After a friendly suggestion involving a collapsible baton and the improvised use of a car door, I took myself over to the dry side of the state to see if a little more sunshine and a few less people might help. Despite my plea deal, my plan this time had been to keep my head down and my mouth shut, but plans had a way of always going to shit on me, and after a while I started getting itchy about it all. Wildfire smoke had been drifting overhead for days, though it was still high in the atmosphere, the clouds long and gauze-like. There was no charcoal odor yet, and if a person didn\u2019t know any better, they might have even thought those wispy things were normal weather clouds, maybe even a promise of rain. If they was Alfie, then they thought they were thorium particles the government had seeded across the sky to fuck with our heads. Later though, the fires running our way, everybody knew the truth.<\/p>\n
Alfie had tagged along with me to Polk, my hail-dented minivan over-heating only once. When we finally arrived, we split up for a bit with the logic that two new guys showing up together in a small town would stand out more than two guys who happened to show up individually at the same time. I pulled a phone number off the bulletin board at the IGA and rented a musty fishing cottage up along Trout Creek. Alfie poked around the gas station and The Long Branch until he found someone who knew someone who might have a place. That final someone turned out to be the sheriff, and the something was his second motor home, which was parked in storage at the rodeo grounds. The sheriff didn\u2019t want Alfie driving it and come Rodeo Days in September he\u2019d have to find something new, but until then the \u201887 Executive was Alfie\u2019s for fifty bucks a month. Alfie could plug into the power off the concession stand, no charge.<\/p>\n
When I prodded and asked Alfie if he was sure that it was a good idea to be renting from the sheriff rather than, perhaps, adjourning as far away as possible, he suggested I needed to be less afraid of meeting people.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou pay your rent, show him you\u2019re responsible, a man of integrity starts to trust you. You put it right there. No one can see what\u2019s under their nose.\u201d Alfie laughed at how easy it was, his eyes almost twinkling. Dude couldn\u2019t see shit though. He had no clue the people I\u2019d met.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTry it,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The thing about an itch is you need something to distract you. Find something that makes some dollars in the process and that\u2019s your classic win-win.<\/p>\n
I drove in from the cabin to run my idea by Alfie. When I pulled up to The Executive, the side door hung open crooked, the bottom hinge pulled loose. The sounds of a baseball game on TV blared across the parking lot. An organist hammered the keys, rattling the RV: Bimp, bimp, bimp, bimp\u2026Bimp, bimp, bimp, bimp.<\/p>\n
I figured he\u2019d seen me park, but I yelled his name and pounded on the Executive a few times. Alfie had arranged a lawn chair and a small table outside for his morning coffee, even gotten himself a little potted daisy on a daytrip to Walmart, though that had dried up almost instantly. He\u2019d put a couple of other chairs on the other side of the RV to watch the sunset and the mountains. Sometimes he scattered popcorn for the doves who nested in the roof of the grandstand.<\/p>\n
I held the door out of my way as I climbed in, the volume of what I still thought was the TV hitting me like a shovel. A few more steps up and there was Alfie. Instead of coming from the TV, the music was coming from an antique Hammond organ, Alfie at the keys. The organ had been wedged into the kitchen aisle, the fit so tight Alfie had to sit on the sink in order to play. He wore nothing but a pair of boxers and a faded Mariners hat. Next to him sat a twelve-inch bread knife, the handle placed so he could grab it. His edges seemed to be vibrating.<\/p>\n
There was nowhere else to put myself, so I took the passenger seat and swiveled it so that it faced the interior. Even with the door hanging open, the air was stuffy and choked with dust motes. Rainier cans lay scattered across the kitchen table, which was blocked off by the organ. A women\u2019s tennis shoe, pink laces still tied, rested on its side on the floor.<\/p>\n
He caught me up right away. Bottom of the eighth, full count, two outs. The TV was on top of the organ, straight in front of him, where I couldn\u2019t see. \u201cFucker has been fighting off pitches for over ten minutes now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease tell me this isn\u2019t the sheriff\u2019s,\u201d I said. \u201cI don\u2019t remember seeing any music stores around here.\u201d<\/p>\n
He said he\u2019d traded some work for it. Thought he\u2019d gotten a bargain in return. \u201cBetcha didn\u2019t even know I could play.\u201d<\/p>\n
I confessed that I didn\u2019t. Who would have? The batter fouled off another hit, a grounder down the third baseline. Alfie slammed the keys as if he were a frustrated composer, which is when I guessed he had something on the game. He\u2019d go all manic on Keno, too.<\/p>\n
I still couldn\u2019t understand how he\u2019d gotten it in there. He said he\u2019d knocked the pedals off with a sledgehammer because they stuck out too wide, and after that it was a lot of pushing. Crosshatched all along the Executive\u2019s flooring and cabinetry were fresh gouges, the broken hinge on the door making more sense. \u201cI had limited tools,\u201d he said, with a shrug.<\/p>\n
