The Steeps

Chapter 9 - The Getback

Late that afternoon, back in town, Casey and Nat went over the day’s events as they walked along Main Street, storefronts now lighted, streetlamps just coming on. 

“… and where you going to get a thousand bucks?” Casey said. 

“That’s loser talk,” said Nat. 

“That’s not an answer.” 

“You want your getback, I had to hook him.” 

“With money you don’t have. That if you had it should be going to that cretin who bopped you.” 

“I’ll have it if I need it.” 

“From where?” 

“Just concentrate on your part.” 

Casey muttered and shook his head. 

They were about to turn into the alley that went back to their loft when something caught Nat’s eye. “Hold on,” he said. 

Casey turned to where his father was looking. 

In a circle of light from one of the streetlamps, a dog was taking a dump in the snow. They watched the animal finish its business and trot off. 

Where the dog had been was a steaming pile of turds.

Nat looked at it thoughtfully. After a moment, he turned back toward the sidewalk, motioning Casey to come with him. 

He led Casey down Main Street past the bus depot to Copper Crest Groceries & Meats. Opened the door and went inside. 

Casey followed him past the stacked shopping baskets and candy display to the checkout counter. The woman on duty looked up from a magazine and smiled. 

“Hey, Nat. What’s happening?” 

“Hi, Marge. We need one of your paper bags.” 

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In the media room of a designer-perfect ski chalet, Carson Quiller Junior was lounging on a leather couch, watching a hockey game on the flatscreen TV. “Yes!” He snapped his fingers as a shot was blocked and the puck swept away in a fast break.   

He seemed not to hear the doorbell chiming until his father’s voice called from another room. “See who it is.” 

“Right.” Quiller Junior watched as a player got checked and the whistle blew. Reluctantly, he got up off the couch.  

He came out into the two-story entrance hall with its logwood and Native American motif, glanced into the living room where his father was tapping his iPad. He checked himself in the mirror by the stairs and continued across to the front door. 

Turned the brass handle and pulled it open – and jumped back, eyes wide. 

On the stoop outside was a fire, a briskly burning paper bag. 

Young Quiller leapt out and stomped on the bag, yelping and cursing as he tried to put out the flames. 

His father came quickly and leapt out to join him, both Quillers high-stepping on the flames.   

And now here came the lady of the house, Sarah Quiller, to see what was going on. She made a face and put a hand to her nose. “What is that awful smell?” 

The two Quiller men did their dance to put out the fire. When the final flame had been extinguished, they surveyed the mess at their feet. 

The mess on their feet. 

Each of their shoes was covered with bits of burned paper and a brown mushy substance that could only have come from some creature’s bowels.  

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Nat Janz was grinning as he and Casey came up the back stairs to the loft. 

“We can call our team the Aristocrats.” 

“Like they’ll never guess who did it,” Casey said. 

“Who cares? I just wish we’d been closer to see their look.” 

The loft door was unlocked and they went inside, Nat tossing his parka onto the sofa on his way to the fridge. He took out a can of beer and held it up to Casey. 

Casey declined. “So we start tomorrow?” 

Nat popped the beer and took a swig. “Tomorrow I’m in Denver. We’ll start day after. You can work on some things tomorrow with Ronnie.” 

“What’s in Denver?” 

“Just some doctor stuff. No big deal.” 

Casey studied his father, not liking what he heard. “Since when you been going to a doctor?” 

“It’s just a checkup. And I need to talk to those guys I owe. See if we can work something out.” 

“Like using those bucks if I beat Quiller.” 

“Something like that.” 

“Which has to be a half-ass longshot at best.” 

“They don’t have to know that. And you don’t have to say it – or think it.” 

“So the whole deal is to buy you time.” 

“Just do your thing.” 

Nat had taken out his cell, was checking his calls. Casey knew that if they got into it more he still wasn’t going to get any straight answers. He let out a frustrated breath and started for the bedroom. 

Nat held up the phone. “You got a call from Ronnie.” 

Casey stopped and turned around. “You have her number?” 

“Here.” Nat tossed him the phone. “It’s in, just press.” 

Casey pressed and waited, phone to his ear. “Hi, it’s Casey. What’s up?” He listened. “Uh-huh.” Listened and nodded and smiled. “Sure, where is it?”