Cold Snap (32 page)

"Have you ruined my dinner?"

"I'm digesting very nicely," Ari said
reassuringly.

"That isn't what I mean, Monsieur."

"The evening is a resounding success. I hope
to have many more like it."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"Here he comes, Pastor Grainger!" Ben Torson
called out as Ari stepped from his car at the Reedy Creek entrance
of James River Park. A group of about thirty men and women were
warming up under the trees, their stretching exercises making them
look like members of a corps de ballet. A few wore sweatshirts
emblazoned with the Methodist Church cross, but most were tagged
out in logo-free jogging outfits that ranged from the dowdy to the
gaudy.

"You sure you're ready for this?" Ben asked
as he stepped up to shake Ari's hand. His concern was founded on
Ari's bleary eyes and slightly wobbly demeanor.

"I'm fine," Ari lied. "A difficult night's
sleep, that's all."

In fact, he had spent the previous evening
chugging Jack Daniels as he reviewed the latest images of Iraq sent
to him by CENTCOM and affiliates. Ari was not prejudiced against
moral courage from a bottle. If he had had any sense, he would have
kept drinking until he passed out.

"It's only a nine-mile run today," Ben
continued, "but it's over rough terrain."

"I must have misunderstood," said Ari,
studying the bucolic setting. "I was thinking..."

He had been thinking of the running track at
Baghdad University, now a cracked, weedy quarter mile of tarmac.
Even now, with sectarian gunshots ranging all around them, Olympic
hopefuls trained there. Ari jogged frequently, but he stuck to side
roads and well-worn trails--nothing like what Ben was hinting
at.

Grainger bounced up to them, looking fit and
trim. Of medium height and build, he moved with the quickness of a
smaller man. He was alert and cheerful, his breath shooting out
like blasts from a SAW.

"I'm glad to see you, Ari, but I'll admit to
being surprised. What in the world could you be paying Ben back
for? He told you this was the advanced trail, didn't he?" He gave
Ben an arch look.

"Sure I did," said Ben, who then paused and
frowned. "Didn't I?"

"Ben performed an inestimable service for
me." Ari thumped his chest. "I am prepared to stay the course." He
coughed.

"I see..." said the pastor doubtfully. "Well,
it's obvious you two want to keep this under your hats." He turned
to the group and gestured for them to gather round. "Listen up,
now! As you know, I've already sent the beginner and intermediate
groups ahead. We'll be passing them in short order. I'm asking you
very nicely to refrain from your usual hooting and catcalls when we
forge ahead of them. Certainly, no comments about 'lard-butts',
which I would have said goes without saying, except our last run
taught me otherwise."

There was some laughter.

"Otherwise, the wrath of the Lord will
descend upon you!" Grainger finished.

The group did not seem to take the threat
very seriously. Obviously, the Methodist pastor was no imam.

"Who takes point?"

His military phraseology made Ari wonder
about his past. Had he been in the military? He knew nothing about
the man beyond his clerical collar--which, at the moment, he was
not sporting, unless it was hidden under his jacket. Several people
raised their hands, including Ben.

"Draw straws!" someone shouted.

"That's gambling."

A collective joshing noise greeted this
assertion. Grainger shrugged, and said "Rock-paper-scissors."

"But that's gambling, too!" someone else
protested.

"No, that is a child's game," Grainger nodded
beatifically.

Several rounds of rock-paper-scissors settled
the issue and Ben led the way down the trail. Within ten minutes
they had reached the beginners group, which had already been
bypassed by the intermediates. Becky Torson was in this group and
Ben threw her an air-kiss as he zipped past. She frowned and
muttered something, then saw Ari and offered a tentative smile. If
she had known what Ari had her husband doing the last couple of
months that smile would not have existed. Ari gave her a 'bravo'
toss of the hand as he trudged slowly through the beginners. Their
huffing drew sympathetic gasps from Ari, who usually needed a mile
or two to burn off the booze and catch his wind—if he succeeded at
all. As it was, the advanced group was already almost out of sight,
leaving him alone.

Or so he thought.