After a few more foul balls, the pitcher finally won, a swing and a miss. Alfie slid down awkwardly from the sink, and I asked how much. He said it was enough that it mattered, which I\u2019m sure he thought answered it, but things can matter in a lot of different ways. He walked to the back of the RV, where his bedroom was. He left the door open as he went in. Someone was lying down on the bed, the blanket pulled up over their head, the other shoe still on her foot. I couldn\u2019t believe she was sleeping through all the noise. Wrestling the organ was enough on its own. Hell of a time if she\u2019s still out, I thought.<\/p>\n
Alfie returned in jeans and a T-shirt, carrying an almost empty box of Rainier.<\/p>\n
I smiled and motioned toward his room. \u201cFun night?\u201d<\/p>\n
He answered with only a chuckle, then held out the beers for me, the cans rolling across the bottom of the box.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re really handing me this? Do I need to explain sobriety again?\u201d<\/p>\n
Alfie snatched back the offer, drew out a can and cracked it open, beer foaming out the top. He took a fast, slurping chug, then wiped his chin with the back of his hand. The game had gone to a commercial break. I couldn\u2019t know what his thought was, but I saw it go off in his head, the way everything suddenly narrowed and gathered before exploding.<\/p>\n
\u201cSeventh inning stretch, asshole!\u201d<\/p>\n
That things were headed to the ninth didn\u2019t matter. A lot of things didn\u2019t matter to Alfie. He took another drink and climbed back up on the counter, in playing position. He was off-key, stumbling through the first few notes, but then he found it. Began again from the top.<\/p>\n
\u201cO\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
When I didn\u2019t join in, he stopped. \u201cStand the fuck up, Roach.\u201d<\/p>\n
With Alfie, sometimes you had to let him run himself out, the same way you did those big trout that used to choke the streams around here. Pull back too hard and it\u2019s over. Better to let them go. Sometimes, though, you let a fish run like that and it means you\u2019re going on a run yourself.<\/p>\n
I stood, only mumbling along. \u201cThat\u2019s not singing,\u201d Alfie shouted, more demand than egging.<\/p>\n
\u201cAin\u2019t much of a singer,\u201d I tried.<\/p>\n
\u201cBetter start to be,\u201d he said.
\nI\u2019d found the carpeting tools while poking through the rust-eaten garden shed at the cabin. A smarter me would\u2019ve kept them all to myself, maybe would\u2019ve even learned what the hell I was doing a little bit and started laying a kind of foundation for an actual life instead of being a little bitch.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd where do we get the carpet from?\u201d Alfie asked, not quite following when I first explained it.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe don\u2019t. We\u2019re simply installation. They order it from the Home Center or wherever in Baker City. We go pick it up and put it in.\u201d<\/p>\n
It wasn\u2019t about the carpet anyway. The carpet was a distraction. We move the furniture, open a few drawers, see what\u2019s lying around. Sweep a few things up in the shuffle.<\/p>\n
Alfie nodded, like he was understanding. We\u2019d taken ourselves outside after the game, had our lawn chairs facing the mountains. The foothills were as browned as Alfie\u2019s neglected daisy. Up high, along the ridgeline, the few remaining patches of snow\u2014snow that in winter was so deep it could bury the Executive\u2014seemed to be shrinking right before our eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cStill seems like a lot of work,\u201d Alfie complained. \u201cLow return on investment and whatnot.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd how much did you make on that baseball game?\u201d<\/p>\n
Alfie was slouched low in his chair, the back of his head resting on the seatback. He lifted his palms, which were flat on his thighs, turning them over before dropping them again. \u201cI mean, that had potential.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo does this,\u201d I explained. So did everything when you looked at things right.<\/p>\n
Alfie sighed and then lolled his head my direction, his gaze pulled from the mountains and square on me. \u201cNow you\u2019re talking to me like I\u2019m stupid,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Alfie hated feeling insulted. He once sucker-punched a guy at McDonalds for pushing ahead of him in line, then went and ordered a Big Mac. Cost him fifteen months at Two Rivers.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey man,\u201d I said. \u201cDon\u2019t do me like that. I\u2019m only trying to be persuasive.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Calls didn\u2019t come rushing in. I spraypainted QUALITY CARPET INSTALLATION and our phone number on a piece of plywood and nailed it to a dying fir at the end of the cabin\u2019s driveway. I used the number for the cabin since it had a landline and an old answering machine, the new recorded message: \u201cThank you for calling Quality Carpet Installation. We can\u2019t wait to help!\u201d I even wrote the We can\u2019t wait to help! on the fliers I stuck up at the IGA and the feedstore. Made a couple extra to take along the next time we went all the way into Baker City.<\/p>\n
Two weeks along, we still had no takers. Daytime temps climbed over 103 degrees, and I planted myself in front of a box fan and a bowl of ice, out of trouble. Then Alfie showed up at my cabin one morning before seven in a brand-new F-150, bright red, rims and tires polished and shined. A thick roll of tan carpet was angled across the truck bed. Another slightly smaller roll, wrapped in a blue tarp, rode alongside it.<\/p>\n
\u201cGrab those tools,\u201d he commanded before cramming a powdered mini-donut in his face.<\/p>\n
