Текст книги "The Call of the Mountain"

Автор книги: Sam Neumann

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

58

He dropped me at the liquor store parking lot, thankfully still dark and empty. I got out, he did not.

He rolled down the passenger-side window so we could say goodbye.

“Take care,” he said from the drivers’ seat. “Just remember what I said and you shouldn’t have trouble. Get far away. Tonight never happened.”

I nodded. “You sure you’re gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. The shirt on his arm was completely soaked in red. “Just some quick work and some stitches. Maybe even get a hot nurse. Who knows.”

“Good luck, Mike.” I tapped the door.

“That fucker came from nowhere,” he said. “Swear to God I swept the house.”

I nodded. “You need to get to the hospital.”

“Yeah.” He put the car in gear.

“Mike,” I said, “once the truth comes out, it’ll be alright.”

“Yeah. The right truth. We just need the right truths to come out, not the wrong ones. I better never see your ass again.”

The right truths. Not the wrong ones. Because even truth isn’t absolute.

I waved with two fingers, and he was gone.

59

I drove through the night, and the better part of the next day as well. I ditched my jacket and jeans and changed clothes to get rid of the blood splatters. I went east, because east was all I knew. I stopped in a motel outside of Indianapolis and slept for six hours, then continued on.

There was no hope of me reclaiming the life I’d left, nor did I want to. But the only sensible place to drive was home. I would not contact my old buddies, or my parents. I would remain isolated, at least for a time. Once things died down, once the world stopped spinning, I would make decisions again. But in the near future, I would just exist. There was cash and a credit card in my wallet. I could exist.

I traded my Explorer in for a beat up Honda Accord somewhere near Dayton, Ohio. I didn’t need the four-wheel drive anymore.

I was worried about Raphino. Worried about the repercussions he’d face from what we’d done. A warrantless home entry and two bodies. Even the best case was probably a lengthy suspension, and a black mark on the record. Loss of badge, even. Beyond that, I didn’t let myself think.

I’d keep an eye on the news, for surely there would be something. I would watch for the fate of my friend Michael Raphino. He was a good man. I hoped he could say the same about me.

I put thousands of miles behind me, and washed myself clean twice a day.

60

At a busy coffee shop in a train station somewhere just south of the Canadian border, Adeline sipped an espresso and read a magazine. She wore large, round sunglasses and a floppy sun hat. In her purse was a forged passport with the name Darlene Gor, a small switchblade knife, three credit cards registered to Ms. Gor, and fifty thousand dollars cash. It was springtime.

She had stopped looking over her shoulder a day ago. She was still cautious, and would be for some time, but the ominous worry that she was being followed had begun to fade. She could smile about things now, like she used to. She would have no problem crossing the border. At this point it was a formality.

These things put Adeline at ease. She had always been aware this might be necessary; it was part of the business. For now, she was just happy for a clean break. She would miss Colorado, but she would adapt to her new home. She did not miss Vince. The sun was shining through the windows of the café now, and the trouble seemed behind her.

A thin woman with larger sunglasses and a larger hat entered the café and approached the counter. Adeline didn’t notice. The woman ordered a black coffee and paid cash. She took a single drink, smiled at the barista, and slipped across the coffee shop to the table at which Adeline sat. Still, she was unnoticed. She set down her coffee, and sat down at the table.

“Hello,” she said cheerfully.

Adeline looked up from her magazine. Both women were silent as the café buzzed around them. Neither removed their glasses.

She recognized her immediately. Even through everything that was different—the shorter hair, the sensible clothing, the smile—she knew it was her. There was an unmistakable energy that followed her. And now, a sinking feeling.

“Adeline,” the woman said, still smiling. “How have you been?”

“I’m sorry,” Adeline said, “you must have me confused with someone else.” There was panic in her voice.

“That’s interesting,” Suzanne said. “You’re a spitting image of my friend Adeline.”

“What a coincidence,” Adeline said, and tried to go back to her magazine.

Suzanne reached over and put a hand on her arm. Adeline jumped.

