The Moose Jaw (41 page)

“You really think you can do that, Gus?” he asked.  He knew I couldn’t.

“Probably not,” I answered truthfully.  “But, I don’t have a lot of options, do I, Case?”

“No,” he said.  “You went through some weird shit out there, Gus.  As I told you back in June, crazy things happen in the bush.  But, I must admit, your killing a guy forty years ago ranks right up there with the strangest cases I’ve ever come across.  If you can put it all behind you, you’re a better man than I am.  That said, you’ve got to try.”

I nodded.  “No choice,” I said.  “I’ll try.”

He said that was best.  Then he complimented me on The Varmitage, and said he’d like an invite to do a little fishing up there next summer.  I told him he and Haywood didn’t need an invite.

“Knowing what we know about the place, it belongs to all three of us,” I told them.  I said they could use it anytime they wanted, as long as they took their own whiskey. 

Hard Case laughed politely, and thanked me.  Then we all had one more drink and talked about the size of Haywood’s moose.  I offered Hard Case a half share of my meat for his help packing it out.  He accepted gladly.  When it was clear we had run out of things to say, he set his glass on the coffee table and got to his feet.

“Well,” he said, “ Time I got home.”

He thanked us for the drinks and bid me another farewell, while Haywood brought the files from the table and gave them back to him.  He tucked them under his arm and buttoned up his coat.  At the top of the stairs he turned back to look at me.

“By the way Gus, I’m going to recommend they close both these cases.  It’s been over forty years, and they should have been closed long before this.  I see no point in adding anything to the files before I do.  It would serve no purpose and might excite the interest of the tabloids.  Just thought you’d like to know.”

I nodded to indicate I understood.  “Thanks, Case,” I said.  “I appreciate that.”

He winked an eye, turned and went down the stairs.  Haywood went down with him and let him out the door.

The next day was clear and the sun came up over a beautiful white world.  I looked out the window and the glare off the shining snow hurt my eyes.  At least my head didn’t hurt.  Haywood and I had taken it easy after Hard Case left.  We’d been punishing our livers a little more than necessary, and it was good to rest them now and then.  Haywood was in the shower when I came up from the downstairs toilet.  He’d already brewed a pot of coffee.  It was full, so I assumed he’d put it on to drip while he showered, meaning he hadn’t been up long.  That was unusual since it was nearly seven o’clock.

I poured a cup for myself and sat in the easy chair where I could look out the window at the lovely, white landscape.  Bosworth hopped up in my lap and made himself comfortable.  I wished him a good morning and then did my best to keep his tail out of my coffee.

Haywood came down the hall with a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair sticking out in all directions.

“Morning Gus!  Don’t feed that damned cat; he’s already had his breakfast.”   He went straight to the coffee pot.

“Morning Haywood.  You slept in this morning – must be getting old.”

“Horseshit!  I just didn’t get much sleep the night before.  Had to catch up.”

He took his coffee back up the hall to finish his toilet.  I just sat and luxuriated in the big soft chair and marveled at how blue the sky could be up here and how white the fresh snow.  I also thought about how bitter cold it would be in about one month.  The Chamber of Commerce propaganda admits to an occasional thirty-below-zero day in Fairbanks.  In truth, it often hits thirty below for three or four days running in the winter.  It sometimes drops to fifty below.  I thought about winter on the Moose Jaw.  It would probably be even colder up there.

When Haywood came back down the hall he was dressed and ready to face the day.

He poured himself another cup of coffee and held up the pot inquiringly.  I shook my head, and he put it back on the heat and came over to look out the window.

“Pretty, isn’t it,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said, “I’ve been sitting here thinking the same thing.  Look at those mountains off in the distance, they’re actually glowing.”

He sipped his coffee.  “You’ll be flying out of here when it’s still light.  If the day stays clear you’ll get a great view of Denali.  It’ll be amazing today after that storm we had.”

   “I’ll try to remember to put my camera in my carry-on.”

   Haywood snapped his fingers.  “That’s what I’ve been meaning to ask you.  Did you take any pictures this summer?  I didn’t find any film lying around, but I did find your camera, so I packed it and brought it out.”

