Текст книги "The Call of the Mountain"

Автор книги: Sam Neumann

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

21

The morning after my first run was calm. The sun crept in my open window at 7:30 and woke me from sleep. I rolled over and threw the blanket off. The cool mountain air filled my apartment and touched my skin, clean, and crisp. This was the renewal of morning, when the sun and the air moved in and washed away the darkness of night. Once again, today erased yesterday, and this would always be. The thought was comforting.

I walked to the front door and opened it, revealing the outer screen door. On my phone was a text message, from an unknown number, sent at 3:55 a.m.

Envelope: between screen and main door.

Sure enough, taped to the bottom wooden slat of the inside of the screen door, was a sealed envelope with my name on it. I peeked my head out to see if any of my neighbors were outside this morning, and as usual they were not. I had only seen a handful in the time I’d been there, and we exchanged nothing more than a polite nod. I pulled the envelope off the door and took it inside, where I opened it to find five one hundred-dollar bills.

Sitting on my bed, I looked down at the money in my hand. The entire run the previous night had taken six hours. It was a decent hourly wage.

Holding the money that morning, I again felt the power that came along with it, even in such a nominal amount. The truth was, there was little difference between my days as an analyst at Wilson Keen and the drive I’d done last evening; each was a lucrative realm I’d entered for purely financial reasons, with the penchant to pay more than one man should realistically earn for such tasks. Each allowed me a shortcut, a way to skip the hard part. It was only five hundred now, but it would quickly double and triple, and as weeks passed it would multiply enough that I would lose count.

I thought back to last night and remembered my anxiety about the job. Eyes darting between the speedometer and road. The way my hands sweat on the steering wheel. It seemed silly now, in the light of a new day, that I’d put myself so far on edge about a simple drive. So what if I didn’t know every last thing about the operation? Employees rarely did.

The drive back had been straightforward. As Damon had said, mostly retracing the path back to the Otter Ridge valley. Ten miles west there was a turn off that took me up into the hills, and I followed a winding road for thirty minutes. The GPS led me down a driveway to a small residential property with a cabin and a pole shed, where I got out of the car, leaving the keys in, like I was told. A nondescript young blonde man greeted me and drove me back to my apartment in silence. I arrived on my front porch, partially confused and amazed how easy it had been.

Now, I held the money and felt its power. It was less money, but it was easier than it had ever been on Wall Street. Far easier. There was no next run scheduled yet, it would come. Even if it wasn’t for a few days—hell, a week—I’d be fine.

That evening, Suzanne and I went to dinner. Sushi, her idea. We sat at a small two-top in the corner, ordered four rolls and sake, and she asked me questions.

“How was your first evening on the job?”

“How’d you know?” I asked.

“Please,” she said. “We’re a family here.”

“Huh.”

“It’s not a bad thing. You shouldn’t see it as a bad thing. It’s a community. Family.”

“Just different from what I’m used to.”

“Isn’t everything?”

I took a drink of sake out of the tiny ceramic cup. It was warm and sweet. “The first day was good. First night, I guess. It was good.”

“Wonderful,” she said with a smile.

“I just wonder how much…I guess I thought there would be more to it. It was so easy.”

She shrugged. “That’s what a lot of the guys say at first. I’m not sure what they expect.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. It was just driving.”

“Did you feel unchallenged?”

“No. I wouldn’t say it was that. I don’t know. I got paid already. In cash.”

She nodded. “That’s how Vince works. He’s very mindful to take care of his employees. He appreciates what you all do.”

I smiled and wondered silently about the next run. She held my hand on top of the table and told me about her life—her latest painting, an abstract blue whale, wasn’t coming together how she’d hoped. She sang at McNeil’s last night, and two Loretta Lynn renditions were crowd pleasers. I did love the way she sang.

We drank sake and ate, and she told me about painting and singing, and we did not discuss the runs anymore. Then she told me about Friday.

“It happens every year,” she said, “to celebrate the end of summer.”

“Summer’s ending?”

She nodded. “Officially, yes. In the mountains, summer lasts only from June to July.”

“That seems unbalanced.”

“The mountains are unbalanced. You will learn this.”

“When does it get cold?”

She shrugged. “Could snow in August. Could wait until December. It’s not wise to try to predict. But what matters, right now, Julian, is Friday.”

“What did you call it?”

“The Ball.”

“The Ball.”

“Yes, the Ball. It’s the second biggest event of the year, bigger than all the soirees. It’s imperative we attend.”