“Understand I didn’t come here with the intention of hurting you,” Suzanne said quietly. “But if you don’t at least listen to me and cut the bullshit, Addie, those intentions will change. I know threats aren’t becoming of a debutante, but I’m afraid I’ve earned it, wouldn’t you say?” She pulled her hand back and smiled again.

“I have a gun,” Adeline said quietly. “In my purse.” It was a lie; it was a knife.

“And I applaud you for that. A woman should have protection traveling alone these days. Sad state of affairs if you ask me, but we’re pragmatists, aren’t we?”

“I’ll use it. Don’t think I won’t.”

Suzanne removed her sunglasses with one hand. “Addie. I’m afraid you’ve got it wrong.”

Beneath the table, with her one hand that had been hidden since she sat, she tapped the inside of Adeline’s knee with the short barrel of a revolver. She smiled when she did it.

“You know I wouldn’t come all the way up here without protection myself, don’t you? How do you think I’ve survived the last eight months?”

Adeline said nothing.

“So, to recap: your time for giving orders is over. I’m in charge now. Are we clear?”

Adeline said nothing.

“Are we clear?” Suzanne repeated.

“What do you want?”

Suzanne nodded. “Just what’s in the purse. I know how you travel.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Suzanne again tapped her knee with the revolver. “My patience is wearing thin, Addie. I’m getting that purse. How it happens is up to you.”

Adeline looked at the table. Her pride would hardly allow her to be defeated by a former underling, someone she’d discarded and then pitied. But a gun between the legs has a way of suspending pride.

She slid the purse across the table.

Suzanne nodded. “That’s my girl. But I don’t need the whole thing. You can keep the passport, under whatever bogus name you’re going by.”

Adeline eyed her.

Suzanne motioned with her hand. “Go ahead.”

Adeline slowly reached into the purse. She felt the knife and considered it, but it wouldn’t do her any good. She found the passport and lifted it out.

“Good,” Suzanne said. “And one of the credit cards. I’m not an animal, after all.” She motioned again.

Adeline found her wallet and took out a single credit card.

“The VISA,” Suzanne said. “Good choice.”

The women looked at each other from across the table. The gun didn’t move. Patrons moved and buzzed around them, oblivious to the conversation happening at the table.

“Now,” Suzanne said, “here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to take this purse, and I’m going to leave. And you’re going to get on that train and escape to wherever it is you are escaping. Nothing changes, except you’re a few dollars lighter. And when you get to where you’re going, and join whatever new cult it is you join, and fuck the boss and whatever else, then you’re just going to stay where you are. You aren’t going come looking for me—you aren’t even going to think of me. I died in the mountains, like you wanted.”

Adeline said nothing.

“And in turn, I won’t come looking for you. You have my word. And Addie, this is a deal you should take. Remember I found you here. Remember that when you get back on your feet—or, in your case, your back—and time starts to cloud your sense of judgment. Remember that when your ego starts to creep in, and you start thinking about what happened today. Remember that I found you here, and I can do it again.”

Adeline swallowed. “Go on then. Leave.”

Suzanne reached for the purse and slung it over her shoulder. She would not go quickly.

“It’s disappointing, you know,” she said. “That it’s come to this.”

Adeline looked away.

Suzanne nodded, like a question had been answered, then picked up her coffee and left the café.

61

March 2

EAGLE, Colo.—An Eagle County police officer is being investigated in the shooting deaths of two people.

Officer Michael Raphino was placed on administrative leave after he entered a home outside of Otter Ridge, Colo., and was involved in a shooting that left two dead. Raphino said he was responding to a noise complaint at the home, and entered when he heard loud fighting from inside. The two men allegedly fired their weapons at the officer, and he returned fire with his service weapon. Officer Raphino sustained non-life-threatening gunshot injuries, according to the police report.

“Right now we’re focused on gathering all the facts,” said Eagle County Police Chief Kevin Warren. “We wish Officer Raphino a speedy recovery and hope to have this sorted out soon.”

The victims were identified as Joseph Silvasky, 24, and Vincent Decierdo, 43.