I nodded. “Shot a few rolls.  Kept the exposed film in a box on the shelf.  Most of them are of the cabin going up.  There are some of the bears fishing and a few from the burn.  Nothing really exciting.”

“What’s on the film in the camera right now?”

I thought for a moment and then shook my head sadly.  “I get your drift, but I didn’t take any shots after I found Morgan.  She isn’t in any of the pictures.  Considering what we know, chances are pretty good she wouldn’t have shown up anyway.”

He nodded his head.  “Well, it was just a thought.”

He sat his empty cup on the table. “I’ve got another thought too.  This one’s a keeper.  Let’s drive down to the North Slope and have breakfast.  I’m tired of cooking and I feel like one of their four egg omelets.  What do you say?”

“Sounds good.  I’m getting tired of your cooking too.”  I deposited my cup on the table next to Haywood’s and went down to the bedroom to put on my boots. 

Haywood ordered, as he had announced he would, a four-egg omelet.  I opted for the poached eggs on corned beef hash.  We both went with the sourdough toast.  There’s nothing better than the sourdough you get in Alaska.  I’d bought a newspaper out of the vending machine on the way in.  This was a luxury, since Haywood didn’t subscribe to one at home; he read his on the Internet.  I dealt him a couple of sections and kept the Business Section for myself.  We were halfway through the news when our food arrived.  We put the newspaper aside and dug into the steaming platters. 

It was Tuesday, and all the stores were open.  When we left the North Slope, Haywood said he had to pick up a birthday present for one of the female technicians at the clinic.  He asked me what I’d recommend for a forty-something old maid who had set her hat for him and he was trying to keep at arms length.  He always seemed to attract stray cats. 

I thought for a minute and suggested a scarf and matching gloves.

He considered this, then rejected it.  “Touches body parts – too intimate.”

“A scarf and gloves?  You must be kidding.”

He looked serious.  “No.  You got to be careful with these old spinsters. They read hidden meaning into every little gesture.”  He was actually uncomfortable.

Even the pain of a cracked rib could not prevent me from enjoying the best belly laugh I’d had all summer.  What a wonderful predicament to find him in.  I resolved to do whatever I could to lead him into the trap of a suggestive present.  He rejected them all; the wine, the tickets to the opera, the flowers.  Finally he’d had enough.

“Goddamnit Gus! You’re not taking this seriously.  If you’re not going to help then – don’t help.”

‘Wow,’ I thought.  ‘He’s really sweating this one.’

“O.K.,” I gave in.  “If you want to give a very nice gift that doesn’t suggest any intimacy or desire to become intimate, you give her a nice crystal vase.  It hints of flowers.  It suggests that she should have flowers – but it’s not flowers.  And no woman can have too many vases.”

His face was transformed by an enormous smile. “Gus!  By God, that’s perfect.”

Forty-five minutes later we walked out of an upscale home furnishings store with a very nice crystal vase, already gift-wrapped.  Haywood was relieved.  He was pleased that the store’s wrapping paper was recognizable, and she’d know he wasn’t a cheapskate.

When we were back in the truck he said, “Gus, you’re a genius. The vase is just right.  Now, we still got a few hours to kill before I take you to the airport.  What shall we do.”

I thought about that for a minute.  Haywood’s quest for a birthday present had reminded me I still had another stop to make.  Let’s drive out to that gift shop we passed on the way to Skinny Dick’s the other night.  I still have a few presents to pick up for the folks back home.”

“Soaring Eagle Gift Shop,” he said.  “I know the place.”  He put the truck in gear and we shot out into the traffic.

We spent an hour at the gift shop.
 I bought a pair of moose hide moccasins and a few baubles and bangles.  On our way out the door I noticed a rack of True Grit flannel shirts I hadn’t seen before.  One was deep green with large black bears as the pattern.  We both admired it.

“Who’s it for?”  Haywood asked, noting I had selected a “Men’s Medium”.

“Casey,” I told him.  I never went home to Colorado without taking something for my son.  Haywood waited while I went back to the counter and paid for it.  The clerk asked if I wanted it boxed.  I said no, I had to pack it in my luggage.

It was eleven o’clock by the time we finished our shopping.  Since we were halfway down the road to Skinny Dick’s, I suggested a rematch for lunch and Haywood agreed.