I hesitated. “I don’t know my schedule yet. I might have a run Friday.”

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do. Vince will not do runs during the Ball. He wants everyone there.”

I shrugged. “What do I need to do?”

“Nothing extreme. Do you have a suit?”

I laughed out loud. For almost a decade, I wore a suit everyday. My closet was filled with tailored coats and pants; high-dollar wool and imported silk. Two racks of hundred-dollar ties. Cuff links, watches, and vests. I’d left almost all of it behind, but the thought of this woman asking me, now, in all sincerity, if I owned a suit, for some reason struck me as funny. I’d owned more suits than most of these people had seen in stores.

On that hot summer morning I’d started my drive, I took one suit with me. My favorite navy blue ensemble, always hung at the end of the closet, with matching shirt and tie. I stuffed it hastily in that oversized duffel bag with the other essential items, something frowned upon in any formal circle for a garment of its quality, but I didn’t care. Now it was hung in my tiny apartment closet, still wrinkled and dirty, but one trip to the cleaner would bring it back to life.

“What’s funny?” she asked.

“Nothing. Yes, I have a suit.”

“Most excellent. Then we are set. You need nothing more than to attend, as my companion. We will attend, and we will be fabulous.”

22

She was right, as she always was. There was no run on Friday, or Thursday, for that matter, but I was assured the work would ramp up next week. Everything was relayed through Damon, who had become my main contact and de facto mentor for the job. On Friday, he said, we were to focus on the Ball.

A formal invitation came on Thursday, taped to my screen door just like the envelope of cash. It was printed on fancy stationary, like a wedding invite. It had details of the event, but Suzanne had already filled me in.

“We’ll arrive at eight for cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. We need not bring a gift. The music starts in earnest at nine, and all else follows accordingly.

“It’s like a normal party in a lot of ways. But it’s different. It’s very different.”

When we showed up to Vince’s mountain home, cars were already lining the driveway. My suit was freshly pressed, hugging my body the way it had for so many years. There was something oddly surreal about wearing that suit, here, in the mountains of Colorado. Like when you run into a friend from high school years later in a town hundreds of miles away. I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror before getting out of the car, and what I saw was the old me. The New York me, the corporate me, the married me. He looked out of place here, and he felt it, too. I loosened the tie just slightly, enough to breathe better but not enough for anyone to notice, and remembered again that that person was gone. I had seen a ghost in that mirror.

Suzanne was, as predicted, fabulous. She wore a long yellow dress and held the bottom as we walked over bare ground. Her red hair was piled high on her head almost professionally, and her makeup was heavier than normal, accentuating her eyes and cheekbones. The familiar gold locket hung around her neck. It was during moments like this that I began to question my reservations about her. Maybe, I thought, it was silly to keep her at arms length, when our companionship was so effortless. Her oddness was ever present, but it intrigued me, and its novelty had not yet worn off. She wasn’t a knockout, but she was pretty enough, and in times like this, when she put herself together and presented the whole package, she could compete with most.

She took my hand and we walked to the front door, where we were greeted by the host, Vincent Decierdo. It was the first time I’d seen him since becoming his employee.

“Well,” he said with a handshake and a warm smile, “if it isn’t the royal couple of the mountains.” His burly hand engulfed mine, and I was reminded of how physically large he was.

“You hush now,” Suzanne said, and leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. The three of us shared a laugh.

Vince’s home was lavishly decorated with elegant hanging lights, art on the walls, and a small chandelier suspended from the ceiling. The couches had been moved out and replaced with modern square furniture; black and white footstools and ottomans and small loveseats. There was a large area cleared in the center for a dance floor. At the far end of the room was a wooden bar, and behind it stood a man with a vest and slick black hair. The home had been transformed from subculture haven to luxurious banquet hall.

“You’ve outdone yourself this time,” Suzanne told him as we entered the room. A dozen people milled about and held drinks, all dressed for a formal affair. Dark suits and tuxes. Neck ties and bowties. Cocktail dresses and legs.

“My dear, may I have a minute with sir Julian?” Vince asked. He wore a deep green smoking jacket. “Perhaps you could get us a round from the bar.”

“My pleasure,” she said, and walked off.

Vince watched her for a moment, then turned his attention to me. His face was straight, somber, but in good spirits.

“Good work so far,” he said.

“Thank you. It was just one night.”

“Yes, a trial run. But you passed. You’re in.”

I nodded. A trial run. This was news to me. “Great.”

“Were you nervous?”