I leaned in through the open passenger-side window and asked whose truck it was.<\/p>\n
Alfie disappeared another donut in his mouth. Best I understood, he replied, \u201cOrs fah na.\u201d<\/p>\n
I\u2019d been sleeping when he arrived and had a moment where I wondered if it all wasn\u2019t some dream. My cigarettes were in the cabin. Yesterday\u2019s coffee sat cold in the pot. I asked Alfie what he meant \u201cfor now,\u201d if he was renting it our something, pressed him on where the carpeting was from.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt all Lawrence\u2019s,\u201d he said, mesmerized by his donut-powdered fingertips. He kept sticking them together and pulling them apart. \u201cOur client\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t know what he meant by \u201cour client\u2019s.\u201d And who the hell was Lawrence?<\/p>\n
\u201cGod damn it, Roach. This whole thing was your idea and now you\u2019re acting like you don\u2019t know what the fuck is what. Our client. For the carpet business. He had me drive to the Home Center and pick everything up, exactly like you said it\u2019d go.\u201d<\/p>\n
Alfie had met Lawrence at The Long Branch the day before, eating burgers at the bar. Lawrence was a bit of a talker, the kind of guy who didn\u2019t seem so comfortable with silence. Second beer in, he starts talking about his vacation property, half-bitching, half-bragging about the renovations he was doing, the trouble he was having with contractors. Mentions carpeting.<\/p>\n
\u201cMotherfucker was a gift from god,\u201d Alfie said.<\/p>\n
Lawrence already had an installer lined up, but the guy was weeks out with other jobs, and Alfie, if he had one useful talent, it was how to make things appear too good to be true for someone\u2014how to make it so they couldn\u2019t say no.<\/p>\n
Alfie told him we could do it the next day, for half of what the others had bid.<\/p>\n
\u201cHalf?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, Lawrence seemed skeptical, too. But then I told him I was just going to be frank. We were new to town and needed the work.\u201d<\/p>\n
The winds had shifted, and smoke drifted into the valley overnight, the haze, as weak as it was, making everything feel off-balanced. Dulled, yet somehow brighter. Slowed, but already too fast.<\/p>\n
I asked why he hadn\u2019t come and gotten me before the Home Center, since I was on the way.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re only partly on the way. Plus, I had some other shit.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat other shit?\u201d I patted again for my cigarettes, which still weren\u2019t there. Earlier, Alfie had said my idea worked exactly as I said it would, but I already understood then that the likelihood of that happening again was slim, and whatever idea I had about what was coming next was only one of a million ways that it probably wouldn\u2019t go.<\/p>\n
He took his last donut and stuck it on his finger, ripping the hole wider. \u201cOther shit.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Lawrence\u2019s property overlooked Little Elk Lake. The \u201ccabin,\u201d as he sometimes referred to it, was not the fishing-cabin I knew, but a five-thousand square foot, four-bedroom, three-bath hard-on, with a lot of exposed beams and floor-to-ceiling windows on the lake side. In the living room, a bright Pendleton blanket was folded over the back of a brown leather couch, and high above the river rock fireplace, the taxidermied head of a black bear snarled at us. The kitchen looked like a goddamn restaurant.<\/p>\n
Lawrence led the way to the room we\u2019d be recarpeting, pausing to usher us through the doorway so we could see first.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s empty,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust the carpet,\u201d he said. The carpet appeared to be brand new, light grey instead of tan.<\/p>\n
I told Lawrence that part of our service was to move his furniture in and out. \u201cWe do it all.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lawrence had thinning white hair and a well-grown beard, a Santa in a western shirt and blue jeans. My guess was that he\u2019d purchased the bear head above the fireplace rather than shooting it himself, or that a guide had all but pulled the trigger for him. \u201cGreat,\u201d he said, clapping a single clap. \u201cNow you can do this part.\u201d<\/p>\n
Prying the trim went fast enough. We stored the pieces in the hall, out of our way, and each time I went out there, I tried peeking the other rooms, but everything was put away and tidied up\u2014nothing left atop a dresser, beds all made, pillows fluffed. There was a single family photo stuck to the side of the fridge: Lawrence and his daughter behind the wheel of a pontoon boat on a bright blue day, Lawrence helping her steer. They seemed happy, both smiling, hers revealing braces. It was hard to tell how old she was. Old enough.<\/p>\n
We started tearing out the carpeting. Instead of cutting it into smaller sections that were easier to roll up and carry, Alfie had the idea to keep the carpet intact so we could resell it later.<\/p>\n
\u201cNow we\u2019re sales and installation.\u201d<\/p>\n
The old carpet did not role easily, or tightly, and inanimate as it was, as soon as we tried to pick it up, it seemed to come to life with the sag of a giant python. We were grunting through one more attempt to move it when Lawrence popped his head in the room.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019ve got a problem here, boys.\u201d<\/p>\n
