by Earl Emerson
“Why don’t you go back and litter your own camp,” Zak said.
“Fuck you, fire boy.”
“Scooter, what are you doing?” said Nadine.
“What are you doing? We were getting worried about you. And then I find you making out with this asshole.”
“We weren’t making out,” Nadine said. “We were talking.”
“He’s got his dirty hands all over you. Get out of there, for God’s sake. Or I’ll tell your father what you’ve been doing.”
“That’s rich. How about I tell him all the things you made me do.”
“You better not, bitch.”
“Don’t threaten her,” Zak said.
“Quiet, Zak,” Nadine whispered. “Stay out of this. You’ll only make it worse. Come on. Help me off these rocks.”
Zak walked her along the narrow ledge and held her hand tightly as she made the last small leap to the main part of the mountain. He could tell by the way she gripped him that she was a lot more anxious about the height than she had let on.
“You driving home tonight?” Zak asked Nadine.
“That was the plan,” said Scooter. “But because of you they’ll be driving in the dark. If they get lost out here, it’s going to be your fault.”
“We’re not going to get lost,” said Nadine.
“I’ll have Stephens draw a map,” said Zak.
“And we’ve got cell phones. We can always call back and ask for directions.”
“None of our cells are working,” Scooter said.
Nadine clutched Zak’s hand as they walked up the narrow pathway to their camp, where they got directions from Stephens. On the way out, they passed the shadowy figures of Muldaur, Giancarlo, and Morse, the latter illuminated by a small camp light. A spray of stars was beginning to emerge overhead in far greater numbers than Zak ever saw in the city.
The three of them traipsed down the hill silently to the bonfire, where the flames were as high as Zak’s waist. Minutes later, just as the white Expedition with its four occupants was about to launch down the hill, Scooter yelled at Nadine through the open window. “His father admitted he was hanging out with you only to see what the moneyed class was all about. Said he didn’t have any intention of ever being serious.”
Zak was shocked and mortified by Scooter’s revelation. He had said that. He’d said it to his father and to nobody else, but he’d said it before he played tennis with Nadine the first time. His attitude had changed as soon as he got to know her, and he’d totally forgotten having made the cruel and stupid remark. The fact that his father had sold him out in casual conversation was overshadowed only by the disgrace of hearing his own thoughtless words repeated.
Sitting in the front passenger’s seat, Nadine peered at Zak’s face in the darkness. “Is that true?”
And then, before he could say anything, the SUV rolled down the hill, Nadine staring out the window at Zak until they rounded the corner and the Expedition became a distant glow on the hillside.
As they all turned to go their separate ways, Jennifer gave Zak a look that told him Scooter had just made a perhaps successful effort to scuttle Zak’s chances with Nadine. To make it worse, Scooter was grinning ear-to-ear. It was the closest Zak ever came to coldcocking someone.
20
Zak laid his sleeping bag alongside Muldaur’s, the bags situated on a bed of dry pine needles they’d prepared earlier. Giancarlo was on the other side of Muldaur, and twenty feet beyond him Stephens and Morse were on top of their sleeping bags reading with small trail lamps. The bags and other nonessential gear would be cached at this campsite tomorrow while they rode, then they would sleep here again tomorrow night. The last day would be the longest, when they would finally make the final push over the mountains and all the way to Salmon La Sac while Stephens’s factotum retrieved all their gear.
Zak said, “Their fire is starting to get huge.”
“They can’t see it from the city,” said Muldaur. “We can’t see it from here, either.”
“But these woods are tinder dry. And those idiots have no idea what they’re doing.”
“I don’t think you’re giving them enough credit,” Stephens said. “They’re basically intelligent, well-intentioned kids. They’re not going to do anything too, uh, too…you know…half-baked.”
“No, it’s going to be fully baked,” said Zak. “When they set fire to this mountain, all of us are going to be fully baked.”
As if to punctuate Zak’s fears, a gunshot went off in the camp below, followed by a chorus of whooping and then the dog barking.
