
The tattooed man studied Alex, who was sucking in raspy shallow breaths, just ten feet away. Then, from behind where he stood, came the tell-tale, mechanical sound of the slide action from a pump shotgun. McKenzie said, “Drop the gun.”
No one moved.
Sounding braver than she felt, she said, "I'm aiming a Remington twelve-gauge shotgun at your back. From this distance, I can't miss. When I pull the trigger, I'll put a hole in you the size of a dinner plate. Drop the gun. Now!”
The tattooed man lowered his handgun and tossed it aside.
“Now,” MacKenzie commanded, “Lay down on the ground. Face down. Do it!”
The tattooed man slowly lowered to his knees, then did as he was told.
“Alex, go kick the gun out of reach.”
Visibly wobbling, Alex moved towards the gun. As he started bending down to pick up the weapon, MacKenzie said, "Don't touch it. Just kick it."
Alex did so.
It was then the distant, barely audible sound of a siren could be heard from up the canyon road.
Mackenzie stepped from the darkness, holding a pump shotgun aimed at the prone tattooed man.
Alex, mouth agape, stood nearby.
Without taking her eyes off her target, McKenzie asked Alex, “You alright?”
“When…what?”
The siren was growing louder.
No one moved until a police car, blue lights flashing, pulled into the lot, raising a cloud of dust. Lights began to flick on in the lodge.
Two men jumped out of the cruiser and cautiously approached the scene, guns were drawn. The taller officer spoke. “What’s going on?”
Mackenzie said, “What took you so long?”
The taller officer removed his ball cap and stood next to McKenzie. “Traffic.”
“How’ve you been, Dave?”
“Good, Sis. What’s happening here?”
"That guy," McKenzie beckoned to the tattooed man with her shotgun, "was holding one of my employees at gunpoint. By the way, that's him. His name is Alex."
The tall officer nodded. Alex waved weakly, then turned and vomited.
Guests were now gathering on the porch of the lodge. The tall officer said to his assistant, “Go move those folks back inside. Tell them we’ll be in shortly to explain - tell ‘em drinks are on the house.”
A second police vehicle pulled into the lot. Two more policemen got out and walked to where McKenzie and her brother stood.
“Hey, sheriff,” one of the newcomers said, “what ‘cha got?”
“Get that guy up.”
The two new officers helped the tattooed man to his feet and brought him to the sheriff.
“I’m Sherriff Ryan, who are you and what are you doing here?”
Other than twitching, the tattooed man said nothing and stood perfectly still.
“Cuff him.”
One officer attached handcuffs, while the other removed tattoo’s wallet, and took out a driver’s license.
The sheriff said, "Put him in the back of my unit an
d run his name through the system. Use my laptop."
When they were gone, the sheriff turned to McKenzie. “Maybe you ought to lower that shotgun before you shoot somebody.”
McKenzie looked down at the 12 gauge and seemed to take notice of it for the first time. "No worries. It's unloaded. I couldn't remember where I hid the ammo."
Alex, who had straightened up from being sick, bent over and vomited again.
The sheriff watched Alex, and then asked, “Now tell me again, who’s that guy?”
“That’s Alex. He works for me. I can vouch for him. He’s clean.”
Alex sat down heavily, at put his head between his knees.
From inside the police vehicle, one of the officers said, "Ho-Ly Shit!” He jumped out of the car and came on a run.
“This guy we got in the back seat,” he exclaimed rapidly, “He’s a really bad dude. He just got out of prison - East New Jersey State Pen – already jumped parole, has an outstanding warrant for aggravated assault and assault with a deadly weapon, and put some poor sap in the hospital who’s not expected to wake up. Add murder one to the charges. Plus he’s got a rap sheet that goes on for two pages – mostly possession and dealing. And by the way, according to New Jersey, he’s extremely dangerous and criminally psychotic. We’ve got a live one!”
The Sherriff held up his hand. “Slow down. Let’s do this right. Go back and read him his rights.” Then he turned to MacKenzie. “And you took him down with an empty shotgun?”
McKenzie shrugged and looked at the two police cars, blue lights flashing. “This is going to be bad for business.”
A short while later, the police left with Tatman, hauling him to the District Office in Cortez, from where he’d be on the next flight back to New Jersey. McKenzie promised to bring Alex in the next day – when he was feeling better - to make a statement. The guests, many of whom were well lubricated from the open bar, drifted back to bed. This left Alex and McKenzie, sitting on the front steps of the lodge.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.