Alfie thought Lawrence was referring to our troubles right then. \u201cExtra set of hands could help.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re off track,\u201d Lawrence explained, hands stuffed in his pockets. It was the new carpet Alfie had picked up. Somehow, he\u2019d brought back the wrong stuff.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey, that\u2019s what they gave me.\u201d Alfie was still holding his end of the snake while I\u2019d dropped mine.<\/p>\n
\u201cMight\u2019ve looked at the tag,\u201d Lawrence said. His faint drawl was suspiciously gone, replaced by something more belittling. \u201cWrong name, wrong address.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSeems like that was their job.\u201d Alfie nudged the roll of carpet with his hips, wanting me to pick it up, but we weren\u2019t going anywhere.<\/p>\n
\u201cNice having a job,\u201d Lawrence replied. He made sure I saw that he was also talking to me, but for some reason he really wanted to give it to Alfie. \u201cBetter to keep \u2018em.\u201d
\nFolks like Lawrence, they saw Alfie as just your average fuck up, the kind of guy who\u2019d been laboring at odd jobs his whole life, a couple-six beers every night to numb the soreness and sunburns. It\u2019s basically what Alfie was if you included the harder drugs and all his time served, except Alfie was also prideful as hell. People tend to forget what pride means to a person.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think the question here,\u201d I jumped in with, \u201cis what can we do to fix this?\u201d<\/p>\n
Lawrence had already called the Home Center. The carpeting had somehow ended up in Hermiston, and it\u2019d be a few days in re-routing. In the meantime, he wanted us to return the other roll right away, even though it\u2019d be twice the driving. \u201cYou bid what you bid,\u201d he said, when I questioned the logistics.<\/p>\n
Alfie finally set his end of the carpet down, which I took as a worrying sign. Things usually went better when his hands were occupied.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow about this?\u201d I bargained. \u201cWe\u2019ll eat the time, but we don\u2019t eat the gas. That\u2019s on you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Alfie was already shaking his head no. I thought it\u2019d be the same with Lawrence, but then he surprised me. \u201cFair enough,\u201d he said, drawl creeping back in. He took a CFN card from his thick wallet. \u201cI want the receipt.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lawrence thought the deal was done, but I could see Alfie resisting. I was half expecting him to tell Lawrence what to do with his job, and himself, and maybe even his mother. Alfie had a way of forgetting the big picture, lost on impulse, but he surprised me and tamped it all down.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t you worry, Lawrence,\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019ll see. You\u2019ll see how we make this right.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Two days later, bright and early again, Alfie was at my place, leaning hard on the horn of Lawrence\u2019s truck. He had another roll of powdered donuts and a can of Monster Nitro. An unopened can was waiting for me in the cupholder.<\/p>\n
Larry had some extra work for us, hundred bucks a day.<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought your whole idea was to be doing less work,\u201d I said. \u201cReturn on investment or whatever.\u201d<\/p>\n
Alfie was happy to fly without me if I wanted, but he thought we were still doing the team thing. His hand drifted over to the can of Monster he\u2019d brought me, and he put his palm down on top of it. I wasn\u2019t sure if he was going to drink it or throw it out the window. \u201cDid I have that wrong?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
I assured him we were good, that I was only getting up to speed. \u201cTeamwork makes the dream work, right?\u201d<\/p>\n
It was an expression he used all the time. He repeated it back, pleased. \u201cTeamwork makes the dream work.\u201d Then he tapped a fingernail on top of the can in the cupholder, as if I\u2019d never seen it there in the first place.<\/p>\n
For most of the day, Lawrence had us working outside around his property clearing brush, weed eating, tearing down an old pump house. A heavy blanket of smoke turned the sky grey-brown, the air abnormally humid and stuffed with campfire stink. The fire was only five percent contained, the shift in winds pushing it toward new fuel. There was a Level-One Evacuation Order over half the county, a Level-Two up past East Eagle.<\/p>\n
Lawrence had a couple of ATVs, one of which he let Alfie and I use to get around. Every hour or so, Lawrence would drive out to check on us, wherever we were, his leather gloves bright and new, a blue handkerchief tied around his face. One trip he even brought us a couple of eight-ounce bottles of water, warm as the air. \u201cCase you get thirsty,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
When we weren\u2019t running the ATVs and power equipment, it was quiet up at Lawrence\u2019s. Not that it was loud anywhere around Polk, but there was a different quality up there, and when I cut the engine of whatever machine I was using, the stillness felt practically shocking. Ridgelines folded themselves to the horizon, trees upon trees upon trees, the reflection on the lake then doubling everything again. Big ass birds soaring. Chirpers all around. It wasn\u2019t as if I was eager to do of lot of thinking those days, but Lawrence\u2019s was the kind of place where you could do that sort of thing if you were so disposed. Better, it was also the kind of spot where you could not think, where you could look out at the distance of things and be okay with whatever sins you\u2019d done in your life. A place where you could fool yourself into believing that was even possible.<\/p>\n