“Nervous? No.”

“Julian,” he said, cocking his head to one side, “remember, you’re not the first person I’ve trained.”

I paused. “Alright, maybe a little.”

He let out a belly laugh. “Very good. That’s normal. Don’t worry, it’ll get easier. Now, enough business. We’re here to have a good time.”

Suzanne approached, holding three glasses in front of her. Her long dress drug across the floor, leaving a virtual wake.

“Vodka for me, scotch for the gentlemen,” she said, and handed me a short glass of caramel liquor. I thanked her and eyed the glass. Straight booze, no ice. Vince raised his glass, and Suzanne and I followed suit.

“To good friends, community, and the conclusion of another summer,” he said, and we all drank. The scotch burned my throat, reminiscent of the grain alcohol I’d chugged in college. I tried not to make a face, given it was supposed to be a delicacy or something.

More guests arrived and Vince went to greet them. A waiter in black appeared beside me and offered prosciutto and toast from a platter. I felt a hand on my back, and turned to see Damon; big, toothy grin on his face, adorned in a white suit. He gave me a handshake and a hug, like old friends. He hugged Suzanne, and introduced the woman standing behind him.

“This is Laura,” he said, and she stepped forward to shake hands. A little thing, not much taller than five feet, and she wore an aqua dress and white scarf. I said hello, thrilled to meet someone else new to this group.

Suzanne stuck out a dainty hand and shook Laura’s. “Charmed,” she said.

Music started, 1950’s old school swing bands. I sipped the scotch and talked with Damon. He was interested in my time in the mountains so far; how my apartment was, where I’d explored. He’d been there three years, he said, originally from Arizona, and didn’t plan on leaving.

More drinks were served and the women talked amongst themselves. I greeted other familiar faces—the guitar players from the first night, a quiet couple from McNeil’s. The music seemed to get louder. I looked up and the room was full. There must have been fifty people in that living room, transformed into a ballroom, everyone and everything dressed to the nines.

Suzanne took my arm and led me toward the bar.

“I need a drink,” she said.

“You have one.”

“I need another.”

The bartender poured a vodka for her and a scotch for me, and nudged them our way. Suzanne downed half of hers in front of the bar.

“You alright?” I asked.

“He should know better than that. He does know better.”

I looked around. “Who?”

She shook her head and took my arm again, leading me around the perimeter of the room. “Damon. That woman he brought. She’s an outsider. She’s not one of us.”

“Does that…matter?”

She was speaking in hushed tones. “Yes. In a way, it does. It’s in poor form, and he knows that.”

“She seemed nice.”

“That’s not the point, Julian.”

I looked around the room. “So all these people are on some sort of approved list?”

“Not all things can be simplified into one sentence, as you often try.”

I shrugged. “Okay. But, wasn’t it about a month ago when I was an outsider?”

“It’s different,” she said. “It’s not the same thing, to enter our circle as you did, as to show up at the Ball unannounced.”

I took a drink. “Okay then.”

The lights had dimmed and the music slowed, and from the crowd emerged a woman. She was tall, tan, and, blonde, and she walked toward us. We made eye contact, I think, but that was incidental. Her loose curls fell down to her mid-back, a tangled web of highlights and lowlights and midtones. A gray dress stopped at her knees, displaying her legs. The woman’s heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she walked.

She walked and walked until she finally reached where we stood. And she and Suzanne embraced.

“So wonderful to see you,” Suzanne said, smiling broadly.

“Pleasure’s mine, girl,” the woman said.

“It’s been weeks.”

“You know how it is,” the woman said. Her voice was deep, a touch husky. It had command. “Sometimes business calls.”

“Adeline,” Suzanne said, “this is Julian.”

She turned to me and extended a hand. Her fingers were long, like the rest of her, and her nails were painted deep red.

“Julian,” she said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so much.”

I shook her hand. Our eyes met and stayed for a moment, looking. Looking. Her eyes were where it all came together. They were blue or green or maybe hazel; I don’t remember. The color didn’t matter.

I released her hand because I had to. I could smell her perfume. She fell back and said something to Suzanne. Her eyes were captivating—dark, light, then dark again.

I heard Suzanne’s voice. It sounded like I was under water.

“Julian?” she said for the second time.

“Yeah?”

“I said Adeline is Vince’s partner.”

“Partner?” I asked, still stuck between water and land. “Like, business partner?”

They both laughed. “I’m Vince’s girlfriend,” Adeline said, in that voice, with those eyes. She had to be nearly six feet tall.

