by Rex Bolt
“This is really good Chris,” Monica said. “I’m glad I tagged along.”
“Well I do give you credit in one department,” he said. “You’re good travelers. Not much whining or complaining so far. Even last night, little town in the middle of the desert, you were upbeat.”
“I forgot to ask, what’d you do last night?” Allison said.
“I went to a brothel.”
“What?” Monica said.
“Wow. What was that like?” Allison said.
“It was pretty much the stereotype you would expect.”
Monica said, “Meaning what? Come on, you have to tell us about it.”
“Everything was handled pretty professionally. You check in and they match you and farm you out.”
“And were the women attractive?” Allison said.
“I didn’t see many of them, but mine was. She was a few pounds overweight, but I tend to like that.”
“And . . . ?” Monica said.
“Well there’s a mind-body connection obviously. It took me a while to ‘relax my guard’, was the way she put it.”
“And did she orgasm?” Allison said.
“Jesus, not so loud . . . No.”
Monica said, “Can we go with you next time? Just to take a look?”
“On the way back, you want, I’ll drop you off. But I’ll wait in the parking lot.”
+++
Monday morning Christian drove around getting the lay of Pocatello. There were eight or nine health clubs, but the gym that Thad was hopefully still involved with was Boardwalk Fit on Yellowstone Avenue.
He found the place and went in. A tan guy in a polo shirt was sitting behind an oval counter, and Christian asked was there a brochure or something and the guy said by all means, right here.
He didn’t see Thad Simmons’ name but he noticed there were three locations of Boardwalk Fit, with clubs in the works for Twin Falls and Boise.
“Is this the original facility?” Christian asked the polo shirt guy.
“Yes sir,” he said. “Since 2004.”
“So you’re doing well then, expanding.”
The guy nodded. “We like to think we’ve carved a significant niche in the industry. We still have them of course, but we’ve de-emphasized the machines and weights. We’re known for heavy duty classes and personal training. Boot camp style. It’s all about the core now.”
“You owned by a corporation then, or what?”
“That’s one of the things we’re most proud of. Our boss founded Boardwalk with one room, a treadmill, a bike and a nautilus machine. He manages hands-on, and he’s not the type to sell out.”
“You have to admire that.”
“You do. Great place to work. I’m just part time, but even with me they make you feel like you're part owner of the business.”
“Really,” Christian said. “You have a one-day thing you can sell me so I can try it out?”
“On the house, I just need your X right here please,” and Christian signed 'Jerry Smith', thanked the guy and gave himself a tour. There wasn’t much to the place—no basketball or racquetball or pool, mainly just workout areas with minimal equipment where trainers could yell at you as you developed your core. There was one class in progress and it looked grim.
At the end of the hall past the men’s locker room was an office with Manager on the door. Christian opened it. A man looked up from his desk, frowning, taking off his half-frame reading glasses. There were several award-type plaques on the walls, and a nameplate on the desk read 'Thad Simmons'.
“Oops,” Christian said, “I guess this isn’t where I inquire about membership.”
“That’s all up front,” Thad said, and he put his glasses back on.
+++
Allison and Monica had discovered a microbrewery pub near the railroad tracks and they insisted Christian go with them for a little happy hour.
“Did you know that Pocatello once had the largest rail yard west of the Mississippi River?” Monica said. “We found that out today.”
Christian said, “I didn’t, but I have to admit this black stout is pretty dang good. A touch of sweetness to it. You can’t get anything like this at Weatherby’s.”
“Is Weatherby’s where you took me?” Allison said.
“Yeah.”
“How’s your friend?” she said.
“Shep, the bartender?”
“No, the one who needed to see you that night in your lobby. In the short skirt.”
“Joyce . . . She’s okay, I haven’t caught up with her in a while.”
“She was into you though, that was obvious.”
“She was?” Monica said.
“Yes, seriously. Chris, have you ever been married?”
“Once, when I was about your age. What are you twenty-one, twenty-two?”
“Gosh, you really think we’re that young?” Monica said. “We’re both twenty-four.”
“Okay then, sorry. Bottom line, it went south fast.”
“But do you still keep in touch?” Allison said.
“No. I wouldn’t even recognize her.”
“So who are you closest to in the world?”
“Man, you’re grilling me. You mean if I was in a big jam, who would I turn to?”
“Yes, who?”
“No one particularly jumps out, to be honest.”
“This is what I’m driving at. I’m sorry if I’m overstepping.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I mean, I’m having trouble getting why you would need to visit a brothel," Allison said. "Even though it is interesting to hear about.”
“Let me shift gears on you for a minute,” he said. “If I’m trying to find someone, and I’ve got a name, Jeff Jones, and I want to make sure it’s not the wrong Jeff Jones, what do I do?”
“Are they a professional?” Monica said.
“Probably be considered one, yeah.”
“Did you try Linkedin yet?”
“No.”
“It’s a giant business networking site. People list their past work experience, that sort of thing. You might be able to narrow it down.”
“We’re on there,” Allison said.
