by Alan Cook
Chapter 33
So my first official duties with Tartan Enterprises
consisted of running off into the wilderness with
Stan and some of the other men who worked for
James. James didn't come with us. I guess he
was too old and too smart to participate.
Actually, Pinnacles National Monument isn't
wilderness, exactly, but it does have a lot of
jagged rocks. And we were supposed to climb
some of them to prove we could trust each other.
The only rock climbing I had done had been on
a wall in a gym with a very secure rope holding
me, but I figured if the others could do it I could.
A dozen of us had carpooled to Pinnacles in three
vans from San Francisco on Friday evening. Before
that I had spent two days at home, gathering
some essentials together to be shipped to San
Francisco. James had said I could use his guest
bedroom for a couple of weeks until I got my feet
on the ground. He mentioned that several of his
employees might need roommates and that I could
probably share an apartment with one of them. I
hoped they weren't all gay.
I had spoken briefly to my father to try to make
peace with him. I think he believed me when I said
I hadn't tried to get Elma to switch her proxy, but
it was obvious he couldn't understand why I was
going to work for James. I told him that when I
learned enough I might work for him. And perhaps
I would.
I had said goodbye to Emerge and to Esther. I had
explained to Esther why I was moving to San
Francisco--perhaps over-explained because I didn't
want to hurt her. She had accepted my explanations
and said I should do what was best for me. Not to
worry about her. She would be fine. She cried a little.
But I had realized for some time that I could
never marry her and this was a convenient
time to break off the relationship. It wasn't
fair to her if I continued to use her for my own
selfish purposes. She deserved a chance at
happiness.
The Tartan crew camped out in tents and sleeping
bags and awoke early Saturday morning to
bracing temperatures and hot chocolate. After
we had eaten pancakes cooked over Coleman
stoves and buried in maple syrup the world didn't
look bad at all. Stan, who was apparently our
leader, started giving directions. He split us up
into pairs.
My partner was Jed, who had been in the same
van with me. I had seen him once in the casino,
working as a croupier at the craps table. I wasn't
sure I wanted to trust my life to him just because
he knew all the bets you can make with a pair of
dice, but when he stripped down to a T-shirt I saw
that he was quite muscular and my confidence in
him grew.
Jed had been here before and he picked a
relatively easy climb for us to start on.
"Since you're new at this it will give you a chance
to get your feet wet," he said. "First, I'll belay you
from the top while you make the climb and then
we'll reverse positions. We'll have a chance to
build up confidence in each other so we can go
on to something tougher."
"I guess you never know when you might have to
climb up the side of a building in the business
world," I said. "Is that part of being a corporate
raider?"
Jed smiled and said, "Listen, Karl, I don't agree
with everything that I have to do, either, but
you learn to roll with it. Especially when the stock
is going up. James gets a bug in his ear about
team-building about every six months. So just
relax and enjoy it. Let me show you how to tie
a bowline."
We had a rope that I wrapped around my waist.
I felt like a sailor as I put a loop in the rope,
took the end and passed it through, then
around the rope and back through the loop again.
A bowline wasn't hard to tie, but once tied it
didn't come undone. My confidence grew
another notch.
Fortunately, the rock we were climbing had a
walking path up the back of it. Only one side
was steep. I watched a couple of the other guys
climb the route first. I noticed where they placed
their hands and feet and how they used their
centers of gravity to bind them to the rock rather
than tear them away from it.
I didn't have any special climbing shoes. I wore
my running shoes, but we weren't supposed to
tackle anything difficult enough to require
advanced equipment.
When it was our turn, Jed walked up to the top
and lowered one end of the rope to me. I tied
the bowline securely around my waist and
called up to him, "Belay on."
Jed pulled the rope taut from above and I
gingerly started looking and feeling for the
footholds and handholds the others had used.
I slipped when I was just a few feet above the
ground, but Jed held me easily before I had fallen
six inches. Knowing that I was safe made me
bolder and soon I was using cracks for footholds
that I wouldn't have trusted with my weight
before.
I received some coaching from several others
and after 20 strenuous minutes I climbed over
the last pitch and onto the relatively flat surface
at the top, fifty feet above the ground.
