Part 17 (1/2)
”I never knew that.”
”There are a lot of things about me you don't know.”
”And I'm not sure I want to know them.”
”No,” Nate said, ”you probably don't.”
Joe sat back in his chair. ”This is quite a place, isn't it? I read that it was built in 1903 and 1904, in the middle of winter. Some days it was fifty below. The guy who built it had a sixth-gradeeducation, but he was a self-taught genius.”
Nate agreed. ”He was a wizard too. If you noticed, the windowson the building don't correspond with particular rooms or floors. They're scattered against the outside like they were just thrown up there and stuck. That's intentional. The architect wanted the look of the hotel to be random and asymmetrical, like nature itself. And it's just as interesting inside. There are secret stairways, hidden rooms, and a crazy dead-end hallway called Bat's Alley. They're closed to the public, of course, and very few people know about them.”
Joe looked over. ”But you know about them.”
Nate nodded Of course Of course but didn't meet Joe's eye. but didn't meet Joe's eye.
”Nate, what's going on? There's something wrong, I can tell. You didn't climb that chimney to impress me, although it did. You climbed it because something's eating at you and you need to think.”
Nate sighed but didn't disagree.
”What is it?” Joe asked.
”I was over in the Zephyr housing area earlier,” Nate said. ”I was wondering if there was anybody still here who I knew when I worked here.”
”Yes?”
Nate leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and c.o.c.ked his head. ”Joe, there's somebody you probably ought to see.”
Joe was puzzled.
”Did you bring the Glock?” Nate asked.
”I left it in my room.”
”Good,” Nate said, rising. ”You probably don't want a weapon around afterwards.”
13.
Joe followed nate through a back door and they crossed a meadow of dry, ankle-deep gra.s.s on a well-worn path. Because a curtain of clouds had shut out the stars and moon and there were no overhead lights, the darkness was palpable.It was still and cold. Joe tracked Nate ahead of him by the slight white whisps of Nate's breath in the utter blackness. The lights of the inn receded behind them.
When the path stepped up onto blacktop, Joe knew where he was- crossing the highway toward employee housing, which was hidden away from tourists. There were no cars in either direction.They plunged into the trees on the other side and Joe stumbled into Nate, who had stopped.
”What?”
”There's something in front of us,” Nate said. ”Something big.”
Joe looked over Nate's shoulder. Despite the lack of light, he could see a huge black triangle shape blocking the path. There was a strong odor of fur, dust, and manure. With a guttural snort, the buffalo spooked and crashed ahead through the timber.
”Are there more?” Joe asked.
”I don't think so. He was a loner.”
”Like you.”
Nate didn't respond. Behind them, far away in the basin, a geyser erupted. The sound was furious, angry, the roar of a boilingwaterfall shooting into the air.
”Nate,” Joe asked, ”where are we going?”
”Employee housing,” Nate said.
”But where specifically?”
”The bar.”
The zephyr employee bar was hidden in the center of a long barracks-like building that fronted the dark employee dormitories.Steam hissed from a dimly lit laundry facility in one part of the building, and Joe caught a glimpse of several employeesinside folding linen sheets. There were no neon beer signs to mark the bar and no cars outside, just a window leakinglow light through a curtain and two middle-aged women smoking cigarettes on either side of the door. The women stubbed out their smokes as Joe and Nate approached, and started walking heavily toward the dormitories. Joe followed Nate inside.
The place was rough and crude, Joe thought, with the feel of a secret frat house drinking room. It was paneled with cheap laminate, and small bare lightbulbs hung from wires behind the bar. A crooked and stained pool table glowed under a pool of light, battered cues lying on it in a V V. An entire wall was covered with curling yellowed Polaroids of Zephyr employees who had graced the place. Two tables were occupied with young employeeswho had been there for most of the night-it was obvious by the collection of empty drinking gla.s.ses and pitchers-and only two men were at the bar, one standing and glaring at them with a hand on the counter as if to hold himself back from attacking,the other slumped forward and asleep with his face nestled in his arms.
”Nate Romanowski!” the standing man boomed. ”You're back!”
”I said I would be,” Nate said.
The bartender, who was was.h.i.+ng gla.s.ses in a sink behind the bar, looked up and nodded to Nate and Joe.
”Joe,” Nate said, ”meet Dr. Keaton, or, as he's known around here, Doomsayer.”
Joe extended his hand. Keaton was slim, tall, unshaven, and jumpy, with deep-set eyes and a sharp face like an ax blade. He looked to be in his sixties. He had stooped shoulders and a malleablemouth that twitched to its own crackling rhythm. Just beingnext to him made Joe tense up.
”Welcome to h.e.l.l on earth,” Keaton said, and cackled.
”Don't mind him,” the bartender said to Joe, ”he always says that. What can I get you two?”
Joe shot a glance at Nate, who ordered a pitcher of beer for the three of them.
”Is your partner going to join us?” Nate asked, nodding towardthe man next to Keaton, who appeared to have pa.s.sed out.
”He's sleeping it off,” Keaton said. ”He hit it a little hard earlier this evening, but when he awakes I'm sure he'll join right in again. We are both disciples of the Louis Jordan song ' 'What's the Use of Getting Sober (When You're Gonna Get Drunk Again).' ”
Joe noticed the cadence of Keaton's phrasing: effete, affected.Educated. It played against his tramplike appearance.
The pitcher appeared. ”Drink up,” Keaton said, grabbing it before Nate could and pouring it into the gla.s.ses, ”for tomorrow we die.”
”That's why they call you Doomsayer, huh?” Joe said.
Keaton glared at Nate. ”Who is this man, exactly?”
Nate said, ”Friend of mine. He's up here investigating the Zone of Death murders.”