“That had to be a rifle,” said Giancarlo, who had hunted with his father since he was a tyke. “I’m guessing a .30-30.”
“If they don’t burn us out,” said Zak, “they’ll brain one of us with a stray bullet.”
“They’re not going to shoot anybody,” Stephens said. “I mean, certainly, if you think about it, firing a gun indiscriminately isn’t the smartest thing anybody’s ever done. But there’s some ground between us. And of course, all these rocks, too. And uh, you know—”
Another gunshot split the night, followed by gales of laughter. Since sunset when the wind had died, any little sound on the mountain traveled. “So, Zak? What’s going on with you and those people?” asked Morse. “You seemed to know them.”
When the lingering silence blossomed into something akin to embarrassment, Muldaur replied for him. “Zak dated Kasey Newcastle’s sister, Nadine, for a few months this spring and summer.”
“So that’s how you know them?” Morse persisted.
“Scooter was her boyfriend before Zak,” Muldaur added. “There might have been some animosity between Scooter and Zak.”
“You were pretty thick tonight,” said Stephens. “For two people who aren’t going out anymore.”
“Zak and I met Nadine when we rescued her from a car wreck last winter,” continued Muldaur.
“Well, that certainly sounds…,” said Stephens. “I mean, if you looked at it the right way that could certainly be kind of romantic—meeting like that. If you thought about it. And the pair of you looked, if I didn’t know better…I don’t know…You disappeared for a long time tonight. I wasn’t really sure…She certainly looks like a nice girl.”
“Yeah. I liked her,” said Giancarlo.
“You liked them all,” said Muldaur.
Giancarlo laughed. “Yeah, I did.”
“Nothing like a bunch of young women to convince you you’re getting old,” said Morse.
“I wasn’t feeling old,” said Giancarlo, who at thirty was twelve years younger than Morse. “I was feeling married.”
“So, Muldaur?” said Stephens. “The Hugh thing. I mean it was funny in a way, and I can see why you might want to, uh, do something like that, but what’s with the, you know…what’s with the Hugh stuff? I’m not saying it wasn’t funny. Because when you pull that helmet down on your head and put those glasses on…well…and those teeth…”
“And the way you talk,” said Morse, laughing.
“But the primary question, at least in my mind, and I was thinking about this almost the whole time we were down there…the primary question is…I mean…why?”
“Sometimes I just do stuff.”
The enigmatic response barred Stephens from asking more questions. Zak had known for a while there was more to Muldaur’s act than he was willing to acknowledge, even to himself. He’d used the Hugh getup at work to pester and mock the other shifts, and tonight he’d used it to do the same to Kasey and his friends. Zak figured it was a way of confronting people using a strange combination of boldness and anonymity.
As they nestled down in their sleeping bags, Morse and Stephens conversed in low tones. It wasn’t long before Zak could hear Giancarlo snoring lightly. Muldaur rolled over in his bag. “So what’s going on with you and Scooter?”
“Scooter’s the guy with the trust fund.”
“Oh, I get it. He’s rich.”
“That’s pa
rt of it.”
“Just out of curiosity, how much money does he have?”
“Not enough to take over the world but enough not to work a day in his life.”
“No wonder you hate him.”
“I hate him because he’s been stalking Nadine. And now he’s stalking me, too. We’re in this pickle because Nadine wouldn’t do anything about it when I asked her to. If she had sicced the cops on him, he’d never have shown up here.”
“Are you and Nadine getting back together?”
“I hope so.”
“You really want it to work, don’t you?”
“It took me awhile to figure it out, but she’s the woman I want helping me through the rest of my life. And the one I want to be helping.”
“It’s gotta be hard. Somebody who hates rich people as much as you, hooking up with a girl like her.”
“I don’t hate rich people.”
“Yeah, you do. She’s a nice girl and I applaud you for trying to pull it off, even if I don’t think you’ll make it. But don’t let my lousy opinion stop you. I keep thinking my folks are going to break up, and they’ve been together fifty-some years. What do I know? So how does her brother figure into the equation? You don’t get along with him, either.”
