Travis left the Café and stood in back of his car. He opened the trunk and unburied his down coat. It was stiff and dirty and, as he put it on, a few feathers flew off. He watched them drift across the parking lot and over the giant ice cream cone until they were lost against the broken clouds.
The main street pointed north for about a thousand feet and he headed that way. It consisted of a thin ribbon of buildings along the town’s west side with Otter Lake and its park directly behind. On his right were the Otter Lake Bar, a party store, vacant scrub lots, and a few unclassifiable derelict structures. Behind the bar were several streets that contained most of Otter Lake's hundred or so houses.
The thin clouds and fading snow formed fringes of white in a losing battle that let the sky and dirt show through. Midway up the street, he sat on the town’s only bench. It had concrete legs and a wooden slat back that bore the cryptic remains of a farm equipment ad.
A blue Ford pick-up parked across the street in front of the Otter Lake Bar. Muffled music poured out as the bar door opened and closed. Travis leaned back on the bench, closed his eyes and let the sun hit his face. As cold as it was, he still felt its power. Distant birds, the bell on the party store door, the smooth rush of wind scraping over the world, and after a while, it seemed to him the sunshine and even the lack of noise made noise.
To his right, a car door shut and he could hear footsteps moving toward him mixed with the aroma of pipe tobacco. Travis knew a smarter man would have tensed his body and formed a plan, but right now, he was not that man.
"Hello Travis.”
“Hello Günter.”
He opened his eyes to see the face of a tall, fit man about 40 in a very expensive long coat with equally expensive black leather gloves. He looked European, maybe Italian, had thick, black hair combed straight back, with fine, almost chiseled, features. Like with himself, the name did not sync with the man. Relief edged out surprise. It was re-enforcements.
“Nice place you have here,” said Günter.
Travis tilted his head and gestured. The tall man sat next to him on the bench. “It’s small, but deceptively complex,” Travis said.
“Ah yes, I saw the bowling alley,” Günter replied as if
that confirmed the point.
Travis tried not to react. He had been caught by surprise.
“What bowling alley?” he thought.
“Curious how I found you?” Günter asked.
“No,” Travis replied.
The main street pointed north for about a thousand feet and he headed that way. It consisted of a thin ribbon of buildings along the town’s west side with Otter Lake and its park directly behind. On his right were the Otter Lake Bar, a party store, vacant scrub lots, and a few unclassifiable derelict structures. Behind the bar were several streets that contained most of Otter Lake's hundred or so houses.
The thin clouds and fading snow formed fringes of white in a losing battle that let the sky and dirt show through. Midway up the street, he sat on the town’s only bench. It had concrete legs and a wooden slat back that bore the cryptic remains of a farm equipment ad.
A blue Ford pick-up parked across the street in front of the Otter Lake Bar. Muffled music poured out as the bar door opened and closed. Travis leaned back on the bench, closed his eyes and let the sun hit his face. As cold as it was, he still felt its power. Distant birds, the bell on the party store door, the smooth rush of wind scraping over the world, and after a while, it seemed to him the sunshine and even the lack of noise made noise.
To his right, a car door shut and he could hear footsteps moving toward him mixed with the aroma of pipe tobacco. Travis knew a smarter man would have tensed his body and formed a plan, but right now, he was not that man.
"Hello Travis.”
“Hello Günter.”
He opened his eyes to see the face of a tall, fit man about 40 in a very expensive long coat with equally expensive black leather gloves. He looked European, maybe Italian, had thick, black hair combed straight back, with fine, almost chiseled, features. Like with himself, the name did not sync with the man. Relief edged out surprise. It was re-enforcements.
“Nice place you have here,” said Günter.
Travis tilted his head and gestured. The tall man sat next to him on the bench. “It’s small, but deceptively complex,” Travis said.
“Ah yes, I saw the bowling alley,” Günter replied as if
that confirmed the point.
Travis tried not to react. He had been caught by surprise.
“What bowling alley?” he thought.
“Curious how I found you?” Günter asked.
“No,” Travis replied.
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