Near the end of the day, Lawrence had us haul the rotten wood and insulation from the pump house and the old carpet and pad\u2014he wouldn\u2019t let us keep them\u2014to his dump pit. He had his own backhoe, and he\u2019d carved the pit out of a hillside, kept a big pile of dirt to backfill with. While some of the trash was covered, much of it never was or it had been pulled to the surface by erosion and animals. Legs of an upside-down office chair stuck into the air like a metal bush. There was broken particle board and chunks of concrete and open cans of house paint. Flies and hornets buzzed the rotting food.<\/p>\n
\u201cLook at this,\u201d I said to Alfie, picking up a piece of fresh junk mail.<\/p>\n
\u201cGeico saves you money,\u201d he read.<\/p>\n
I pointed out the name. Anne. Mrs. Alfie already knew Lawrence had gotten divorced. He couldn\u2019t see where I was going. Neither could I really.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d I said. \u201cMaybe there\u2019s some bills out here. Account numbers. That kind of shit.\u201d<\/p>\n
Alfie took the envelope from me and opened it, glanced at the letter inside, tossed it all back into the pile. He crouched down and sifted through the other mail that was there, opening a few things, throwing them all back. He stayed squatted on his heels for a moment, surveying the pit before finally standing and laughing. \u201cWhat if she\u2019s in here?\u201d<\/p>\n
Lawrence was headed our way, throttling up the hill. \u201cYou think?\u201d<\/p>\n
Sweat glistened on Alfie\u2019s cheeks, and bits of saw dust stuck to them. \u201cLarry?\u201d His smile lines were dark with grime. \u201cNo, not our sweet Larry.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lawrence pulled up a moment later, seemingly annoyed by our good cheer.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s suppose we don\u2019t go through my mail like that.\u201d He\u2019d left the ATV running and had to half-shout. \u201cWe call that minding your own damn business.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou got all this stuff blowing loose,\u201d Alfie replied. \u201cWe could get it cleaned up for you, get it covered.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lawrence tugged down his handkerchief. He leaned forward on the ATV\u2019s handlebars, one arm resting over the other like a fucking cowboy on the horn of his saddle. He said he didn\u2019t realize that Alfie knew a backhoe, and Alfie responded that was simply because Lawrence hadn\u2019t asked. Alfie had all sorts of surprises.<\/p>\n
\u201cSaw some bear tracks earlier,\u201d Alfie added, bullshitting Lawrence. \u201cBest to keep them out of here. They can get bold.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lawrence looked at the pit, taking the jumble in, same as Alfie had done a few minutes earlier. He told Alfie he was probably right. He\u2019d put it on his list and deal with it.<\/p>\n
It took a second for Alfie to realize what Lawrence had meant. \u201cYou sure?\u201d he asked. \u201cI think you\u2019d rather have us do it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo sir,\u201d Lawrence said, sitting up and readjusting his mask. \u201cThat\u2019s my toy.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
When Alfie didn\u2019t pick me up the next morning, I assumed we had the day off. I\u2019d already gotten out of bed, so I microwaved a cup of coffee and went down by the creek. The air felt gritty, the sun filtered to a strange soft orange. The \u201csuggestion\u201d that had precipitated my move east had left me with nerve damage in my right leg, and I had trouble sitting for very long, but I found a nice rock where I could stretch out. Based on all the pictures in the cabin, Trout Creek had been something to fish back in the day, currents as clear blue as an icicle, but now it wasn\u2019t much more than a trickle, the rocks shagged with thick green algae. Despite the low water, the air felt cooler along the creek, a moisture that was almost buoyant. It started me thinking about things from my old life, hustling along Bay Drive, that good stench when the tide went out, the seagulls in the oyster yards who\u2019d try to steal the sunglasses off your head. I could admit I was beginning to think maybe a place like Polk was okay, that it was better for me. The endless sun, maybe even the heat, but then always underneath there was this other feeling, days when all the open space, an ocean all its own, felt inexplicably claustrophobic, like the panic before drowning.<\/p>\n
I wouldn\u2019t even have to tell Alfie, or anyone. Only leave. Just go back, hoping enough time had passed. That a few fools might even be happy to see me.<\/p>\n
The landline started ringing. I\u2019d thought it was a new customer. Maybe it wasn\u2019t too late for my other plan. Maybe we could simply be carpet installers and forget about the rest. Let that be plenty.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t get there in time, and the machine answered. It was Alfie, giving me instructions to go to the rodeo grounds and get Lawrence\u2019s truck and then bring it up to his place. An engine rumbled in the background. \u201cBe expeditious,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
I picked up and asked where he was.<\/p>\n
He said it like it should have been obvious. \u201cI’m at Larry\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n
And when I asked how he\u2019d gotten there, he told me he had the Executive, as if that should have been obvious too.<\/p>\n
\u201cCall it a test drive,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I\u2019d expected to see the Executive right there in Lawrence\u2019s driveway, but the driveway was empty, the garage buttoned up. I drove around and parked in front of the outbuilding where Lawrence kept his tools and yard equipment. The barndoor was open, both ATVs in place.<\/p>\n