“No, but I need to get along with him if I’m going to keep seeing Nadine. As well as her father and mother.” Below, two more gunshots perforated the night. “The truth is these guys have been getting away with crap their whole lives, and because they’re wealthy, they’ve never had any repercussions. They come out in the woods; they think they can do anything. Driving the way they did today could have gotten all five of us dead.”
“Don’t blow it out of proportion,” said Stephens, who’d been eavesdropping. “They’re good people. Your friend, Kasey Newcastle? His father knows my company CEO. They’ve gone to Alaska together to fish. His family owns restaurants in ten states. He’s a Mason. I mean—they’re well connected in this region.”
“We’re not talking about his father,” said Zak. “His father’s not down there drinking beer and shooting off guns.”
“Yeah, well, they’re not shooting in this direction.”
“Why don’t you stick your head up and make sure? Those guys aren’t here by accident. They came to fuck with me.”
“Don’t be so paranoid,” said Morse. “Nobody’s here to fuck with anybody. In the morning we’ll go our separate ways, and that’ll be the end of it.”
“He’s right,” added Stephens. “I’m hearing too much negativity concerning people I consider to be friends.”
“You just met them. How could you possibly call them friends?”
“I read people pretty well. I’m…It’s part of my business. We have associates in common. They own land over on Lake Chelan near where we bought a vacation cabin. They’re good people.”
A third gunshot punctuated the quiet.
21
It was early when Kasey saw the retard heading down the mountain on his bike, helmet pulled low, the thick-lensed glasses replaced by a dark pair of sport sunglasses that, along with the cycling costume he must have borrowed from one of his caretakers, contributed to make him look nearly normal. When he spotted Kasey watching him, he became self-conscious and molded himself into an exaggerated streamlined position for descending, a pose that was comic in its ridiculousness, then locked up his rear brake a couple of times, kicking up gravel and throwing his bike to one side. How he hadn’t killed himself before now was something Kasey couldn’t understand.
For the past couple of hours he’d been dozing in a camp chair while the Finnigan brothers drank and gabbed with Scooter and Jennifer. Mouths agape, Roger and Ryan were sawing Z’s in the Land Rover.
When Kasey finally got up for a call of nature, the sky was a bright blue-gray and smudged with smoke, though the sun wouldn’t come around the mountain for some time. He’d surrounded too much beer, and, along with the heat, it had given him a headache and a general malaise.
He pissed onto a pile of rocks and then, zipping his fly, ambled along the spur road and back into camp in time to catch Scooter and Chuck walking in the direction of the road. “What’s going on?”
“Gonna fuck up fire boy,” said Scooter, who gave him a smoldering look as if the pronouncement were a challenge. Kasey had been warning him all night not to mess with the other camp. Kasey didn’t particularly like Zak Polanski, but the idea of Scooter and Chuck messing him up with all those others around as witnesses didn’t strike him as a particularly smart move, and he told them so.
“I’m just tagging along to make sure none of the others butts in,” said Chuck.
“I’m going to put a wrist hold on that fucker,” said Scooter. “Here. Give me your hand. I’ll show you.”
“Yeah, so you can break my wrist?”
“I’m just going to show you.” Kasey dutifully held out his wrist and Scooter grabbed it, but instead of shaking hands he twisted Kasey’s wrist and bent it backward, levering Kasey’s arm into an awkward position that forced him toward the ground.
“Hey! Hold up there!”
“Pretty slick, huh? I’m going to make him bow down to the master and promise to stay away from Nadine. If he struggles, he might just break his own arm. Wouldn’t you love to see him ride out of here with his arm in a sling?”
“You break his arm,” said Kasey, “I guarantee the others are not going to take it lying down.”
“That’s why I’m along,” said Chuck, slurring his words. “Plus, I’m going to keep Scooter from throwing fire dude off the bluff.”
“He’s out on the bluff?”
“He’s been out there for half an hour,” said Scooter.
