Come Morning

Chapter 22

Monday Morning Slab, near the base of the north face of Glacier Point, was an upended triangular plate of granite 400 feet high. Moyers sat on a fallen tree a quarter of a mile away, using his binoculars to bring up Runyan and Louise. The early morning sun cast their shadows long and thin across the carpeted pine needles at the foot of the massive slab.

Runyan, with that remarkable combination of daring and caution which marks the skilled climber, scrambled up a pitch like a monkey going up a tree. No wonder the man had ended up a cat burglar; what else could he have done?

Moyers switched to Louise, watched her with conditioned, almost indifferent lust — and a great feeling of power. He knew enough to make her get out of it any time he wanted, leaving Runyan out there naked and alone. Except for Moyers.

Back to Runyan. He had driven a piton into a crack in the rock and clipped a carabiner to it; through this was run the safety rope which trailed down the rock to Louise. She was still on the ground a dozen yards below, looking up, shading her eyes with her hands, the safety rope running down from Runyan, under her backside, and up to be tied around her waist.

Runyan gave it a healthy jerk. Since it was wrapped around her butt, she was slammed painfully against her rock.

Moyers chuckled as he watched her yell angrily up at him. He lowered the glasses. Giving him hell. He’d like to give her something, all right, when all of this was over. But right now, TCB, as the hookers said — Take Care of Business.

He unclipped his canteen awkwardly from his belt, drank half the contents straight down, lowered it, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Tough work, this rock climbing. When he raised the binoculars again, Runyan was far up the face on a ledge, with the safety line tied off around a rock.

Moyers found Louise below, carefully climbing upward, searching out toe- and finger-holds, her face red and sweating and contorted with effort. Do the bitch good, he thought with surprising bitterness. He hadn’t forgotten how easily she’d given him the slip at the airport.

Of course she was a pro. Running casino skim to L.A, for laundering, being nice to important clients from time to time for the pit boss; then, when things went sour, cold-bloodedly picking out a protector to get her out of Vegas. A protector, as last night’s phone conversation with Stark had confirmed, whom Moyers had seen sneaking out of the hotel after the shooting attempt on Runyan. A lethal lady to fall for.

In his binoculars, Louise was just below the ledge. Her foot slipped, her knee bashed the rock face painfully. He could see her yelping her pain, but Runyan’s grip on the safety rope kept her from sliding. She got a hand on the ledge, he caught her wrist and helped her up.

Moyers lowered the glasses and turned away. They were safely up on the rock face for the next couple of hours; plenty of time to snoop their car and tent and duffel bag and make sure he left no trace of his visit. He was really getting into this. It was all downhill for him from here.

An hour later, Louise was standing under a steep overhang with the safety line hanging down from it to a loose coil at her feet. Her neck was stiff and her eyes burned from hours of looking up into the sun. Her body prickled with the salt crust of drying sweat; her inner thighs stung from chafing. All her muscles ached. She just knew her face was blotchy and her hair a mess from the pitiless sun. This was fun?

Runyan rappelled down the rope from above to land lightly beside her. He grinned. “How you making it?”

“Fine,” she snapped irritably.

He unsnapped from the safety line, went over to rummage in their black nylon haul sack. “I know this is just easy practice stuff, but we have to get ready for—”

“I’ll keep it up as long as you, damn you!” she exclaimed.

Runyan looked at her in surprise. He held the odd-looking things he had called ascenders or something like that.

“Hey, I’m sorry, sweetie,” he said, mistaking the source of her irritation. “This isn’t a putdown or anything...” He started to adjust the ascenders on the hanging safety line, one above the other at about head height. “I’m so out of shape for climbing I don’t want to take you on a real rock face until I’m sure I can handle it.” He gestured at the safety line. “You remember these, don’t you? Jumar ascenders?”

He was just being dense on purpose, to goad her, talking over his shoulder without even turning around. Totally frazzled, she snapped, “Do you really think I care, Runyan? I’ve barked my shin, I’m dying of thirst...”

“These can be used for horizontal traverse, but...”

“—blisters on my heels and rope burns on my hands—”

“...but climbers usually use them to climb ropes belayed from above on overhung rock faces like this one.”

“—and you want to talk to me about something called Jumar ascenders?”

Each Jumar had a rope sling hanging from it. Runyan stepped a foot into each sling, turned and grinned at her. “They’re so great because you can just walk right up a rope with them.”

He did, hand above hand, each knee flexing as the Jumar from which that sling depended moved, thus literally walking straight up the line and out of her vision.