I found Alfie at the dump pit. He\u2019d somehow managed to coax the Executive all the way down there along the two-track, though he snapped some branches off a low-hanging vine maple. He was working the backhoe, scooping a bucket from the fill pile. The trash that had been loose before had been buried. Alfie added another layer of dirt on top and then used the claw to rake the soil together, delicate as a cat covering its mess.<\/p>\n
Alfie dampened the throttle and leaned out of the cab. He had on a pair of cheap mirrored sunglasses, fake gold\u2014the frames, lenses, everything.<\/p>\n
\u201cI guess Lawrence changed his mind,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
Alfie was already beaming. \u201cDoubt he\u2019s gonna ask me to unbury it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lawrence was gone for the day but had talked with Alfie earlier. The carpet had come in, and we needed to go pick it up. Get the pad down. Wait for Lawrence to double check the color before we installed. He\u2019d given no instructions concerning the backhoe.<\/p>\n
Alfie was basically finished but wanted to move a few more buckets, tamp things down one more time. \u201cI\u2019m having too much fun,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
The bottom hinge on the Executive\u2019s door was still broken, and the door hung open the same as the day I\u2019d found Alfie on the organ. Even through the smoke, the interior of the RV smelled sharper than the dump pit, something half-cabbage and outhouse. The organ was still there and not in Lawrence\u2019s pit, as I\u2019d guessed. I twiddled on the keys, but the power was off. I tried squeezing past to get to the back, but even my skinny ass had to crawl over.<\/p>\n
A shadow flashed across the walls and then Alfie\u2019s silhouette filled the doorway. He\u2019d left the backhoe running and now stood at the foot of the stairs, blocking the exit.<\/p>\n
His bedroom door was open. The bed had been stripped down to the stained mattress. The sheets and blanket, even the pillows, gone. No lonely shoe.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s a son-of-a-bitch to have to look behind you like that. \u201cI don\u2019t have to know about any of this,\u201d I said, turning around.<\/p>\n
He\u2019d taken another step inside. Only then did I notice he had on Lawrence\u2019s gloves. His edges seemed to be vibrating again.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe thing about that is you already do know. See the problem?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I can forget,\u201d I promised. \u201cYou forget something and it\u2019s like it never even happened.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLike what never happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLike nothing,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Late that afternoon, having finally gone out to the pit himself, Lawrence fired us. The carpet was only halfway installed, but he told us to pack our tools right then. He pulled a fold of hundred-dollar bills from the front pocket of his blue jeans and started counting them off, handing three to me and Alfie each. Lawrence said it covered the other work we\u2019d done around the property, plus some. When Alfie asked if it included the work he\u2019d done for Lawrence in the pit, Lawrence boiled himself red, either angry or embarrassed, or probably both.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re a real charming son-of-a-bitch,\u201d he said to Alfie.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe can finish this,\u201d Alfie said, nodding to the side. \u201cThe carpeting.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lawrence was firm and wanted us gone. I\u2019d guessed there were at least ten more hundreds in his stack. I had to believe Alfie saw that.<\/p>\n
Lawrence followed us outside and walked us all the way to the Executive. Before we loaded up, Alfie tried to shake Lawrence\u2019s hand, but Lawrence refused, something that charmed the shit out of Alfie. \u201cLarry,\u201d he said, \u201cyou\u2019re making all this so personal.\u201d<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t think Lawrence exactly knew what Alfie meant, and I can\u2019t say I did either. I only knew who Alfie was and how stubborn he could be. Pride and stubbornness, piss meeting shit. Lawrence looked at me for some kind of clue or intervention, I think, but I only shrugged. He\u2019d set his own destiny with Alfie as far as I cared. I was the one who needed a ride back home.<\/p>\n
Lawrence stuck out his hand and looked Alfie straight in the eyes. \u201cThere,\u201d he said. I could tell he was trying to squeeze the shit out of Alfie\u2019s hand. \u201cHappy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAbsolutely,\u201d Alfie said.<\/p>\n
The road into town was a long downhill, and Alfie let the Executive run, a billowing cloud of gravel dust behind us. The RV swayed to the outside of each curve, then sprang back the other way. When I said that I could smell the brakes heating up, Alfie fake-panicked that they\u2019d gone out already, stomping frantically on the floor. On a few corners, Alfie took my side of the RV right to the edge of the road, the canyon dropping off sharply below me. I locked the door and both-hands\u2019ed the grab bar, which cracked Alfie up, and it took me back to when he\u2019d made me do the seventh-inning stretch\u2014that way he seemed to find joy in making puppets out of people.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe should go get the rest of it,\u201d I said, my breath a little rushed. \u201cTell Larry to let us finish or to pay us.\u201d<\/p>\n
