Chapter 11

Pump rose from his short nap and paced his room taking an occasional gulp of beer and glancing at his packed duffel bag.  He checked his cell phone.  No messages.  He thumbed through the local phone directory, spotting the listing.  He punched out the number.  “What time’s the bus leave for LA tomorrow?…Morning, right?  Seats left?…  Good.  One.  9 AM.  …Yeah, just one.  Edward Janz.”  He started to hang up, then caught himself.  “Hey…got two seats? Yeah…I might have another with me.  Yeah.  Reserve two under my name…just in case.  Thanks.”  He hung up, then looked up another number in the directory and dialed.  “Yeah… Jared Kurzen.  Still registered?…Good.  Could you ring him?  Thanks.   No answer?  He’s had enough rest.  Keep ringing.  Thanks.”

***     

“Five in the corner pocket,” said Pump. 

Jared stood chalking his own cue-stick, smiling.  “Maybe in your sleep.”

The third player, a local, Harry Denkin, grinned as well, giving Jared a friendly elbow.  “Got that right.”

Pump straightened up and eyed the two players.  “You guys want to make fun or put some money up?”

Jared eyed Harry.  They both nodded.  “How much?” asked Harry.

“Couple of bucks,” said Pump.  “Don’t want to hurt you guys.”

“Make it ten.  Ten bucks says you’ll scratch,” said Jared.  He blew chalk dust off his tip and grinned.

Pump eyed the five ball again, then let his eyes drift to back behind his cue ball to the three ball.  “Okay.  You fellas want to play chicken, okay.  Make it twenty and you can watch the three ball drop too.”

“Each?” questioned Harry.

“Yes, Harry.  You in?”

Harry looked again at the balls.  Pump had just split them up and the spread was wide.  “Getting a clear bank off the corner, nailing the five and then back to the other end for the three…English and a half.  Not possible,” he whispered to Jared.  Winking at Pump, he said, “Sure.  I’m in.”

Pump looked to Jared and playfully said, “You…city boy.  Got enough for your bus ticket and such a large bet?”

Two twenties dropped on the bumper.  Pump placed a chalk square on them and gave Jared a sarcastic gesture of go for it.

Pump leaned over the table, cradled the cue in his prosthetic hand, reached out with his left and wrapped the index finger over the top, took a couple of slides, then…tap!  The English on the cue ball did a whirly spin, brushed the five into the corner pocket, slid off the corner bumper and headed back for the three. 

Jared and Harry leaned in.  “No way,” said Harry.

A grin enveloped Jared’s face just as the cue touched the five, sending it creeping toward the opposite corner pocket.  As it barely went over the edge, Jared shook his head.  “Unbelievable.”

Pump straightened up, fingered the two twenties into his jeans, and re-chalked his cue with his plastic hand.  “Gotta have one of these to do a shot like that,” he said with a wink. 

An hour later, Pump had not only spent the forty he won, but was into another twenty buying drinks for Jared and the rest of the bar’s clientele of four ancient looking Navajos.  Sitting at a darkened corner table, he poured another beer from the pitcher.  He looked up at Jared, who was nursing a cup of coffee.  “You ask a lot of questions, Jared.  Especially for a teetotaler.”

“Meaning, you don’t want to answer?”

“Jared, look, you’re a nice guy.  We’re both headin’ back to LA tomorrow.  Me to hop a plane to Maryland.  You a plane to New York.  You’ve taken on a treasure hunt that may turn out to be a bust, especially when all you’ve got to go on are a bunch of safety deposit keys and notes telling you where to go, so…”

“C’mon, Pump.  Just answer the question.  Would you do what I’m doing, or am I nuts to be…?”

“Like I said, notes telling you where to go isn’t some haphazard plaything for this father of yours.  At least that’s my impression from what you’ve told me so far of LA and Idaho.  He’s got something…something he wants to share with you.  Might be a drip at a time, but that spigot’s liable to open any time and spill out…God knows what.  Me?  Would I do it?  Hell no, ‘cause I’m not you.  This is obviously personal, Jared.  Very personal.”

“So?”

“What?”

“Would you come with me?  I mean, if you could, would you come with me?  Be a kinda, I don’t know, kinda like…”

Pump motioned the bar tender to bring more coffee for Jared.  “Kinda like being a friend?”

“Yeah.  Shit…Up ’til now, kinda simple.  But…who knows what I’m gonna run into next.  His last note said take in Pakwa, then head to this bank in New York.  God knows where that next note is going to send me.”

Pump held up his hand.  “I’m due at Bethesda in three days to pick up the high-tech replacement.  Been waiting three months for this day.”

“I know.  You told me on the bus.  I was thinkin’ maybe you could round-trip it back to LA by way of New York after.  We could…”

“Hang out?”

“Yeah.  It’s not that far from Maryland.  It’s close.”

“Yeah.  It is.”

“So?”

***

Charles stepped up to the Zermatt hotel desk and dropped his key in the slot.  “Excuse me,” he said, addressing the desk clerk as he lifted a folded notepaper from his pocket.  “But do you know if “The Axe” is still in existence?”

The desk clerk lifted his brow and smiled.  “The Axe?  What would climbers do if they didn’t have the Axe?  Of course, sir.  New management, but still open after 30 years.”

“Thank you.  Just up the block, I believe, correct?”

“Yes, sir.  It’s tucked away a bit, sort of in an alleyway, but there’s an ice axe sign you can’t miss.”

“Thank you.”  Charles tucked the paper in the pocket of his custom tweed jacket, fingered the open collar of his suede leather shirt—made a habitual last-minute grooming check when stepping out into the public—and proceeded through the antique double doors to the street.  His mind was immediately strategizing.  Getting information about Sam’s disappearance that no one else had been successful with thus far, including the elite Interpol, wouldn’t be easy.  Because one of the last places any witnesses saw Sam was at “The Axe,” he deemed that the most likely place to start turning over some rocks—especially with the cocktail hour looming.