Tucker Peak

Chapter 17

We found Sammie and Willy in the basement of the Mountain Ops building in a back room of the Tucker Peak security office. He was taping a mike wire from just under her brassiere, around to the back, and down her spine to a transmitter below her waist. It was now early evening, and already dark outside.

I leaned up against the doorjamb, knowing Sammie’s lack of modesty on the job, and pointed at the mike. “At what point in this operation were you going to clue me in? Tomorrow morning?”

Willy laughed, his eyes on his work, his one hand moving expertly. “Only if we hit the jackpot.” He tore some tape in his teeth and pressed it against her skin.

“Assuming you hadn’t gotten her killed by then.”

He glared at me as Sammie cut in, “It was my idea.”

“I don’t care whose it was,” I told her. “It’s half-baked and rushed. That’s a lethal combination.”

“You don’t even know what it is,” Willy said.

I looked at her instead. “Gee, let me guess. You’re going to pretend to be a talent scout for a recording studio and ask Kurt Peterson to sing into your cleavage?”

Willy glanced at Lester for support. Lester merely spread his hands to both sides, palms up, and raised his eyebrows.

“It’ll work,” Sammie said, pulling her sweater down and smoothing it into place. “I’ll tell Kurt I’m hard up for some drugs, make a buy, and bust him. I know he’s using the Tuckaway as a drugstore.”

“Sam,” I tried explaining, “you haven’t been on the mountain for a couple of days, you’ve been helping Lester. How’re you going to explain your absence?”

“That’s what makes it perfect. I need a fix-I’m strung out, on the prowl. That’s where I’ve been-lookin’ to score.”

“You don’t think word’s gotten out that there were cops undercover here?” I asked. “I was on the mountain last night and got ribbed for it.”

“Did my name come up?”

“There was no reason for it to, Sam, but what would you think? Two new employees appear out of nowhere and then vanish almost as fast. One turns out to be a police officer and suddenly the other, looking like an Olympic athlete, starts bar crawling, claiming she’s a hophead. What would that smell like if you were a bad guy?”

“It’s worth a shot,” she persisted.

“I’m not saying Peterson’s not worth a shot,” I said. “I’m saying you’re too high profile to deliver it. Why not switch with Willy? Have him go in after we take the time to set it up properly.”

She gave me a scornful expression. “He’s the wrong sex, Joe. Kurt has the hots for me. He spent so much time ogling my ass when I was Greta Novak, he barely took time to do his job. And I played with it, too, figuring it couldn’t hurt to fake being friendly, just in case. The man thinks with his pecker. I know it. He won’t make me, and he’d make Willy in a heartbeat. Besides, Willy’s been around here as a cop, he’s more exposed than I am.”

“I don’t like it,” I said, adding, “I don’t guess you got a wire warrant.”

Now they were standing side by side. Willy tapped his breast pocket. “Signed and sealed by the judge.”

“It’ll go down in the Tuckaway,” Sammie explained. “He asks me to step outside and we pull the plug. I’ll be watched all the way.”

“That’s where you think he’ll do the deal?” I asked incredulously, “right at the bar where everyone can see him? Of course he’s going to ask you outside.”

But she was shaking her head. “No, no, he doesn’t. We know that. We’re not going in blind here. We have done our homework, Joe. I promise. Peterson does do all his business in the Tuckaway, probably for his own safety-and in front of everyone, literally under the table, money for dope, tit for tat.”

“She’s just going to fan his cock a while,” Willy chimed in, “do the deal, and we’ll bust him, right there. No muss, no fuss.”

I passed my hand across my face, every instinct fighting this scenario. I finally glanced at Spinney. “What do you think?”

He shrugged. “Sounds okay to me. We don’t do it now, we will lose Sammie’s cover story and any inside track to this guy.”

Spinney and I sat in the car, the engine on to run the heater, a radio receiver plugged into a tape recorder between us. We were positioned out of the lights on the edge of the parking lot behind the Tuckaway. The only sound came from the recorder’s small speaker-the monotonous ruckus of voices common to all bars, and the steady back-and-forth between Greta Novak and her date-made scratchy and hard to hear by the typically poor reception of all undercover wires. In addition to the two of us outside, Willy Kunkle sat at a table inside, silent and alone and watching from a distance, a minuscule earphone in his ear through which I could reach him on a radio. He was pretending to tie one on with a string of ginger ales, which, as a recovering alcoholic, was an act he had down pat-I’d seen him do it.

We’d been there an hour already, listening to Sammie and Kurt Peterson play mental tag-he trying to get her out of the bar and into the nearest bed, she trying to get him to supply her with the coke she claimed would make the experience all the more memorable.

They were beginning to get on each other’s nerves.