Louise found herself stepping back a few paces, even as she fumed, squinting up into the sunlight to see how he did it. Damn, her neck was sore. But he was right: Those Jumars were pretty neat things.

They sat facing one another on top of the massive flake of granite in the red scorch of dying sun.

“Red sky at night, sailors delight,” said Runyan.

He offered her the canteen and she drank sparingly, small sips which let her savor the cool nectar running down inside her throat. Runyan put the canteen back on his belt without taking any himself; his water discipline was remarkable.

“Is it always like this? Climbing?”

He shook his head. “Usually it’s a lot more fun.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

She looked out and away, up the incredible valley the retreating glaciers had casually sliced through the middle of the Sierra during the last ice age. Deep purple peaks thrust up against the sunset which had retreated from scarlet to faded rose and delicate grey.

“I mean, this close to—”

She stopped, seeking words to express the inexpressible. She ached all over, she couldn’t count the scrapes and nicks and cuts and bruises on the outward angles of all her joints, she was tired and hungry and sunburned — and she had never felt so good.

“I just feel... as if it were all made for me.”

“Just a little something I had God lay on for you.”

“Thanks, Runyan.” She leaned forward and they kissed.

She was still thinking in superlatives as she took her shower, even though it was just a trickle of cold water from a rusted-out showerhead in the ladies’ facility near Camp Four. She rubbed herself red with the rough towel, scrubbed her hair halfway dry with it, realizing her mind was made up.

She’d always acted quickly on urges and impulses, even on intuitions, and her feelings about Runyan were more than intuition. God help her, more than infatuation. But she also always thought of herself as an intensely loyal person.

Now she realized that loyalty carried too far ceased being a virtue and became cowardice. So she had to do it. Tonight. A clean break with the past, no turning back because there would be nothing left to turn back to.

After supper, Runyan sat on a rock by the fire and she sat on the ground beside him, her forearms crossed on his knee, looking into the flames. It was a much warmer night, or she was getting used to it. Sap made the green wood crack and spit showers of sparks. Around them but somehow at a distance other climbers sat around other fires, their voices and bursts of laughter carried like swarms of fireflies on the gusts of warm wind.

“Tomorrow?” she asked.

“Royal Arches.”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “Should I be scared?”

“You’ll be fine.” He put a hand on her shoulder for a moment. “You were great today.”

He poured red wine into two styrofoam cups and handed her one. They raised the cups in a mutual toast.

“To crime,” said Louise.

At the same instant, Runyan said, “To love.”

They drank quickly, each mildly disconcerted by the other’s toast. Louise put aside her empty cup and scrambled almost abruptly to her feet. Runyan, in the act of pouring more wine, looked up at her in surprise.

“I’m going over and get an ice cream cone.” She was glad of the shielding darkness that hid her expression. “Want me to bring you one back?”

Runyan merely shook his head, smiling dreamily after her. He sipped wine from the styrofoam cup, and fought a mighty battle in his mind. Love made him want to sit right there staring at the embers of the fire; survival tried to drag him to his feet. It was a wretched feeling. How in God’s name had the old people he saw walking hand-in-hand down suburban streets gotten through it all to reach that point in their lives still together? What was their secret that he didn’t know?

Runyan stood, threw his cup into the coals. It hissed and blackened and shrivelled. Her betrayal of him forced him to be a betrayer also — of himself, of her, of the facts he knew. Why did he need her so? Was this the ultimate irony: that she might be the one against whom he would have to defend himself?

He went silently after her into the darkness. Even as he ran he kept hoping, thinking, I’m wrong, all she wants over at the store is an ice cream cone.

But she was spotlit inside the phone booth, feeding her coins into the prim little mechanical mouth. He moved quickly and with little noise through the foliage behind the booth, his hands guiding the small branches back to their original positions individually. He was so close that when she spoke it was as if into his ear.

“It’s me,” her voice said into the phone. “I’ve always played straight with you so I’m playing straight now. This is the last phone call you’ll be getting. I’m dropping out.”

Runyan started to ease his way almost blindly back through the foliage. He couldn’t stand listening to her. He couldn’t stand spying on her. He needn’t have been here. She was not a betrayer. He was.

Louise was saying, “Well think what you want, buster, it isn’t the money...” She listened, spoke again, her voice edged with tears. “I tried, goddamn you, I really tried! But all you ever wanted was a piece of me, not the whole package. I can’t live like that any more. I need some absolutes...”