I nodded along. “Yes. Of course.”

He nodded too. We both nodded together. Two familiar souls, nodding, understanding one another.

“Our last real conversation was about repairing trust,” Vince said. “Do you remember this conversation?”

“I do.”

“And since that time, would you say the level of trust between us has improved?”

I nodded again. “I would. I would definitely say that.” My pulse slowed and my armpits stopped sweating. When I wasn’t wracked with anxiety, I could play the game.

He nodded. “I would agree.”

My pulse slowed more.

My work was impressive, he said, and he was happy with where the trust level was. Trust was important.

“There may even be some in our organization who aren’t so trustworthy,” he said.

“You think?”

He nodded. “I’m afraid so. To be dealt with when the time is right. But the important thing is we put those who are trustworthy into positions of power. You know what? Perhaps I will take you up on that cup of coffee.”

I started a pot brewing and sat back down.

“So,” I said, “trust.”

“Yes. Our mission was to repair trust between us. I would say that mission is complete. Now, it’s time to put your skills to better use.”

“What do you have in mind?”

He scooted the chair closer. “I need an assistant.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Someone I can trust. As you know very well, our business growth has slowed recently. This needs to change. A stagnant business is a dying business.”

“I see.”

“Your intellect makes you valuable. I believe you could see things from a different angle than I. It could help the business. It could help us find where the leaks are.”

He stood up and walked toward the window, running his fingers between the cheap blinds.

“The leaks,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, quieter now. “There are leaks. There are always leaks. But when the leaks become bad enough, they need to be plugged.”

There was power in his voice, and control. These things were always present. But for the first time, I heard a hint of desperation.

“I’d love to help you,” I said. “It would be my pleasure.”

He turned to me and smiled. “Excellent. I knew you’d come around. I knew you would, when you saw the truth. We’re just a simple business, like any other.”

He let out a burst of laughter, and I joined him. We laughed together; the man in charge and his newly minted assistant. I got up and poured us coffee.

“It’s important what we’re doing, Julian. We’re supporting a community here. We’re allowing people to live their lives in freedom. We’re providing for many. We’ve created a community free of oppression. I hope you’ve seen that.”

“I have,” I said.

“And Julian,” he said, “there’s been no decision made on my successor.”

“Successor?”

“Yes. Someday I’ll retire. This line of work puts stress on a man, and someday I’ll want to hang it up. Slow things down. Reap the rewards of a life well lived. And when that happens, someone will take over. Someone who can be trusted with the business. Do you understand what I’m saying, Julian?”

“Yes,” I said. “Most definitely, I do.”

We drank coffee and discussed logistics. I would work more, but receive a twenty-five percent raise to start. I would be considered for profit-sharing. There were company cars. He had thought this over.

Vince left politely and told me to report Monday. Someone else would take over financials. He would begin briefing me on logistics. An hour after his exit, my heart slowed to normal.

I left my apartment that evening and walked to town. I needed fresh air. It was cold; the temperature topped out at nineteen degrees that day, and dropped as the sun did. I wore a wool hat and gloves.

For the better part of six months, my mind had rambled. Through the mountains, the people of Otter Ridge, Vince’s business. Rambling, always. Hazy bars and singing and piano playing. Guitar. The mountain chateau. Random cars and Grand Junction. Pot smoke and bricks of heroin. Brown heroin, under electronics. Strange, twitchy men at the drop point. Disappearances.

My mind had wandered through them all since I’d arrived in Otter Ridge, sometimes obsessively. I was tired. I walked along the path by the lake, half-covered in snow and totally deserted. Yellow lights came on in houses nearby and chimneys billowed smoke. Winter was inside season. The cold nipped my fingertips, told me to go home. But here, alone at sunset by the frozen lake, the cold felt good. I could feel each breath moving though my lungs. Crisp, clean. I could see my exhales. The cold drove others away, and left me alone. The cold was my friend.

The stillness of a winter night gave my mind the rest it needed. It temporarily stopped wandering. My feet moved but my thoughts did not; just simple, blissful stillness. It was stillness that comforted me, that told me it would be okay, like a mother to a child. It told me to keep going. There, by the lake as the sun went down and the lights went on, I felt that an end was near, and that feeling gave me relief.

I walked along the lake path facing north. Ahead to my left were the shops of downtown; some bustling with laughter and music, others closed for the day. To my right was the lake, covered in ice and snow. Past that were houses; some modest and some extravagant, all glowing in some way. Past the houses were trees, past the trees were the mountaintops, and past the mountaintops was everything else. He was out there somewhere. Korman. He was out there; perhaps hundreds of miles away, or perhaps right here in my midst. He was moving, taking care, and slipping between the shadows. He was working, and for that I was grateful. I hoped he was here. I hoped he was watching me now.

He’ll have answers, I told myself. He’ll have answers.

49

Dallas Korman sat in a booth with a hamburger, fries, and a half pint of Guinness in front of him. He wore a weathered gray utility shirt and jeans. His hair was light brown, his face obscured by a beard. It was how I’d pictured him. He saw me immediately and casually waved me over.

I did a quick scan of the room and walked toward him. It was busier than Earl’s, but not by much. Korman was the only one in that particular section. I slid across from him and shook his hand.

“Pleasure,” he said.

“Likewise,” I said, my voice hushed.

“Don’t need to whisper,” he said. “They can’t hear shit back here. Acoustics shoot the noise that way.” He stuck a thumb over his shoulder. “Don’t yell or anything, but don’t need to whisper.”

I looked around and saw the booths next to us were empty. “Okay,” I said.

Korman tore into the burger with one hand, taking down a quarter of it in a single bite. “You hungry?” he asked with a full mouth.

“No, thanks.”

He shook his head. “I’m starvin’. Been eatin’ like crazy since I’ve been up here. Must be the elevation or somethin’.” He took another bite and half the burger was gone. “You least want a beer?”

The waitress appeared and I ordered a coke. I wanted to stay sharp. Korman shrugged and stuffed a handful of fries in his mouth.

“So,” I said, drumming my fingers on the table, “where are we with everything?”

He held up a palm and finished his bite. “You know, I’m trying to be more polite. Doc says it’s good for the blood pressure. So, first, tell me something about you.”

I stared at him, unsure if he was serious.

“Come on,” he motioned with his hands, “I’m not fuckin’ around. Tell me anything. One thing about you.”

“Well,” I said, “I’m divorced.” It was close enough to the truth.

“Me too. Twice.” He nodded and stuffed a few more fries in his mouth. “This is good. We’re building rapport, you and I.”