“Come on, Kurt,” she pleaded. “Give me something. I’m hurtin’. I’ll pay you, if that’s your problem.”

He laughed. “Oh, I want payment, all right, but not with money.”

Spinney and I heard a sudden scraping on the microphone that made us both jump in our seats.

“Hey,” she said. “Hands off. You want to turn this into a business deal, that cuts both ways.”

He didn’t seem fazed. “Ooh, the brass cupcake surfaces. And I thought you liked me for my potential. Maybe we could swap a sample first. I get a feel, you get a teeny, weeny sniff.”

“You got some on you?” she asked.

I winced slightly in the dark, worried she’d push him too hard. Deals like this took patience, sometimes several repeat encounters, and this had been moving at breakneck speed from the start.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he answered her. There was the familiar rattling of ice in a glass, followed by, “Boy, who knew? Greta Novak, a cokehead. First time we met, I pegged you as a total jock. Figured you were probably a vegetarian, too-body a temple and all that shit. Not that I’m complaining about the body. I’d just like to see more of it.”

“I am a vegetarian,” she lied. “Coke comes from a plant, right?”

He laughed. “Good point. All right, you win, but you better be as good in the sack as you are on skis. I’m talking major league here. You do that and I’ll not only not charge you, I’ll make this a standard arrangement.”

“You kidding me?” She made her voice soft and seductive, “It’ll be the best deal you ever made. You won’t be sorry.”

“You got it, babe. Let’s get outta here.”

I looked sharply at Spinney.

“Give it to me here,” Sammie said. “I’ll do it in the bathroom.”

Peterson laughed unpleasantly. “Oh, right. And then tell me to fuck myself. I don’t think so, Ice Queen. I got ‘stupid’ written on my face somewhere? No, no. We do this at my place or you can get somebody else to powder your nose.”

“Come on, Kurt. You won, okay? I do it now, I’ll be in the right mood when you’ll really appreciate it, instead of waiting around. I mean, where’m I going to go? We work together. You’ll see me tomorrow morning on the mountain. I won’t stiff you. I just gotta have it now.” She tried softening her voice again. “I won’t let you down.”

But it wasn’t working. We could hear his voice grow distant as he stood up. “Sorry Greta-my ball, my game.” Now was the time to either call his bluff or break off the engagement, either way guaranteeing that Sammie stayed inside the safety of the nightclub. Predictably, she did neither.

“All right, but don’t bitch to me later that I wasn’t in the mood.”

His voice was closer now, and we could hear the background noise varying as they worked their way through the crowd. “Don’t you worry about the mood, sweet meat. I got enough for both of us.”

I picked up the radio I had cradled in my lap. “Willy, you on them?”

There was a pause during which I could visualize him digging his own radio out of his pocket and finding a discreet place to use it. “What do you think?”

Just before he keyed off, Spinney and I both heard a loud crash. Then Willy’s radio went dead.

“What the hell was that?” Lester asked.

“Sounded like a tray of glasses. Maybe a waitress dropped it.”

I waited for thirty seconds before calling him again. “Willy. We heard a loud noise. You still on them?”

Nothing came back.

A cold dread swept over me. I told Spinney, “I knew this was a bad idea. Drive around to the front door. We’ll see if we can pick them up there.”

Suddenly, Willy’s voice filled the car, almost drowned out by what sounded like a riot behind him. “I lost ’em. We got a bar brawl in here. I got cut off.”

Spinney slammed on the brakes as a car pulled out of a parking place ahead of us. “Shit.” He rolled the window down and blew his horn. “Move it, goddamn it.”

I laid my hand on his arm. “Quiet. Listen. Roll up the window.”

Between us, Sammie’s voice was saying, “What’s happening back there?”

“Beats me. Sounds like we got out just in time. Here, this way. I’m parked over here.”

“I thought we we’re going to your place?”

He laughed. “The dorm? No way, baby. First time I fuck you, I want it done in style. We’re borrowing a condo for the night.”

The car ahead apparently stalled, since it stopped moving at a diagonal, blocking the exit entirely. Swearing, Lester threw the gearshift into reverse and began backing his way around the parking lot. “We know what he’s driving?”

“Of course not,” I muttered angrily. “We didn’t take enough time to find out. Nor do we know where this condo is, assuming it exists.”

Sammie was obviously aware of the same things. “That’s really cool. I used to have a Camry. And the same color, too-dark blue. I loved that car. I thought it had class.”

There was a slight pause before he said, “It runs. That’s all I care about. Get in.”

We heard the thud of two doors closing. Lester finally found an opening in which to turn around and began driving recklessly fast toward the front of the building.