“It helps in the temp world,” Monica said.
“Okay thanks,” Christian said, and he ordered another stout and excused himself. When he came back he said, “I see they have open mics in this place. There’s a flyer posted outside the men’s room.”
“Gee. What night?” Allison said.
“Thursdays and Saturdays, if I got it right.”
“Al, that’s perfect,” Monica said. “This time Chris can even be there.”
“Will we still be here Thursday?” Allison said.
“We should, yeah,” Christian said, trying to picture things. “Probably not much beyond that though.”
“What exactly do you have to do here, anyway?” Monica said.
“A business thing I’ve been putting off.”
“That’s certainly specific.”
“See, now that’s it again, Chris,” Allison said. “You’re holding too much back, and it’s affecting your quality of life.”
+++
On Tuesday Christian sat down at a computer in the university student union and tried Thad Simmons on Linkedin. There were a few results, but one photo looked distinctly like the Thad he had walked in on so he clicked that guy. It listed him as “President of Broadway Fit, LLC”, and sure enough, boom, under “Experience” it said “Senior Account Manager, Eastern Sports Clubs, Bedford, NY, 1993-95”. It wasn’t clear how he’d ended up in this unlikely place, but he had.
Christian was twenty-one when Thad raped Bonnie. She was twenty-four. According to Bonnie, Thad was obsessed with her and had professed his love. She rejected him repeatedly until he took matters into his own hands that night when everyone else had cleared out of the office. A few employees told the police that the two had been friendly, and it quickly turned into a “she said, he said” case of roug
h sex, even though Bonnie had multiple bruises and went to the emergency room, and even though it came out two previous women had filed complaints against Thad. The young female DA handling it told Bonnie she didn’t think she could convince a jury.
Christian couldn’t find a home address for Thad, so he picked up a take-out lunch, drove to Broadway Fit and sat in the parking lot. Club members came and left over the next couple hours, and there was a black late-model Toyota Highlander in the rear of the parking lot that hadn’t moved, and time would tell if it was Thad’s. Meanwhile, he called Birgitte.
“How have you been?” she said.
“Fine, but I’m more concerned about you.”
“How nice of you to inquire. Things are good, actually.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Don’t ask me why, but Steve has been treating me famously. It’s almost as though he’s discovered a rejuvenated passion for our marriage.”
“Jeez . . . That’s amazing. I’m trying to process that one.”
“I am as well. All I know is he’s been a pleasure to be around.”
“So evidently a light bulb went on. Or something.”
“Perhaps.”
“Okay, well good luck with it then.”
“I appreciate your calling, Chris. You must know you’ve been quite beneficial to both Steve and myself.”
It was nearly 3:30 and he didn’t want to, but he figured he should call Joyce. “You answered,” he said. “That mean you’re out on bail?”
Joyce said, “Let’s can the humor, if you don’t mind. Where are you? I was in the city on Sunday and stopped over a few times, not to mention texted you.”
“I’m in the vicinity of Las Vegas . . . Listen, what else is going on? I have to get off in a second.”
“Bruce and I are history, for one thing.”
“Whoa.”
“He’s been very unpleasant recently and I finally put my foot down. I don’t know, maybe him doing the Donny thing is not that far-fetched.”
“Hard to argue with the possibility.”
“Oh, and did you see that on the news, about the guy and the dog?”
“No. What?”
“My God, the worst story. A man on Clement Street gets into it with another driver over a parking space. It escalates and he grabs the other driver’s little dog off the front seat and flings it into traffic.”
“Oh no.”
“The poor thing was still barely alive but died on the way to the vet.”
“Christ sakes.”
“Anyhow, sorry to put a damper on your Las Vegas fun. You be good.”
“Yeah, you too,” he said.
It had almost reached the torture stage when Thad came strutting out the door of the gym at 4:45 and got into the black Highlander. He turned right, continued a couple miles up Yellowstone past the Pine Ridge Mall and the 86 Interchange, and made a couple of moves that took him to the Bannock Swim and Racquet Club, where it sure looked like he wasn’t going to be in any rush. Christian called Allison.
“Don’t wait around for me to eat or anything,” he said. “I have to speak to someone who keeps postponing it. It’s going to be a while.”
“Not a problem,” she said. “It’s been a good day. I spent some time working on my songs. I can’t wait to play them for you.”
“So you’re going to do the open mic then?”
“I think. It’s a little intimidating, not being from around here. Oh, and Monica met someone.”
“Male or female?”
“A guy. He’s a graduate student at the college.”
“Good for her then.”
“The thing is, he may spend the night. In which case, would you mind if I came into your room?”
“I do mind,” he lied. “But I guess, if there’s no alternative.”
“Okay, let’s see how it plays out. Monica will appreciate you being understanding.”
Thad emerged from the Bannock Swim and Racquet Club after nearly two hours, which was infuriating. The guy didn’t even look fit, how could he justify all that time? Christian followed Thad as he jumped onto I-15, exited at the southern edge of town, passed the zoo and golf course, crossed the tracks on Cheyenne Avenue and continued into the foothills until finally a garage door opened at a house on Johnny Creek Drive and Thad disappeared into it.
