by Erik Hyrkas
Chapter 4. Max
I woke up when Miranda tussled my hair. I sat up and stretched as we landed in Ely, Minnesota.
When we got out of the plane, Tyler grabbed our bags. “Don’t worry. I’m a quarter Schwartzen so I can carry twice my body weight.”
“I’m not worried at all,” I muttered as I walked toward the silver Toyota minivan waiting to deliver us to the resort.
The shuttle took a circuitous road through the forest. I could see purple sky through the thick canopy of deciduous trees, evidence that the sun was setting. We didn’t see another car or any sign of life until we crossed a crumbling concrete bridge. Through the trees, I could see a series of low orange buildings with brown trim and green shingles sprawled randomly in a clearing.
The driver pulled up to the largest building near the road and got out. “Do you have the tip?” I whispered to Tyler barely loud enough for Miranda to hear.
If Tyler was perturbed, he didn’t show it. He smoothly slid some greenbacks into the hand of the shuttle driver. I let him pick up our luggage as I walked toward the building as if it was normal to have a manservant carry my things.
“Oh look! A cat!” Miranda pointed at a rocking chair on the deck with an orange and white long-haired cat lounging on it. “They are such adorable animals,” she said.
I held the door for Miranda but let the door swing shut on Tyler. Behind us, I heard the shuttle van driving away and became keenly aware that the only way out of here was on foot.
The inside of the lodge was dim and musty. Stuffed bears stood sentry over random parts of the main room, and there were leather couches huddled near a dark fireplace. Deer and moose heads stared at us from the walls. The fireplace held the cold remains of burnt logs, an assortment of deer antlers crowding the fireplace mantle.
There was a small wooden desk in the corner and nobody in sight. Miranda rang the bell on the counter. A short man with silver hair, salt and pepper stubble, and a fully automatic assault weapon emerged from the back room. He was carrying a rag as if he had been cleaning the gun. The man was well built but with a bit of a gut, maybe a star hockey player when he was younger who had since gone to seed.
He grinned at Miranda. “Hi folks.” He spoke in a low, gravelly voice, taking his time on each word. I stepped closer to hear him better.
“We have a reservation,” Miranda said. Somehow her smile was as bright as if she had just met Prince Charming.
He stared at Miranda for a moment, apparently taken by her charm or her beauty or both. “You must be Miranda Smith,” the man said.
I wondered if I would grow old before he finished his next sentence.
“Yes, and this is my boyfriend Max Anderson.” She gestured to me. “How many rooms does our cabin have?”
“Two rooms,” he said. “The living room area doubles as a dining room, and there is a bedroom. Well, there’s a bathroom if you count that.”
“We brought a guest. Can we get a cot for the living room?” she asked.
Without looking away from Miranda, he started to polish the gun lovingly with an oil cloth as if we were interrupting private business.
“No need. The couch is a hideaway bed.” The manager looked at Tyler, who had managed to get the door open and the luggage inside. “Have you stayed here before?”
“Never been here,” Tyler said.
The manager frowned. “I never forget a face. I think it was four years ago.”
“Sorry. Maybe it was somebody who looked like me.”
The innkeeper frowned.
“What’s the gun for?” I asked. Tyler shot me a what-are-you-doing look.
“Hunting,” the man replied. “This baby shoots ten rounds per second.”
I nodded. “Ten rounds per second. Maybe hunting isn’t your sport, Tex.”
He grinned. “You haven’t seen the game I’m after.” He pulled a key out of a drawer and handed it to Miranda. “Cabin thirteen, down by the lake. It’s very rustic. You kids be safe.”
“We will,” Miranda said.
I leaned in close to her and asked in a stage whisper, “You did bring protection, right?” She flashed a peek into her jacket where only I could see her Voltaic Fusion Pistol. I nodded toward her chest. “Can’t wait to get my hands on that,” I said a little louder than necessary.
She gave me a flirtatious slug on the chest. She really knew how to act the part, which I hoped meant she was going to make a good partner. We’d see how she did when things got dicey.
I followed Miranda into the darkening evening, I hoped toward cabin thirteen because it was getting cold as hell outside and I didn’t fancy being lost even a few minutes. Tyler trudged along behind us, bearing the luggage without complaint. As much as I hated him, I had to admit that he was a real trooper—not that I was going to offer him any encouragement.
Calling the cabin rustic had been generous on the part of the gun-cleaning former hockey-playing desk clerk. The place was not just old but broken and musty. Tyler dropped our bags on the floor with the sort of care you’d expect from airline baggage handlers. He walked to the kitchen and filled a glass with orange-tinted water from the tap. He sniffed the water and then dumped it out.
The walls of the cabin had peeling wallpaper with purple floral designs. There was a small sink between a small stove and a small refrigerator. A sign above the sink written in crayon on a piece of notebook paper reminded us to wash our own dishes. I noticed that the sink had dark orange stains in the basin where the water would flow. A brown corduroy couch with sagging cushions and a number of nasty stains sprawled across the middle of the room. A television as old as it was tiny stood in the corner. In another corner was a bookshelf with a bible, two children’s books, and a chess board.
Miranda dug around in one of the bags and threw Tyler and me each a small candy-bar shaped package. The wrapper had the label “Bar-F” on it. Tyler appeared to open his with ease while I wrestled with the packaging for a minute.
He grinned. “Do you need help opening that?”
“I’ve got it,” I grumbled. I wasn’t going to let him show off his super strength, and so I pulled out my utility knife from my boot and slit the package. Inside was what appeared to be a chocolate candy bar. I ate it in two bites.
“Did you eat the whole thing?” Miranda asked.
I noticed that she had only nibbled a little off of the end of hers. “Does that mean you aren’t going to finish yours?”
“I’m definitely not going to finish mine. That was ten thousand calories. You just ate the equivalent of a dozen sticks of butter.”
“I am pretty hungry,” I admitted.
She resealed her wrapper—who knew they were resealable I thought—and tucked the bar into her pocket. “We should get some rest. It’s probably best to check out the site in the daylight. We’ll get up at dawn and scout for evidence.”
I cleared my throat. “As mission leader, that sounds like an excellent idea. Let’s hit the sack.”
Miranda walked into the bedroom. I was a step behind her.
“Do you mind if I have the window side?” I asked with a nod toward the bed.
When she turned around, we were inches apart and I almost walked into her. She hit me in the chest like a little girl might, and so I knew she was flirting. Any agent, regardless of gender, could knock you out cold. “Ya big dummy. You’re sleeping on the couch.”
“Big?” I asked indignantly. I put my arms around her waist. “Besides, aren’t we supposed to be undercover?”
“Yes, but not under covers.” She gave me a playful push. “Behave, and get to bed.” She stepped into the room and closed the door in my face.
“Denied,” Tyler whispered.
I showed him the Bar-F that she had discretely slid into to my pocket. I didn’t mess around with the wrapper this time though. I went right for my knife to open it.
“So, how did you really end up on our plane?” I asked.
“I told you…”
&n
bsp; “Seriously, don’t give me that crap. Why are you here?” I asked.
He sighed. “Look, I just need to show that I still have it.” He looked away. “There’s been some talk of me retiring, and I need this mission.”
“Won’t they be upset if they find out you showed up here without permission?”
Tyler frowned. “Those bastards sit in their comfortable boardrooms calling the shots, but they don’t know shit. We’re the ones out here putting our lives on the line. I’ll make them see that I still have it in me. I’m not going to retire on their piss-poor pension, not yet.”
I nodded. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”