“But if you want class, baby,” Kurt told her, his voice muffled by the coat Sammie had been forced to put on, “you won’t be disappointed. This is some place we’re goin’ to.”

“Sounds beautiful. Where is it?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Spinney squealed around the corner and almost collided with one of the mountain’s security cars, its bar lights flashing off the nearby trees and snowbanks. Just as we were about to speed by it, the driver’s door opened and an officer stepped out in front of us, shining his flashlight directly into Lester’s face.

“Shit,” Lester yelled and hit the brakes again. He threw open the door and screamed. “We’re cops, you stupid son of a bitch. Get the fuck out of the way.”

I used the radio. “Willy, you out yet?”

I could hear him panting. “Almost.”

“They got into a dark blue Toyota Camry. We’re blocked in around the corner.”

“Gottcha.”

Spinney was out of the car by that point, still yelling and showing his badge. I stayed put to listen to whatever else Sammie might tell us.

“Wow,” she said. “Something’s happening back there. Lean back a little. I can’t see past you.”

“What do you care? Just a bunch of drunks.”

Spinney returned to the car. The security officer, looking grim, slammed his own door and stepped out of the way as we roared by.

“She just said we’re on the driver’s side of Peterson’s car,” I told him. “Which means she’s headed up that road.” I paused and added, “I hope.”

The radio blurted, “I’m out. I don’t see them.”

“They’ve already left, Willy. Take the other car and head up… ” I stopped and looked around.

“Summit Road,” Lester said.

“Summit Road,” I repeated.

It was dark and twisty and empty of traffic, including any taillights ahead.

“We can’t’ve lost them already.” Spinney muttered angrily.

“Doesn’t seems likely.” I said. “He implied it was nearby, though.” I leaned forward and narrowed my eyes, as if that might improve visibility. “Maybe they’re already there.”

Spinney was twisting his head back and forth, talking to himself. “We’re passing side roads here… Come on, Sammie, talk to us.”

As if she’d been eavesdropping, Sammie suddenly said, sounding distant and scratchy almost beyond comprehension, “Snowflake Circle? Where do they come up with these names?”

Suddenly, there was that sound of the microphone getting mangled.

“Hey,” she said loudly, “Hands off. What do you think you’re doing?”

Kurt Peterson burst out laughing. “You need a blueprint? Jesus, Greta, loosen the hell up. I’m getting in the mood. If you weren’t selling, you shouldn’t have advertised, wearing that sweater.”

“You’ll get what I want to give you when I want to give it. You’re the one who turned this into a business deal, Kurt. Keep your pants on.”

Careful, I thought.

“What the fuck is it with you, girl? You can’t make up your mind? I’m not sure this is worth the hassle.”

From the way Lester was driving, I could tell his frustration was building to a boil.

A small element of panic crept into Sammie’s voice, “What was that sign? I missed it.” Her transmission was now breaking up so badly, I had to guess at half her words.

“I don’t know. I don’t pay attention to the stupid signs. Why do you care, anyhow? This isn’t a tourist ride.”

She tried to laugh casually. “I just like the names-they’re so corny.”

“So call it Corny Row.”

Peterson’s tone indicated some of his previous passion was dulling.

“We must’ve missed it somehow,” Lester growled. “Shit. Can you understand a goddamn thing they’re saying?”

I held up a hand to quiet him. Sammie had picked up on the same mood change I had. Her voice soft and caressing again, she said, “I’m sorry, Kurt. One toot and I’ll be okay. I’m just a little strung out. I am looking forward to this… Ooh, what a beautiful house-a log cabin. I love those. Is that where we’re going?”

Peterson sounded slightly mollified. “Nah. That one’s nothing in comparison.”

Spinney slapped the steering wheel with his hand. “Damn. We blew it. I knew it. We haven’t passed any log cabins. We’re on the wrong road.”

I picked up the radio. “Willy. She’s off Summit Road, somewhere below… ” I flashed a light out the window at a sign, “Pine Ridge. She said she saw a large log cabin. It must be on one of the three roads we just passed.”

His answer was tightly controlled, almost deadpan. “Roger that. I’ll take Powder Lane.”

I could only imagine what he was going through. “Okay, Lester,” I said calmly, “Let’s take the next one down and see what we find.”

“Must be nice to live in one of these houses,” Sammie told us, as best as I could piece it together. “Look at that-I can see right down to the base lodge. Who owns the condo, by the way?”

Peterson laughed. “He doesn’t. He’s the caretaker. He gave me the key. It’s like a frigging palace, though. You’re really gonna love it: huge windows, master bedroom like a football stadium. It’s even got a marble bathtub with water jets in it, right next to a picture window. I thought maybe we could put that to use, too-light a few candles? That sound good?”