“Jesus, Scooter! It’s bad enough we stayed up all night making a racket. You want to know the truth, I’m kind of embarrassed about the whole thing, especially after Nadine and her friends found us. But what if something happens and he falls off? That’s a hell of a drop.”
“If he falls, that’s his tough luck. It won’t have anything to do with me.”
“The hell it won’t.”
“Don’t worry,” said Chuck, winking at Kasey as they walked away. “I’ll make sure nothing happens.” Chuck was just burly enough to back up his words. The only man in the bike camp close to his size was that downhill racer, Giovanni or something.
“You have to stop them,” said Jennifer, approaching as the group dissolved. “Chuck? Stay out of it. I mean it.”
“Jenn, we’ll be back in five minutes, and then we’ll pack up and go home, get some air-conditioning, read the Journal.”
As he watched the two march away, Kasey felt a breeze blowing up the valley along the mountain, the warm air evaporating the saliva in his mouth. It was only seven in the morning and still shady on the western wall of the mountain, but the breeze may as well have been wafting out of an oven. Today was going to be even more miserable than yesterday. Across from him were the still-smoking remnants of the campfire. His head was throbbing, and he could tell all the beer was going to make him have to pee again.
Unexpectedly, Roger Bloomquist spoke. Until now he’d been a lump at the edge of Kasey’s peripheral vision. “Remember in fourth grade when Scooter broke that kid’s ankle practicing karate? Then he beat up Edgar in ninth grade and put him in the hospital? The dude up the hill is never going to know what hit him.”
“It’ll be okay,” said Kasey, snatching the binoculars Ryan Perry had brought along. He moved to the rocks overlooking the north face of the mountain, followed by Jennifer and Bloomquist. When he climbed onto the largest rock and lay on his belly, he could see all of the bluff that jutted out from below the cyclists’ camp about a hundred yards off.
The binoculars confirmed that the lone figure on the tip of the bluff was Polanski.
“What are you going to do from down here?” Bloomquist said. Jennifer had spread out alongside Kasey.
“I’m going to keep an eye on things.”
It was awhile before Chu
ck and Scooter showed up below the cyclists’ camp. Kasey couldn’t hear what they were saying. Scooter must have spoken, because Polanski turned around and took a couple of steps in their direction. Scooter and Chuck stepped out onto the narrow outcropping and began advancing on Zak, who had both hands out in a gesture to stop them. Kasey could see why. The drop on this side had to be a hundred feet. Judging by the way Scooter and Chuck were negotiating the first section, the outcropping was dangerously narrow.
Scooter stepped close to the cyclist, and then, where the bluff must have been wider, Chuck moved alongside. Kasey sometimes forgot how large the Finnigan brothers were, but when he saw Chuck outlined against the sky next to Scooter, it became obvious why he’d been an all-conference lineman for three years in high school and had gotten a football scholarship to Stanford.
“Get off the bluff,” Roger Bloomquist whispered. “Get off the damn bluff, you guys.”
“Like they can hear you,” said Jennifer.
“Like they would listen, if they could,” added Kasey.
22
“Hey, jerkoff.”
When Zak turned around and saw Scooter and Chuck on the slope of the mountain, he could tell from the posture of both men that this wasn’t a cordial visit. He’d been thinking about the events of last night—in particular, being called paranoid. Though he would never admit it to the others, he was a tad paranoid when it came to Scooter and Kasey, so the accusation had stung.
Zak stood up and took a couple of steps forward, realizing he was stranded on this outcropping. “What do you want?”
“I just came to apologize,” said Scooter, grinning sheepishly.
“You stay there. I’ll come over to you.”
“What the heck. We’ll come out.”
“Stay there.”
They came out anyway, Scooter looking more comfortable with the cliffs than Chuck, who had that stiff-legged gait people get when they’re nervous. Zak wondered how they’d walked through the camp undetected. Now Zak was cornered, and, if he hollered for help, the wind would blow away any words that weren’t blotted out by the Panther Creek waterfall near the camp.