The Executive bucked hard on a dip in the road, almost bouncing us from our seats.<\/p>\n
\u201cScrew that,\u201d Alfie said. He was practically giggling. \u201cDon\u2019t ask. Just go up there and take it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOr just go up there and take it,\u201d I prodded. \u201cThat\u2019s easy money.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cToo easy,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
But we didn\u2019t return to Lawrence\u2019s that day, and it was only Alfie alone who went back later. Instead, Alfie piloted us down to the rodeo grounds, first stopping at the Chevron to get a pack of hot dogs. He assumed I was going to stay, had bought a family-sized bag of Lays to share. Mariners were in San Diego. \u201cYou can try the organ,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ll teach your dumb ass a fight song.\u201d<\/p>\n
I convinced him I was beat, lied about an impending need to take a dump. I walked backward as I spoke, so I could face him. Maybe I\u2019d rally later, after a shower. \u201cNext game, for sure.\u201d<\/p>\n
He found me at The Long Branch not a half hour later. The smoke had changed his mind about the hot dogs. A.C. and a cold beer sounded better. \u201cI thought you were going home.\u201d<\/p>\n
I made up a story about almost loading my pants, about needing to stop. But the truth was only that I was at The Long Brach because it was a bar. I was on my third Bud Lite, and when Alfie pulled out his wallet, I pointed to the pile of tens already in front of me, which I\u2019d planned to drink through. \u201cOn me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Alfie sat down, leaving a seat between us. He slapped me on the back so hard it stung for a half hour.<\/p>\n
\u201cRoach, amigo,\u201d he said. \u201cWelcome back.\u201d<\/p>\n
One of the TVs above the bar was tuned to the Mariners, the other the news, volume muted on both. I was already too bleary-eyed to read the score on the game. The news was showing video from the fire, which was doubling every day, an entire forest wrapped in flame. They thought it would burn until winter.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I came to in the front seat of my Caravan, head against the driver\u2019s-side window. The sheriff was tapping his knuckle on the other side of the glass, right on my head. I was parked on the front lawn of my cabin, having overshot the driveway by a good ten feet, the front bumper kissing the porch. The sheriff tapped again. My shirt was chunked with puke.<\/p>\n
\u201cMr. Ambriz,\u201d the sheriff said. The window crank on my door was stripped, and I had to palm the window to roll it down. \u201cGood morning, Roach.\u201d<\/p>\n
I shaded my eyes, even the hazy light too bright. \u201cSheriff.\u201d<\/p>\n
The sheriff tugged on the door handle, but it was still locked. \u201cPlease open the door, Roach.\u201d I told him I was good where I was, that he could talk from there, but he pulled on the handle again, leaving his hand in place until I finally unlocked it.<\/p>\n
I stumbled getting out, and the sheriff steadied me, grabbing my shoulders and leaning me against my car. He got my cigarettes and lighter from the dash and then closed the door. My hands tremored as I took them.<\/p>\n
\u201cThought you said you wouldn\u2019t come out here unannounced. Wasn\u2019t that part of the agreement?\u201d<\/p>\n
The sheriff said I could be right. He was soft around the belly and not much of a tough guy, but he seemed amused by how much difficulty I was having with my coordination. \u201cWe also have the kind of agreement where it doesn\u2019t much matter one way or another.\u201d<\/p>\n
I finally got my cigarette lit. \u201cOh, that kind.\u201d<\/p>\n
The sheriff had originally come out to tell me about the evacuation order, which had been raised to Level Three. However, considering things, and since he was here anyway, he\u2019d also heard that I\u2019d been doing some work for Lawrence Newhouse. \u201cHow long that been going on?\u201d<\/p>\n
I thought I was feeling better, but I must have started to slump because the sheriff reached over and steadied me again.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho told you about that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLawrence, primarily. Alfie, too.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve been over to Alfie\u2019s?\u201d I wondered if he\u2019d gone inside, but I also knew I couldn\u2019t ask, that there was a chance he hadn\u2019t. \u201cHow is he?\u201d<\/p>\n
The sheriff was humored by my concern. \u201cAnything you want to tell me, Roach? That\u2019s your job, remember? To tell us things.\u201d<\/p>\n
I took a drag of my cigarette. I\u2019d asked Alfie about the pit while at The Long Branch. He kept stacking up blackberry brandy and tequila shots on me. Fucker wouldn\u2019t stop saying amigo.<\/p>\n
\u201cSomebody,\u201d was all he\u2019d answered. \u201cNobody. A woman.\u201d<\/p>\n
I tried to bring the sheriff into focus and present a real convincing look, but I could hardly keep my eyes open past a squint. \u201cNothing I can really think of.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNope. Not right now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot right now?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cI believe that\u2019s what I said.\u201d<\/p>\n
The sheriff eased up and gave me some room to off-gas. You can see when someone thinks they\u2019re bullshit proof. You let someone catch you holding something once, they think they can always do it. Some lies you don\u2019t hide.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy wife was actually talking about new carpeting the other night. I saw your sign out there. Maybe I should call.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou should,\u201d I said. I knew then that things had run out. Some guys liked to take it all the way to the end, no matter win, lose, or worse, but I\u2019d always figured it was best to get out way ahead of that. That was survival. \u201cWe do pretty good work, surprisingly.\u201d<\/p>\n