She poured the honey on once more. “Oh, yeah. You really know how to treat a girl.”

Spinney shook his head. “Christ, what movies does she rent? That stuff’s terrible.”

“Maybe,” I murmured, “but at least it’s coming in clearer. We must be closing in.”

“This it?” Sammie finally asked.

There was more rustling of clothes and the sound of doors opening and closing. From a slight distance, he said, “Yeah. What d’ya think?”

“It’s amazing. Cedar shingles, slate roof… and look at the porch. Number 68-it’s like Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. I could get into that.”

“Yeah, right. Don’t kid yourself, Greta. You and me, this is as close as we get to this life-stealing their keys at night and putting up with their shit the rest of the time.” He paused and added, “Maybe that’s what makes this so sweet. Ladies first.”

“Willy?” I said into the radio, “Wherever she is, it’s Number 68: huge place with slate, cedar shingles, and a porch. You seen the log cabin yet?”

“Negative.”

I looked over at Lester. We’d been driving along our road long enough to have seen the same landmark twice. “Double back,” I told him. “We must be parallel to them.”

“Willy? We’re heading for the middle road. So far, she seems fine. They just got there.”

There was no response.

“Holy cow,” Sammie’s voice said. “This is incredible.”

Peterson’s voice was husky. “You’re what’s incredible.”

“Hold it, Kurt,” she warned him, forcing a laugh. “First things first. Where’s my nose candy?”

“Give me a squeeze first.”

“I’ll give you a squeeze you won’t forget-later.”

“God, I like your tits.”

“Very romantic. You come up with that?”

Ouch, I thought. Ever since we’d turned around, reception had worsened, heightening the feeling we might lose her altogether.

His voice hardened. “Fuck you, too, bitch. What makes you so goddamn special?”

I heard Spinney murmuring, “Come on, come on, come on,” as we slithered along the snowy road, moving dangerously fast.

Of the options available to her, Sammie took what I thought was the boldest. She screamed at him. “You are such an asshole, Kurt. We have the whole fucking night ahead of us. I’m going to do things to you you’ve never even dreamed of, and you’re about to screw it all up because you won’t hold up your end of the bargain. Give me my god-damn coke.”

It worked. “All right, already. Save some of that for later, for Christ’s sake. I got it right over here.”

“There it is,” Lester suddenly said.

“We got the log cabin,” I told Willy, and gave him directions.

I heard Peterson and Sammie moving around, at last quite clearly, presumably positioning themselves so the coke could be lined up and then snorted. She made a cooing sound as Peterson tore something open.

“It’s super good shit,” he said, “hardly cut at all.”

After a slight pause, Sammie said, “Yup, tastes like the real deal.”

“Go ahead,” Kurt urged. “Let’s get this party going.”

“There’s the view of the base lodge,” Spinney announced. “Gettin’ close.”

Sammie’s voice had dropped to a familiar, stronger, more authoritative range. “The party’s not going anywhere, Kurt. You’re under arrest-”

His response cut her off. “What? You bitch. I knew it. I fucking knew it. You goddamn bitch. I knew you weren’t going to put out.”

In the background, we could hear her monotone, “… You have the right to an attorney. Should you… ” But there was something about his outrage she wasn’t hearing. He wasn’t angry that she was a cop, he was upset about not getting the night he’d been hoping for. That his fantasy was still holding sway had me worried.

There was a sudden loud report.

“Put it down, Kurt,” she said warily. “I’m a cop. You mess with me now, you’ll never get out of jail.”

“Mess with you? That’s exactly what I’m going to do. You promised me that much, and that’s what I’m going to get.”

Headlights appeared behind us. Kunkle driving at breakneck speed, threatening to put us in the ditch.

And then Sammie’s mike went dead.

“That’s it,” Spinney said, shouting now, the adrenaline making us all crazy. “Number 68.”

He cut into the driveway, fishtailing. Behind us, Willy didn’t bother breaking-he just smashed into the rear of the Toyota. He was halfway to the front door before Lester and I had gotten out of our car.

“Willy,” I shouted, “think.”

He wasn’t in the mood. He wrestled with the locked door for all of two seconds, pulled his gun out and shot it five times, finally kicking it open. He, Lester, and I all ran into the house like we were storming a beach and found Sammie, her skirt hiked up and her sweater torn, resting with one knee in the small of Peterson’s back, holding his wrist at an excruciating angle. He was facedown on the floor, semiconscious.

She blew a strand of blonde hair out of her face, “Where the hell’ve you been?”

Suddenly calm, Willy holstered his gun, extracted a pair of handcuffs, and walked over to her. As he bent over and slapped the cuffs on behind Peterson’s back, he gave Sammie a quick kiss on the cheek. “Nice job, kiddo.”