Now what?
There was an area at the end of the road where it looked like people parked cars and maybe let dogs run around the hillside, so Christian waited there for a while but didn’t see one dog walker, much less Thad. Could you just ring the bell and shoot the guy when he answered?
He drove back past the house. The neighbors on Thad’s side of the road shouldn’t be a problem, since everybody’s property seemed to be a couple acres and they couldn’t see each other’s front doors. The house across from Thad did have a view of things though. He’d have to make sure nobody was home there first. If this was the right way to handle it.
He went back to the brewpub and had another one of those black stouts. Could you shoot him in the manager’s office when the polo shirt guy was busy taking a shit or something? Or could you get to him in a parking lot some place, maybe when he was loading his groceries after dark? Could you get a day pass to the Bannock club and drown him in the pool there?
No, obviously. Christian could see this wasn’t going to be easy, he’d have to follow the guy’s routine carefully and hope for an opening, and then not dilly-dally.
It was quiet at the motel with no sign of the girls. The room had basic cable, not the full shebang that everyone was used to now, and it was amazing that with sixty channels there was nothing to watch. One station was twenty-four hour LDS Church stuff, and the Mormon Tabernacle was singing out of the huge temple in Salt Lake City. It was different at least, so he left it on.
Allison knocked on the door close to midnight. “Chris, I’m not sure if I’m going to need to leave the room. Are you still good with it though if I do?”
“I can deal with it, but you’re not sure because?”
“Monica may not be that into her friend. Tim.”
“That’s surprising, she should know all about him by now.”
“Either way, can we have breakfast?”
“I can probably fit it in,” he said.
+++
Voices and laughter and banging around woke him up, coming from their room. His first thought was, this place is half empty, why was I stupid enough to get two rooms next to each other? The activity continued unabated for a couple hours until he couldn’t take it anymore, and he bundled up and went for a walk. It was five-thirty in the morning.
A block into it he decided why not walk up to Thad’s, maybe something would present itself. It was further than he thought, especially how you had to wind around in the hills after you crossed the railroad tracks, and it was after seven when he got there, though it did feel good to be getting some exercise in the crisp mountain air.
Lights were on in Thad’s kitchen and Christian could see him at the counter. He walked to the end of the road to the parking area, and when he got back Thad’s lights were off and the house seemed quiet. It appeared to be garbage day; most of the neighbors had cans and recycling containers out near the road but a few didn’t, including Thad.
Christian heard a garbage truck nearby and followed the sound. What he deduced pretty quickly was some of the residents went with the deluxe service, where the sanitation guys had to go up the driveway and get the cans out of the backyard or garage. He went back to Thad’s, walked around the side of the garage and sure enough, there was a keypad mounted inconspicuously in the back corner above the hose spigot.
During that year he’d spent in Teaneck, New Jersey, his apartment complex installed a gate, and tenants were always forgetting the code. The cops came by a couple times and one of them told him because of safety regulations you could often get in those things by punching in 911 or 1234.
This was different of course, a private setup, but C
hristian figured what the heck and picked up a twig out of Thad’s yard, tried 911 with it and nothing happened, so he tried 1234, and there was the hum of the garage door in action, and he walked down the driveway, took one look back to make sure, and began the long trek back to the motel.
25 - Road Maps
They were at Inez’s Country Kitchen, the noon-time crowd filtering in, and Allison and Monica were having bacon and eggs with sides of pancakes.
“All that activity apparently,” Christian said, sipping his coffee. “It took it out of you.”
Monica said, “Not right now, Chris, okay? We’re not feeling that great.”
“At times,” he said, “it sounded like a couple battleships pitching around on the high seas. Do you think anyone else noticed, or just me?”
No one said anything.
“The good thing though,” he said, “was it got me out early. You can’t beat going for a walk when it’s ten degrees and dark. You get perspective.”
Allison put her fork down. “I’m sorry that it played out differently than we thought,” she said.
Monica said, “Tim had a friend. Matt.”
“Good then, you resolved the uneven relationship with Tim,” Christian said.
“No, I got together with Matt. Tim and Allison hooked up.”
“Ah.”
“But Chris?” Allison said. “We’re going have to go take a nap. After that can you help me with the songs?”
“I guess if I have to . . . But one thing is you have to thin out the lyrics. You’re trying to do too much.”
+++
By Thursday he had Thad’s basic routine down and he loaded the Czechpoint and transferred it from the spare tire compartment to the glove box and covered it with a bunch of road maps. He had gone over to Hayward to buy bullets at a place Ray told him about, and he parked a few blocks away and paid cash, probably overly paranoid about the whole thing but glad now he didn’t have to screw around with finding ammunition out here.
He stopped off at City Hall and checked the land records for Thad’s property. A Marion Simmons was on title with Thad, but there hadn’t been any sign of her at the house. Hopefully they were separated and she was out of the picture, not just away for a couple days.