Jed sat there with his feet firmly braced against
a large rock, hauling in the rope, which went
around his body.
"Good job," he said. "Now you can belay me.
Remember, if I fall you hold my weight with the
hand gripping the end of the rope that has gone
around your body. That gives you a mechanical
advantage and all the work is done by your legs,
which contain your strongest muscles."
"Sounds logical to me," I said. "If you're willing to
trust me I'm willing to trust myself."
I sat where Jed had sat, with my legs firmly braced
and the rope around me. He pulled on it a few times
until I became confident that I could hold his weight.
Then he walked down to the bottom and made the
climb while I belayed him. He did it without falling,
for which I was thankful.
Later in the morning we made another climb,
somewhat tougher than the first one. I slipped
once, but Jed held me and I made it to the top
with muscles straining.
The picnic-style lunch wasn't bad. It turned out
that several of the guys were pretty good cooks
and they whipped up potato salad and
sandwiches. The banter was what you would
expect from young men, ribald jokes, talk about
sex. I got the impression that most of them were
straight, sexually speaking. It shouldn't be too
bad rooming with one of them. They joked about
James, too, but they all seemed to respect his
business acumen.
I had about decided that I should fit into this group
without much of a problem. After lunch we did two
more climbs, with about the same difficulty level as
the second one we had done in the morning. We
were resting in the shade and watching others climb
when Stan appeared.
"Karl," he said, heartily, slapping me on the back,
"I hear you're a natural rock climber, a regular
mountain goat."
"Not quite," I said. "I think I'm a bit too big to
make this a career. The more compact guys seem
to have an advantage."
Stan, who qualified as one of the more compact guys,
said, "In some ways, yes. Perhaps in balance, as an
example. But with your long arms and legs you have
an advantage in reaching for handholds and
footholds. I know an interesting climb I'd like you
to try. Come with me; I'll be your partner."
"I'm not sure I'm up for another one," I said. "I'm
discovering muscles I never knew I had. And they
are rebelling against having to support my weight
with my knees constantly bent and my body in
awkward positions I've never been in before."
"Not even when having sex? Well, just let me
show it to you. If you don't feel up to it you
don't have to do it."
Stan said this with enough of an edge in his voice
so that if I refused it might be interpreted as
weakness on my part. Since I was the new guy
I had to be careful. I got up slowly--I did have
sore muscles--and followed him along the stony
path that led between the rocky pinnacles that
gave the monument its name.
After ten minutes of ups and downs and having
to watch my step, I said, "You must know this
place pretty well."
"Well enough," Stan replied. "This is my fifth trip.
But take heart. We're almost there."
Something had been bothering me about Stan for
several days, but it had remained fuzzy. The
uneasy feeling came back to me now that I was
alone with him. It had started on the street in San
Francisco--when he had picked me up in his BMW.
That was it. It had to do with the knowledge that
Stan had made a lot of money with Tartan stock
options.
The cliff he stopped in front of was higher than
anything I'd tackled so far. The slope at the bottom
wasn't so bad, but it became almost vertical at the
top. As I mentally gauged the difficulty I felt tired
just thinking about doing it.
"It isn't as bad as it looks," Stan said. "In fact, the
bottom part is no harder than anything you've already
done. If you don't want to do the top part, just tell
me and I'll lower you back down."
If anybody else had suggested I attempt this
I probably would have refused, but for some
reason with Stan I thought I had to prove
something. Maybe it would give me an edge
over him if I made it to the top. Maybe it was
his suggestion that I couldn't do it that gave
me determination. I decided to prove him wrong.
As with some of the other rocks, there was an easy
walking route to the top. Stan followed that and
lowered the rope to me. By now I was an expert
at tying bowlines. I pulled the loop snug around my
waist and called, "On belay."
If anything, the first part proved to be easier than
the rocks I had already climbed. I temporarily
forgot my aches and went about the business of
climbing. I didn't have to worry because Stan was
belaying me from above.
