Killer Summer

28

Arthur Remy stepped out of the shower and reached for the monogrammed towel. The initials on it belonged to his hosts, currently hiking a trail on the ski mountain.

His hand swiped the air where the towel should have been.

“Jesus!” he barked, his voice ringing off the imported Spanish tile. He quickly covered his groin.

“What were you thinking?” the man asked.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Talking to the police, initiating inquiries within Branson Risk.”

“Oh, Christ!”

“Did it not occur to you we would be keeping an eye on our investment? That we would be watching you? Did it not occur to you that if you started turning over rocks, something vile would come out from underneath?” He indicated himself. “Voilà!”

“The sheriff came to me, not the other way around.”

“And this theft? An attempt at insurance money?”

“That wasn’t me.”

“Lying won’t help you, believe me.”

“It wasn’t me!”

“Insurance adjusters… is there a lower life-form? Like a dog with a bone. You get them involved… And now, thanks to you, they are involved. What if they decide to look at this more carefully?”

“You’re jumping to conclusions. I had nothing to do with attempting to steal the bottles.”

“That’s what I was told you would say. I said you weren’t that stupid, that you could be reasoned with.”

“It was someone else… a third party… has to be…”

“It was very, very stupid.”

“IT WAS NOT ME!”

“I’ve already told you, it wasn’t us. You panicked. You were afraid that after what happened in Amsterdam… that a closer look… that the insurance would cover it. It was a decent plan, had it worked. You should have come to us. But look where you are now.” He passed Remy the towel. “Look where it leaves you… where it leaves us.”

Remy wiped the shower water from his eyes and then wrapped his waist. “Let’s just calm down, okay?”

“I am perfectly calm. This is me being calm.”

“It’s a misunderstanding,” Remy said, “a fuckup.”

“Your fuckup.”

“No… no… no…”

“Let me explain.” The man stepped closer. “We have two concerns. The first is that you might try to flee, to shirk your responsibilities.”

“No! That won’t happen.”

“The second,” he said, “is that you understand the degree to which you’ve fucked this up.” He placed his hands on Remy’s shoulders, his arms locked. “The bottles will be sold, our investment recouped. End of story.”

He kicked Remy’s left knee, snapping it as loudly as a tree branch breaking. Remy screamed and fell back into the shower.

“More people break a leg or a hip in the bathtub than on ski slopes,” the man said. “Did you know that?” He picked up the fallen towel and tossed it onto the writhing man. “No more reminders. Next time… if there is a next time… You don’t want a next time.”