FOLLOW THE LEADER - Chapter 41

 Chapter 41




That night I looked in on Rollins, who, behind my back, had bought a fifth of Glenlivet Scotch and was half way through it. I grabbed the bottle off the table.

“I need you sober for tomorrow,” I said.

He swallowed a hiccup and said: “What’s happening tomorrow?”

I had no clue. I was making it up as we went along.

“You’ll see,” I said.

He grunted. Too tired and depressed to quarrel about the  Scotch, I guessed. I figured he would turn on the TV after I was gone and flop onto the bed and pass out.

I went back to my room and stowed the bottle in a high cupboard—after I had a taste. It was superb. Smooth and tasty, almost buttery without the peaty bite. I made up my mind right then to look into high-end Scotch when I had the chance.

The perfectly air conditioned Oasis and its softly lit ambience enveloped me as I walked through the lobby toward the front entrance. I still felt a trace of the coolness as I walked between the sliding glass doors.  Suddenly a blast of desert air.  I nodded to the valets, who ignored me. An amber glow extended past them, lighting the palm trees and cacti, which were artfully placed and lit from below.

I kept walking, determined to rid myself of well-lit opulence and rich tourists and their fancy cars. I didn’t have the keys to the Subaru and I didn’t give a shit.  I was carrying a small backpack and a big flashlight and a small water bottle. I would walk north on 190 until I got to the rangers station. I gazed up at the millions of stars. They were so bright that I wouldn’t need my flashlight to find my way. You had to get out of the city for this, and the further out the better. Occasionally a car would approach me from behind and pass me. It didn’t bother me. I was so well lit that the drivers could see me from a long way off.

There was no escaping the thought: Humankind is insignificant. 

After a while I could see the tiny light from the campers’ fires and the lights of the ranger station.

I was nearly there.

I knocked on the door. I could barely hear a room air conditioner’s fan. I heard a desk chair scoot back. Footsteps. The tiny building shook.

The door opened.

There stood Ranger Wilma, giving me the snake-eye. She would make a perfect drill sergeant, I thought.

“You were here this morning,” she said. No hello.

“Right.” I showed her my card.

She wasn’t impressed. “What’s this about?” she asked.

“I’m reopening a cold case concerning the disappearance and murder of Katherine Rollins.”

She turned back abruptly.

“We got us another one,” she called.


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