I saw another mental picture of Stan: talking
about how much James had liked Ned. Stan
had acted--what? Jealous? Could Stan have
been jealous of Ned? Jealous of the fact that
James and Ned had known each other all their
lives. That Ned might again assume a major
role in the life of James?
I concentrated on my climbing and made it to
the vertical pitch in just a few minutes. But
there I got stuck.
I stood on a narrow ledge, with two decent
handholds, so I wasn't in immediate danger. I
searched the rock wall with my eyes, looking
for additional handholds and footholds. Letting
go with one hand at a time, I carefully felt along
the rough surface, trying to detect cracks that I
couldn't see because I had to keep my head
close to the cliff face for balance.
A rock projected out from the face above me and
just within my reach, but it was below an
overhang. Even if I had been strong enough
to pull myself up onto it I couldn't have kept
my balance.
I also couldn't climb down. The irony of rock
climbing is that you can climb up pitches that
you could never climb down.
"How are you doing down there? You haven't
moved for a while."
Stan's voice wasn't far above me. We were close
enough to converse easily, even though I
couldn't see him. Another picture came to me,
the picture of the gangbanger called Rabbit
giving me Stan's name. It all fit together now.
I had thought James had ordered Ned's murder,
but I had been wrong. Stan had paid to have
Ned killed, not James. Stan had the money and
he had the motive.
"I can't move. You'd better lower me down." I
tried to keep any hint of panic out of my voice.
"You've almost made it. It would be a shame to
stop now. I know the holds are there. You stay
where you are. I'll go back down and spot the
holds for you. I have a small pair of binoculars."
"Stan, don't go off belay. I can't stand here much
longer." The palms of my hands were suddenly
wet with sweat. I couldn't hold onto the rock
with slippery hands.
"It'll just take me a minute to get to the bottom.
Belay off."
I pressed my body against the face of the rock. One
small shift of my weight would throw me off balance.
That hadn't bothered me when I felt secure, but
now my body became my enemy. My left leg
started to tremble from having to support my
weight in an awkward position. I tried to picture
myself glued to the rock and to wipe out all
other thoughts.
It was probably no more than a minute, although
it seemed much longer, when I heard Stan's
voice below me. I very cautiously bent my
head and looked down. A wave of vertigo
made me quickly raise my head. It was a long
way to the bottom and there were jagged rocks
below me.
"Karl," Stan called, "I'm looking for holds. Don't
see too many. I guess you're right about that.
The route you should have followed is more to
the left, away from the overhang."
"Too late now," I said. "Please get the hell back up
here and lower me down."
"I don't think so."
"What!"
"This is part of your initiation. You have to find
your own way down."
"Bullshit! That's fucking bullshit! Get your ass
up here."
"Relax, Karl. You don't want to panic. I'm sure
you can do it. At least I'm giving you a chance.
That's more than Ned had."
"What does Ned have to do with it? Get up here!"
"I couldn't give Ned a chance. He was moving in on
my territory. He and James were too buddy-buddy;
they went back too far together."
"You paid to have Ned killed." It was more of a
statement than a question.
"Of course. What better way to utilize my
stock-option gains than to ensure that I'll
remain top dog with James."
"Stan, you're sick. We can get help for you."
"Not too sick to know that you're also trying to
horn in on my territory. Horn in, get it? Even
staying in the house with James. I was going
to shoot you the other night when I followed
you, but I decided that was too desperate; I
would have been caught. But an accident...that
could happen to anybody."
"You can't get away with it."
"Of course I can. I'm going back to the campsite
now. I'll say that we got separated, but that
you are an experienced outdoor person and can
find your way back. When it's time to leave and
you haven't shown up I'll volunteer to stay
behind and look for you--along with a couple of
others for witnesses. We'll locate your body before
dark. You tried to climb a cliff by yourself and fell."
I started to say something about the rope tied
around my waist being incriminating evidence,
but stopped. Stan had left the other end of the
rope at the top of the cliff and I didn't want him
going up there again if he wasn't going to help me.
I argued with him, but I heard his voice getting
farther away. I cautiously looked down and saw
him moving along the trail. He would be out of
sight in a minute.
Aces and Knaves copyright ©2002 Alan L. Cook
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