Killing Chase (23 page)
“Morning, Grizz,” I heard as
I stepped into the office of Sierra Adventures. I was looking forward to this morning’s ride. Snow made travel impossible on the steep road to our cabin. Alex and I parked our vehicles at the Echo Lake Marina and travelled to and from the cabin on snowmobiles. Before I left the cabin, the sun had broken through and burned away the last of the clouds on the short trip down, revealing a stunning, deep-blue sky with Lake Tahoe a sparkling sapphire in the distance. Starting the day with this view worked to keep me centered, and I knew I’d never tire of it, despite the circumstances of my new life.
After choosing Echo Lake, assimilation into our new lives involved finding a job. I wanted something outdoors, one that did not involve deep water. Snowmobile tour guide was a perfect fit. After the microchip was removed and my shoulder healed, the government paid for a week’s worth of snowmobile training in Durango, Colorado. By the time I applied at the numerous snowmobile tour operators in and around Tahoe, there wasn’t much I couldn’t do, including repairing one.
“Morning, Jess. You tailing my ten thirty?”
“I was, except ten thirty’s been cancelled. All this early season snow and now the wind picking up this morning has prompted NOAA to issue an avalanche warning. Underlying slab’s become too unstable on the north-facing slopes.”
“That would have been nice to know before I left the cabin,” I said as I removed my gloves and reflected on the earlier activities with Alex.
“Just found out ten minutes ago. Avalanche center plans on detonating near Devil’s Jump later this morning.”
“Have we notified our ten-thirty tour about this?”
“Why, Grizz, what a great idea. As Operations Manager, I never even thought about doing that.”
“All right, smartass. I apologize. I forget how on top of things you are.”
“Apology accepted. We should be able to run the group about two thirty.”
“Keep me posted,” I said as I turned to leave.
“Hey . . . want to go grab a little breakfast?” Jessica, or “
what’s her face
,” as Alex likes to call her, has a crush on me. I think it’s the beard that does it for her, hence my nickname. Jess was attractive in a blond-haired, hippie, granola-eating kind of way. We’d worked together for about a month now, and she was as good as anyone on her Polarcat. From what I’d learned, she’d been in Tahoe for two years and lived for the snow.
“How about a rain check? I’ve got a few errands to run.”
“Any of them start with Alex?”
“Maybe.” I turned to leave as the bell on the front door rang, and a man with thinning, sandy blond hair, wearing dark jeans and a navy parka, entered.
“Help you, sir?” Jess asked as she stood from her office cubicle.
“I wanted to sign up for a tour. Seems like a waste spending all my time in Tahoe in meetings and at the blackjack table while I’m out here for business. So much to see and do.”
“We’ve only got one group going out today, and it’s full. Got some slots open for tomorrow’s ten thirty.”
The man scratched his neck in thought. “I’ve never ridden one. Is it easy?”
“Piece of cake. And we have the best views of Tahoe,” I said.
“Any chance I could ride on one or at least sit on one? Get a feel for it? I’ve never been too adventurous, and my wife is always telling me to get out and try new things. It’s sort of my New Year’s resolution, even though we’re not quite there yet.”
“We don’t—” Jess began, before I jumped in and cut her off.
“C’mon out back with me,” I said to the man, giving Jess the
settle down
look. “We brought one down from the staging area yesterday. It was running a little ragged. Now, there’s not enough snow on the ground here at lake level to ride on, but you can sit on it and I’ll run you through the basics.”
“That’d be great. I’m William. My friends call me Billy.”
“I’m Alan, and that’s Jess,” I said shaking the man’s hand.
“Thank you, Alan. I don’t mean to take up much of your time. I just like to know what I’m getting myself into.”
Billy followed me out back, and I gave him a brief overview of how to operate the snowmobile. Turns, braking, uphill and downhill stances, riding in groups. When I finished I let him have a seat on the machine.
“Hey, Alan, would you mind taking my picture? My wife would get a kick out of seeing me on a snowmobile. She’s sleeping off a late night at Vista’s blackjack tables.”
“Yeah, sure. Not a problem.” Billy fished his phone from the pocket of his parka and handed it over.
“Just press the white button at the bottom of the screen,” he said as he posed with the goofiest of smiles.
I took the picture and handed Billy back his phone. He looked at the screen and smiled up at me.
“That’s perfect, Alan. Just perfect. I have a feeling this is gonna be one hell of an experience.”
***
After picking up some spark plugs for the infirm snowmobile, I decided to surprise Alex with a visit. The news of my former attorney’s gruesome murder brought the recent past back to the surface, and my irritability at having to hide hadn’t helped. I wanted to apologize and reassure her that I was sticking to the plan despite my feelings.
As much as I needed a job with unlimited room to roam, Alex was comfortable in a cramped, dark room, poring over security cameras and assisting in the security operations of Tahoe’s crown jewel.
The Vista Resort and Casino was the newest development on Lake Tahoe, and unlike the other casinos in Stateline, Nevada, Vista was located directly on the lakefront, just east of Elk Point. It boasted two towers, twenty stories each, with two hundred thousand square feet of gaming space and unparalleled access to Lake Tahoe, complete with its own private beach and marina. And it boasted the best breakfast sandwich known to man. The Behemoth. Alex and I made it a point to have breakfast at Mama’s once a week when our work schedules allowed us to ride in together. She would stick to the egg whites, asparagus, gruyere cheese, and roasted tomato on a fresh ciabatta roll, rolling her eyes when I placed my order. Two thick pieces of Texas toast-sized French Toast with layers of chorizo, scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon in the middle, with a side order of hot maple syrup. I could hear Alex chastising me as Gigi, Mama’s owner, put The Behemoth together in front of me.