62

April 13

EAGLE, Colo.—The former Eagle County police officer involved in the now famous Otter Ridge shooting that left two dead was charged yesterday with second-degree manslaughter.

Michael Raphino, 28, was relieved of his duties last week and now faces charges in both deaths. Eagle County Police Chief Kevin Warren said Raphino exhibited “complete lack of judgement” and had no legal grounds for entering the home. If convicted, he could face 15 years in prison.

Activist groups have called for criminal charges against Raphino since the shooting was first reported. Rev. Tony Dunn, of the group Coloradans for Peace, said this was the latest example of police overstepping their bounds.

“For far too long, police have been given blatantly unchecked power in the use of deadly force,” Dunn said at a rally in Denver. “This is just another example of corruption resulting in the deaths of innocent men. Two men are dead, and we have no explanation, no answers. The citizens of Colorado deserve better.”

Warren has promised a thorough review of his department’s processes regarding home entry and the use of force.

Neither of the victims had criminal records. Joseph Silvasky, 24, was a Fort Collins native who worked as a bartender in Frisco. His parents said they are “absolutely heartbroken.” High school classmates described Silvasky as “quiet” and “proud.”

Vincent Decierdo, 43, was the owner of a small electronics brokerage company in Summit County. Warren described him as a “visible, well-liked” figure in the community who was commonly involved in outreach programs.

63

There were more stories in the news. Even across the country, it was easy to follow. Another example of police abusing their power. There were funds set up for the families of the victims and fervent calls for reform. The police chief had been pressured to resign. The public wanted justice for innocent lives needlessly lost.

If only they knew.

Mike went to jail. He was found guilty on manslaughter charges and sentenced to five years. The papers said he’d serve two. The prosecutor droned on about “reigning in unchecked police power” and the “wild west culture” of western cops. The Eagle County Police Department fully supported the punishment.

Mike would spend at least two years behind bars and would never again work as a police officer. Not once throughout the questioning, trial, or sentencing, did he mention he wasn’t alone that night. Still, I expected it to come out. Through forensics or ballistics or a weak moment from the accused, I was sure for a long time that it would be revealed there was an accomplice to the crime. But Mike held fast—the one last thing that appealed to his sense of duty—and the investigators were never able to determine a fourth person was in that room.

Sometimes I thought about calling him. A visit was out of the question, but a phone call, from a burner or a payphone, to tell him thank you. That I was thinking of him, and I wouldn’t forget what he did for me. That he had done the mountains proud, for whatever it was worth coming from an eastern yank.

Maybe when he got out. Maybe I would then.

When I left New York that hot summer morning—when I started my drive that would lead me to Boulder, and then to Otter Ridge—I had visions of the grandiose. It was, I thought, a rejection of the status quo, a freedom from the chains that bound me. I was riding off into the sunset. But what I learned about sunsets is there’s a night after them, and then a day, and another night.

I left Colorado knowing I had to, but not that I wanted to. It was my home; a place I’d found not through the accident of birth, but through a genuine pull of the things that mattered. And I agreed with those things, and they agreed with me, whatever they were. I felt right there. And despite the darkness, despite the bloodshed, I know that rightness is what I want. The mountains are not responsible for the evil that happened, no more than the skin is responsible for a cut. The soul of the mountains is old, and it is understanding. The mountains will forgive me, and when they do, I will return.

I had not felt the rightness of place before my trip to Colorado, and I have not felt it since. I won’t. Even now I wake up with a longing that follows me through the day; longing for the feeling I had when I woke up in the mountains. Longing for that freedom, for that rightness, the whole day through. And when I lay myself to bed at night, I think of Suzanne, and of Damon, and of Michael Raphino. I think of these and more, and where they are and how they are, and I pray they can smile. And as I drift off to sleep, I hear a whistle in my ear, of the air through the hills, and the call of the mountain.

Sam Neumann is the author of four books, including the New York Times bestseller Memoirs of a Gas Station: A Delightfully Awkward Journey Across the Alaskan Tundra.

He lives in Boulder, Colorado, and writes about life and leisure at TheOtterLodge.com.

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