The lunch crowd hadn’t arrived yet and we had the place to ourselves.  The bartender recognized us from the other night and greeted us as regulars when we came in the front door.  We ordered beers and burgers without consulting the menu.  The bartender got our beers and told us the burgers would take about thirty minutes as they were just firing up the grill.  We told him that was fine, we’d shoot a few games of pool while we waited.  He opened the cash register and slid six quarters across the bar.

“Pool’s on me,” he said.  “For the wait.  I’ll bring your burgers over when they’re ready.”

Haywood thanked him as he scooped the quarters off the bar, and we went over to the pool table.

By the time the burgers arrived Haywood had already beaten me two games.  It was clear my shooting hadn’t improved any over the past few days.  I was glad to take a break and eat before facing the inevitable.  We ordered two more beers and sat down to an early lunch.  We ate quietly.  We’d said just about all there was to say, and we were just killing the clock until it was time to head to the airport.  We still had to go back to Haywood’s house to collect my bags, but I was all packed and ready, so that would take no more than a few minutes.

“When you figure on coming back up for a visit?”
  Haywood asked.

“Depends on whether or not I take another job.  If I do, I probably won’t be able to stay for more than a few weeks.  I’d try to come in July in that case, for the salmon run.  It also depends on your schedule.”

His mouth was full of burger so he just nodded.

“You going to Hawaii again this winter?” I asked.

He swallowed his mouthful.  “Yep.  It’s already booked.  Two weeks.  Assuming Donna hasn’t found someone better by then, she’ll be going with me.”

When we finished our burgers we took our beer back over to the pool table and drank them while Haywood ran the table from the break.  I picked up the bill and started for the bar.  Haywood snatched it out of my hand.

“You bought all the whiskey and beer yesterday, I’ll get this one.”

I objected.  “A bet’s a bet.”

“Yeah,” he said.  “But playing you for money is a mean thing to do.  I oughta be shot.  Let me pick up this tab to ease my conscience.”

I laughed and agreed, for his conscience’s sake.

He took the tab to the bar and laid some bills on top of it.  The place had filled up with lunch customers, and the bartender was busy serving two new arrivals.  He looked up and waved.   We waved back and went out to the truck.  We drove directly to Haywood’s, loaded my two bags in the bed of the truck, and then drove out to the airport.  I told Haywood I would have just enough time to check in and go to the gate, so there was no point in his paying for parking and coming in.  He dropped me at the curb and got out to help me with the bags.  He lifted out the heavy river bag and set it on the curb.  I took the carry-on and my rod case.

We stood for an awkward moment – men never know quite how to say good-bye to a friend.  Suddenly he swept me up in a bear hug, then, just as suddenly, released me.

“Shit!  Forgot about the ribs!”

I laughed and told him it hadn’t hurt.  Actually, it had hurt a good deal.

“You going to be able to manage those bags?”  He was still worried about my ribs.

“No problem.  I’m checking the big yellow one and the carry-on’s not heavy.”

There wasn’t anything left to say except good-bye.  I stuck out my hand and it disappeared into one of his. 

“Take care,” he said.

I said, “Don’t let the bears eat you.”

He smiled, climbed back in the truck and drove away.  I stood on the curb and watched until his pick-up merged with the other cars heading for the airport exit.  Then I dragged my bags over to a bench, sat down and lit my pipe.  I would miss Haywood.

I spent the night at the Comfort Inn-Fairbanks and had a taxi pick me up at eight.  I asked the driver to wait while I collected two pair of state-of-the-art snowshoes and a box of leg traps from Polar Express Outfitters.  Then we continued out to the airfield from which Bush League Pilots, Inc. operated their Air Taxi service.  The pilot helped me transfer the bags from the cab to a Helio-Courier, which is an old Porter design modified for steep take-offs and landings.  It didn’t take long.  There was just the yellow river bag, the gear I had retrieved from the airport locker, plus the crate of leg traps, the snowshoes, and my rod case.  When it was all aboard we went into the office where I paid my fare, and waited while they recorded my flight data and made out my receipt. That done, we went back out to the tarmac, climbed into the airplane and strapped ourselves in.  I was, once again, bound for the Moose Jaw.