“Your beautiful girlfriend is going to kick you to the curb if you keep eating these,” Gigi whispered as she placed it in the to-go bag.”
“Gigi, you sound like Alex. I’ve not gained a single pound since I first started eating your ‘heart attack on a plate’ last month.”
“No, but the body can only withstand all these calories for so long.”
“Okay, I’ll give Alex ‘The Behemoth’ and eat her heart-smart sandwich,” I said, eliciting a smile from Gigi.
“Good luck with that. Your lady is too smart to eat this.”
“As smart as she is, she still doesn’t know what she’s missing.” I forked over fifteen dollars to the kind and matronly Gigi, thanked her, and as I turned to leave, my eyes immediately connected, not with a person I recognized, but with a disheveled black suit that had just stepped out of Vista’s lobby elevator. A quick glance at the face confirmed my suspicions, and just like that, my past had crept back into the here and now. I turned to Gigi to buy a little time while I tried to rationalize why this man was here, instead of the millions of other fucking places he could be in the world.
“Tell you what, Gigi. Can I get an order of your mixed fruit as well? Might not be a bad idea to mix a little fruit into the diet.”
“You got it, Mr. Larsen.” What Gigi didn’t know was that her sandwich creation was my only indulgence in terms of gluttonous, gut-busting food. After ballooning to almost three hundred pounds in prison, having entered into the North Carolina Corrections System at a healthy hundred and seventy, I now ate nothing but lean meats, fruits, and veggies, save Gigi’s creation once a week. However, occupying my thoughts right now was not the thirteen-hundred-calorie breakfast sandwich in the bag, it was the man in the seventy-five-dollar suit. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the luxurious expanse of Vista’s vaulted lobby, her walls and ceilings adorned in rich woods and exposed cedar trusses, her floor, rich, cream-colored Botticino marble.
I’d not seen the man in over ten months, and I wasn’t sure if he’d been provided with a current picture of me. As far as I knew, that would have been a serious breach of WITSEC protocol. The thought that he knew where I was infuriated me. As I waited for Gigi to get the fruit, I calmed myself and glanced over my shoulder as he walked onto the casino floor without paying me any attention.
I paid Gigi for the fruit and followed the man from a distance, my blue Columbia ball cap pulled down low on my head. Then I realized I didn’t have to follow him. A simple phone call would give me a sense of where Alex and I stood. I sat down at an unoccupied slot machine and pulled out my phone and felt that everything was about to change. She answered on the second ring, a palpable tension in her voice.
“Hey, getting ready for your ride?”
“Nope. Tour this morning was cancelled. Avalanche warning. Called to let you know I’m down in the lobby and getting ready to bring you your favorite sandwich from Mama’s. See you in a few.”
“Tell . . . you . . . what,” she said, drawing the words out as if she were thinking on the fly. “Now is not a great time. We’ve got some executives in house doing a security audit and they are keeping me busy.”
“Oh, okay. Well, I’ll just come up and drop off your sandwich then. Maybe steal a quick kiss. No big deal.”
“Alan, it’s a little crazy up here.”
Oh, I’ll bet.
“How ’bout I come down real quick. I could use a bit of fresh air.”
“You just said you were slammed. Where’s the cool and calm Alex Larsen I know and love?”
“She will be back this evening, I promise.”
“Okay, I’ll be in the Alex and Alan booth at Mama’s. See you in five.” I retraced my route and sat down in Mama’s back booth. The breakfast crowd was long gone, and Gigi was nowhere to be seen. Alex arrived shortly from her office overlooking the casino floor, and flashed me a hurried smile as she slid in across from me.
“That busy, huh?” I began.
“You could say that. Audits by their very nature are supposed to be a surprise. They’ve brought in an outside company to look at everything. So, what have you been up to since your tour was cancelled? ‘What’s her face’ want to go on a couples ride?”
“Jess did ask if I wanted to get some breakfast, but I told her I was coming to see you instead. Then, before I could leave, we had a walk-in. Billy . . . didn’t get his last name. On business and staying here at the Vista this week with his wife. Nice guy. Wanted a little advance information on how to ride a snowmobile, so I took him out back and showed him the basics on a bum one we brought down yesterday. Took his picture, and then I skedaddled over here as fast as I could.”
“Speaking of skedaddling,” she began, “I need to get back. Thanks for the sandwich. I’ll see you this evening.” She exited the booth, grabbed the sandwich from the table, and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. I wondered if that would be the last time we’d ever touch. Her scent lingered after she turned to leave, memories of our shower romp still fresh in my mind, and I almost kept my mouth shut.
“Hey, Alex,” I said to her back, “give Schmidt my regards when you get back upstairs.”
Ben Muse is a lifetime Georgia native. He was born in Atlanta and now calls Acworth home. He resides there with his wife, children’s book author Angela Muse, and their two children, Tyler and Caitlin.
He can’t paint, sing, sculpt, or play a musical instrument, so he’s decided to write. His hobbies include golf (terrible), traveling (hates to fly), obstacle racing (ugh!) and vacuuming (excels here) and he writes whenever he can: mornings between answering phones, in carpool waiting to pick up kids, and late at night when no one’s a stirrin. When he writes, one question is always on his mind: Is this book a good investment of the reader’s time?
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