"Left!" someone shouted from behind him.
Startled, Ari whirled. Two bicyclists were coming up full-tilt. He
turned to shout a warning to the runners ahead and saw they had
shifted to the right. Ari hopped out of the way, but the cyclists
were already dodging off the very narrow path and forcing their way
past stumps and through brambles. Their growls told him he had
failed his first test in trail etiquette. Enlightened, he swept a
lake of JD sweat off his brow and resumed his place, which was now
quite a bit further behind than it had been originally.

"Doing all right?"

Ari had been so focused on tree roots and
stones and sudden rises and falls in the path that he had not
noticed Grainger dropping back to join him.

"I'm...fine..."

Running easily, practically hopping, Grainger
fell in ahead, the narrowness of the trail preventing a tandem. He
spoke over his shoulder.

"You seem a little worse for wear, if you
don't mind me saying so."

"I don't...mind..."

"You look very fit, otherwise."

"That is...a compliment?"

"Of course. But...I've had some experience
with men who are overly fond of the bottle."

"The...bottle?"

"Alcohol."

"Ah...'bottle'."

"Left!"

A quick learner, Ari bore to the right. A
bike flashed by.

"This trail is very popular with mountain
bikers," Grainger informed him. "I have another group that comes
here."

"On bikes?"

"Don't sound so incredulous. This is one of
the easier parts of the trail."

Ari frantically looked around for his second
wind. Where was it hiding?

"I am fond of the bottle, as you say."

"You say that so matter-of-factly..."

"Well...it is...a fact."

"Is drinking to excess common...where you
come from?"

"It is not...a sin. Only an
occasional...impediment."

"What if it becomes a frequent
impediment?"

"One then accepts the fact."

Grainger was not breathing hard. It was very
annoying. Ari's tight gasps gave evidence against his argument. And
what argument was that? That drinking to excess was a positive
virtue? Well...wasn't it?

He felt like throwing up.

"I can see you're warming up," said Grainger
casually. "I'll leave you to it. I have to catch up to my flock,
make sure they don't intimidate the intermediates."

He scooted ahead so lightly he might have
been a sparrow. Once he had disappeared in the trees, Ari coughed
up an enormous dollop of phlegm and spat it out. Feeling a little
better, he picked up his pace. The trail brushed up against a chain
link fence dividing the woods from some train tracks, then broke
onto a wide path leading to a wood-slat bridge. Ahead, everything
looked clear and flat. Seeing a group ahead, he thought he was
catching up. But as he drew abreast he saw no one he had met at the
landing. He realized this must be the intermediate group. He
grunted what he hoped sounded like pleasantries. It had taken him a
minute to pass the beginners. After several minutes, he was still
with the intermediates. Near the front of the pack was a young
woman wearing a narrow orange baseball hat that hid her eyes. Ari
would not have recognized her had she not glanced his way briefly
as he came up next to her.

"Ah, madam…I again have the pleasure..."

"Hello, and I don't know what you're talking
about."

She was not breathing hard at all. She
belonged with the advanced group.

"But madam, surely it was you that I met in
the paint department at Lowe's, where you were making that poor
ex-soldier sweat for a living."

"I wasn't--"

"May I inquire as to why you find Mr. Torson
so fascinating?"

"Are you with the Harriers?"

"I am here..." Ari drew a deep breath. "...by
special invitation."

"I think you belong with the beginners."

They were running parallel to the Lee Bridge,
its massive piles and parabolas looking formidable, the legs of
giants. Overhead the traffic sprouted mechanical chaos that rained
down harsh sounds on those below.

"That might...be so," Ari panted. "But I am
enjoying this conversation..." His chest heaved and he stopped
talking for a moment. Finally, he concluded, "…so much."

"I think you'd better move ahead or drop
behind. This is starting to look like harassment. I'm sure the
reverend wouldn't appreciate it."

"I forgot his name, alas. What is it,
again?"

She didn't answer.

"But I can see the name 'Torson' rings a
gong, which I find most curious."

"No bells and no thanks, if you think I want
anything to do with you."

Another jogger, overhearing the exchange,
pushed himself forward.

"Can I help you...uh...I'm afraid I don't
know your name. Are you a new member of the church?"

