“Some investment,” Perry said shaking his head with a disgusted laugh. “Turns out when she went to sell them that they are worthless.”
An animated Perry carried the bulk of the conversation as he pressed his foot against the floorboard and zipped down the highway. The doc was a genuinely nice guy, Gary thought. He didn’t have a bad word for anyone. Gary was no expert on human behavior, but as far as he could tell it seemed out of character that Perry Nelson was an abuser of his wife and children. The bruises Sharon had pointed out on her body began to gnaw at the VW's passenger. Gary Adams wondered if he had been duped. While smacking Sharon wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities, considering how she acted some of the time, Dr. Nelson didn’t seem the type to do it.
“I don’t think I’ll ever see my older girls again,” Perry said at one point on the drive. His words were full of resignation and Gary chose not to follow up on the comment. He didn’t know if it was because of a wedge Sharon had driven between the girls and their father, though, he figured, that could have been the reason for it. Sharon had complained about the grown daughters.
Gary changed the subject. With what was on his mind, the comment bothered him.
It was close to 7:00 P.M. when the city of Pueblo came into view and they stopped for a bite at the Burger King. Perry had a chicken sandwich and Gary ate a hamburger. After eating, they zipped over to the mall so Perry could say hello to a friend who ran a Pearle Vision optical center there. When they pulled up it was obvious they were too late. The mall had closed.
Though Perry was disappointed, Gary felt relieved. He didn’t want to see anyone; he didn’t want anyone to see him.
Nothing really stops a Colorado highway. Mountains that get in the way are bored clear through. Ledges are blasted out of granite slopes and roads are laid in like Band-Aids. A mile above tunnel one on Highway 6, near Golden, is Clear Creek. In the summer it is a scenic spot for a picnic as water gently runs the rocky gauntlet. Boulders rise high enough from the water for kids to hopscotch across one side to an-other. But spring and fall bring a different picture. Water courses through a rocky canyon making Clear Creek neither clear nor a creek.
A diamond-shaped road sign warned travelers who pulled over to rest or take photographs: CLIMB TO SAFETY IN CASE OF FLASH FLOOD.
Though it had been raining intermittently for hours, the clouds opened up and the freeway became the world's largest car wash. By the time the VW reached the creek, it was a full-fledged downpour. As they went through the tunnel, Gary asked Perry to pull over.
“Got to take a piss,” the younger man said.
It was around 4:00 A.M. when he made it back to his place in the canyon. Gary Adams’ blue jeans had dried by then, but his muscular body still hurt like hell. He winced vaguely as he pulled into the dusty driveway leading to the Dude Ranch. He was wired and agitated. He told himself Perry was dead, but he couldn’t be sure of it. He hoped that he was dead, because if he wasn’t there would be hell to pay. If Perry was alive, Gary knew he was going to jail for a long, long time. He watched the sun rise and paced the floor.
At 9:00 A.M., Gary could take just sitting around no more. He had to do something. He announced to his wife, Nancy, that he needed to take care of some business in Ratone, about an hour away. On the way out the door, he suggested a quick detour.
“Perry owes me some money,” he said to Nancy as she got into the car. “Let's go by there and see if he's home:”
Nancy agreed. Since it was early, she’d sit in the car while Gary ran inside to get the cash. It wasn’t polite to go bother neighbors without a phone call or an invitation.
Sharon answered the door in her bathrobe, slit open to reveal most of her ample breasts.
“Everything is okay,” he said. “Perry's not coming back.” He didn’t tell her he was not absolutely positive about it, because he worried that she’d get more skittish than he already was.
“You’re sure?” she asked. “Everything's all right?”
“Everything's okay.”
Sharon fished around for a hundred dollars and handed the money to her mountain man.
“You’re sure he's not coming back?” she asked once more.
“No, he's not.”
Gary and Nancy Adams spent the day and night in a Raton motel, a good hour from what Gary had assumed would be the heat of a crime investigation. Nancy, of course, had no idea why they needed to get away. She was just glad to be alone with her husband. When they made love, Nancy never noticed the scrapes and bruises on her husband's body. At least, she never said anything about it.
Nancy, Gary believed, suspected nothing. And why would she? Gary was certain his wife liked Sharon. Friends don’t steal another friend's husband.