The sheriff headed toward his cruiser but stopped short, like he\u2019d remembered something, and then just as quickly had lost it. He looked at the ground, and I wondered if he was really trying to remember, or if he was only giving me more time, another chance to say something.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s peaceful up here, isn\u2019t it?\u201d He\u2019d gone from looking at the ground and up into the trees. \u201cEven with the smoke, I always thought this was a little slice of heaven.\u201d<\/p>\n
I told him I agreed about the quiet. But I didn\u2019t know if it was peaceful. \u201cIt feels like I\u2019m being barbequed.\u201d<\/p>\n
The sheriff nodded sympathetically. \u201cI suppose you probably are.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I left my minivan where it was and went inside to sleep things off. It was nearly five that evening when I woke. My nose was stuffed up like I had a cold, and my head throbbed as bad as that time this motherfucker Cheeks had cracked my skull.<\/p>\n
I lurched my way to the kitchen and ran my head under the faucet, sucked down mouthfuls of water until my gut ballooned. It was a start, but I was still miserable, and for a moment I was almost thankful about it, how the misery wasn\u2019t going to fade anytime soon. I thought that meant I\u2019d learn from it.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d done the steps before. Step One was to admit that your life had become unmanageable, which sure, but what Step One maybe failed to consider was that some situations called for different styles of management. It was Step Four, \u201ca searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves,\u201d where I\u2019d gotten stuck in the past. I hadn\u2019t been to church since I was a kid, but the way I remembered the rules was that you could say you were sorry right at the very end, at the very last moment, and right before you died, if you believed, if you really did, then they had to let you in, you\u2019d be saved. It was the riskiest bet there was.<\/p>\n
I went by Alfie\u2019s the next morning. I was going to offer him a ride to Walmart, offer one last favor as a way of evening things out, though I knew our books would never balance. The Executive was already gone\u2014at Lawrence\u2019s. Alfie\u2019s table and chair had been knocked over, and I set them back up for him. I gathered his daisy and flowerpot, which had separated. The roots and soil had dried into a feather-light cube, and I stuffed them back into the pot, arranged it all as Alfie had. The other chairs still faced the mountains, which were somewhere out there, hidden behind the smoke.<\/p>\n
Because of the fire, County Divide Road was closed, so I had to circle around to Highway 29 to exit the valley. Convoys of trucks pulling stock and horse trailers headed out with me. Up near Westfall, heavy patches of smoke drifted across the roadway, our headlights hardly cutting it. Snow-like ash accumulated on my windshield, punctuated by blackened pine needles. The pump on the fluid reservoir had burned out years ago, and without any help the wipers would only made things worse.<\/p>\n
In Baker City, I stopped at a Jacksons for some supplies. My car still had enough gas for a hundred miles, which would get me somewhere. I called the sheriff from the parking lot and then tossed my phone.<\/p>\n
Instead of getting on the interstate, I turned back toward the fires, the only direction left to go. I drove leisurely, a cold can of Coors tucked between my legs, sipping whenever I wanted. It was almost like I was on Bay Drive again, when I could just cruise around and watch the world, when it felt like I could own it.<\/p>\n
The road curved west, the sun now straight ahead of me, glowing an otherworldly neon red. Because of the smoke, you could look right at it. It was flat in the sky and round as a quarter.<\/p>\n
I pulled over before the road veered north again and parked on the shoulder. I tossed my empty in the back of the van, then fished another beer from the plastic grocery bag, scanned the radio and found a ballgame.<\/p>\n
It was so strange to be able to look at the sun like that. I knew I was wrecking my eyes and screwing myself, that it\u2019d catch up with me. But I kept staring at it for no better reason than I could. It was the only reason you needed to do anything.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
With Alfie, sometimes you had to let him run himself out, the same way you did those big trout that used to choke the streams around here. Pull back too hard and it\u2019s over. Better to let them go. Sometimes, though, you let a fish run like that and it means you\u2019re going on a run yourself<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":18916,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-18113","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","writer-eliot-treichel"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18113","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=18113"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18113\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18919,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18113\/revisions\/18919"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/18916"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18113"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18113"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18113"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}