“Julian occasionally likes things to be said in common vernacular,” Suzanne said, rolling her eyes.

Adeline laughed again, but it was a kind laugh. Polite. She looked at me again. Stop, I said to myself. Stop looking at me.

23

There were four runs the next week, each just as easy as the first. A drive to Grand Junction with Damon, then picking up a vehicle and driving it back. Sedans each time. Money was always delivered in an envelope the next morning. With every run, the nerves died down, and in the place of nerves grew curiosity.

That night at the Ball, we partied until dawn and slept again in the last bedroom in Vince’s hallway. My thoughts stayed with Adeline. For the entirety of the night, from when I met her until Suzanne crawled on top of me in bed, I thought of Adeline. I followed her eyes across the room all night, until I got too drunk to follow. Our interaction was short, but it was enough. When I looked at her, when I smelled her, when I heard her speak, my mind wandered.

She was Vince’s girl, which meant she was untouchable. Furthermore, I had been slotted as one half of a couple already, and whether it was my doing or not, that’s how we were thought of. The “royal couple,” as Vince said, and while I wasn’t sure what that meant, clearly we were considered an item. I didn’t particularly like it; I wanted to be able to control the perceptions of my relationships. To decide when I was part of a couple or a relationship, or something different, or nothing. But terms were defined by others, and that was the way it was.

I hadn’t spoken with Megan in nearly a month. At first, I’d thought of her numerous times a day, hoping she was all right, wishing I could check up on her, hating myself for hurting her. Now, days passed when I forgot she existed. I told myself she would contact me if she needed money. I told myself she would be fine. She had a Brent or another guy, and fuck that guy. The only times I was reminded of the love we had shared were when I thought of her with another man and the anger bubbled up inside of me. Brent. Fuck her for whatever relationship they had had, and fuck him for existing. In thinking of Megan, I was always led back to finding the two of them in my apartment that afternoon, and this temporarily allowed me to believe I was not the worse of the two of us.

Adeline. I saw her face when I woke up the morning after the party, and every morning thereafter. I wondered where she’d been up to that point. Why she seemed to materialize from nothing. I thought of her with a curious reverence reserved only for those we know nothing about. She was Vince’s girl, and she was untouchable. Anyone’s girl should have been untouchable. That was how it was supposed to work. But there were rules, and rules could be bent, and often times even the thought of bending those rules could be enough. Just thinking about it would do the trick. But with Vince’s girl, even thinking about bending the rules was crossing the line.

Suzanne held my arm tighter, slept closer. She showed up at my apartment more often. These things were becoming problematic. I wondered, on more than one occasion, if it was me she was infatuated with, or just what I represented. A new man, fresh blood, rolling in to town from the east coast and mostly clueless. Someone she could convert, someone she could shape. Someone tall and dark, who knew how to comb his hair and cut a cigar. Someone different. Someone.

On the fifth run, I began asking questions.

“Why do we always do these at night?” I asked Damon from the passenger seat of another mystery vehicle, pointed west toward Grand Junction.

He shrugged. “Always been that way. Something about the timing of the deliveries, probably.”

I scratched my chin. “But who would need something delivered in the middle of the night?”

“No clue.”

“And you don’t wonder?”

“Used to. But I learned a long time ago not to ask questions.”

“Why not?”

“Why not ask questions?” He looked my direction.

“Yeah.”

He looked back at the road. “Just doesn’t get you anywhere. Guys start asking questions, they get booted. Vince doesn’t particularly like it.”

“Yeah, but why? What’s so bad about knowing what you’re hauling?”

“See, this is what I’m talking about,” he said. “It never goes anywhere good from here. Way I see it, it’s his choice to run his business how he wants.”

I nodded. It never goes anywhere good from here. He didn’t know anything.

We parted ways in that industrial parking lot and, as always, stepped into separate vehicles. Mine this time was a Chrysler sedan. I turned on the lights and the engine and watched Damon drive down the road and disappear into the night.

The plan, initially, was to do the run. Business as usual. That was my plan, because that’s what I’d always done, and that’s what I’d been told to do. But somewhere along I-70, the plan changed, and that’s what got me in trouble.

I drove west along the interstate and the questions ruminated in my mind. All kinds of questions; long ones, short ones, the ones I’d asked Damon and the ones I’d omitted. I’d made a few thousand dollars cash, and initially the payment dampened the questions. The light of day dampened them. But now, in this car, in the black of night, the questions were forcing themselves out.