"I'm fine," the woman snapped, relieving the
Samaritan of further interest in her fate. He shrugged and dropped
back.

"You excise me with your rebuff," Ari
said.

"What? Just get lost, will you?"

"But how can..." Ari walloped another burst
of air down his lungs. "When we both share such an interest in
former members of the Iraqi government?"

She stopped so quickly that several joggers
almost ran into her. Ari proceeded a yard or two further, then
turned around.

"But madam! You shouldn't stop so quickly!
You'll cramp!"

Now she was breathing hard, glaring up at him
from under her cap. She was waiting for the rest of the group to
forge ahead out of earshot before responding. It was just overhead,
on the bridge, that Ari had made his first stop in Richmond the
previous summer to study his map. After staring down at Belle
Island, he had browsed through a number of brochures about his new
home. Ari had learned this was the site where Union prisoners had
been kept during the Civil War. 'A scene of suffering' the brochure
had informed him. Everywhere one looked, mass stupidity and cruelty
left their traces.

The woman removed her baseball cap, placing
one elbow on an historical marker as she turned to face Ari.

"Who are you?"

"The same question burbles on my lips," Ari
said, openly studying her reaction. "You were at Lowe's. Now you
are here. You belong up there..." He nodded at the advanced group,
now no more than a jumble of bouncing forms at the far end of the
foot bridge at the end of the island. "Yet you don't want to risk
Ben recognizing you from the store, so you stay back here, using
this..." He tapped the cap. "...to hide your face when his party
went by."

"You're a friend of his?" the woman asked,
unabashedly returning Ari's scrutiny. Her voice possessed a
harshness that detracted from her striking looks, yet which
befitted the odd menace that frequently hovers over beautiful
women. She reminded Ari of an airline hostess on an Air France
flight who, in an open display of contempt, snappishly commanded
passengers into their seats.

"Ben and I run into each other on occasion,"
said Ari, inordinately pleased by his pun. He felt a stirring in
his lungs. There it was, the elusive second wind. And he wasn't
even jogging.

The woman suddenly smiled. She was not good
at it. A lot of wariness in this country was directed against
smiles like this, from people who wanted something out of you. But
it was improvement over suicide bombers, who often offered friendly
smiles as they approached their intended victims.

"What is your name, again?" the woman
asked.

"Ari Ciminon. And you are Ms. Nike?"

She gave a puzzled frown, then smirked when
he nodded at the logo on her jacket. A gust of wind numbed Ari's
lips. He had to struggle to maintain his polite demeanor. The woman
shivered.

"We'll freeze to death if we stand here
another minute."

"The danger point is when we begin to yawn,
which is a symptom of hypothermia," Ari observed. "I am not sleepy
at the moment."

The woman attempted to reassemble her smile,
but gave it up as a bad job. "What made you say that about
Iraq?"

"Perhaps I made the association because Ben
was stationed in Iraq for a time." Ari shrugged. "I was trying to
get you to stop, so I said the first thing that crept into my
head."

"You're lying."

"Indeed, I am, and so are you. That makes for
unpleasant chitchat, don't you think?"

"Listen, if you want to fuck me, why not just
say it?" the woman sneered.

"But there is no stirring in my loins," said
Ari, not entirely truthfully. "That is a very feeble distraction,
Ms. Nike. Am I to alert Ben to your interest in him? Is he the one
you really want to fuck?"

She barked a laugh, then stopped herself.
"How would you know? Maybe this is something personal. As in, 'none
of your business'. Ben has a wife, right...?" She glanced at the
beginner group, which had paused for breath on the south end of the
island. "Maybe I'm just being prudent. Ben might not like you
butting your nose into his business."

"Alas, I know him to be a sacred
husband."

"You main 'faithful'? How do you know? Men
are never 'sacred' when it comes to women."

"A sorry commentary, indeed," Ari shrugged.
He found himself stifling a yawn. Hypothermia? "From which
government agency are you extracted, Ms. Nike? Why are you pursuing
Ben? I don't suppose you would want to show me some form of
identification, would you? Such as a badge?"