Death's Last Run (18 page)

RICHIE

Richie looked down the Blackcomb Glacier. He remembered when this run used to scare the shit out of him. Cold and steep, it looked like the jagged edge of the world. Now it gave him power. The metal blade of his snowboard chiseling lines in the glacier made Richie feel like he was slicing edges off his fears and carving his niche in the world at the same time.

Nicki Minaj's “Fly” was in his earbuds. He felt the tune lift him. Though he'd die before admitting it out loud, the song always made him feel okay about shit for three minutes and thirty-two seconds.

Richie took the glacier slowly, grooving halfway down the run before plonking his ass on the hill. It was cold. He imagined all the layers of ice and snow beneath him. It was a wonder this glacier didn't slide off the mountain and take all the skiers and snowboarders with it. Maybe one day it would.

He didn't know the exact spot where Sacha had lain. But Norris had shown him the photo. All that blood — bright red against the white snow.

Why the fuck did Sacha have to breach security? She was so damn proud of herself — smuggling drugs was a lark to her. A fun way to get back at her big shot war-against-drugs mother. Get back at her for what, Richie had no damn clue. He wondered if Sacha even knew what she was doing.

Richie felt his eyes moisten. He growled and willed them to dry up. He missed Sacha, straight up. He used to tell her shit he'd never told a soul — like how he'd bought his first gun at fifteen after watching his father hit his mother one too many times. He never pulled it out at home, but knowing the sleek metal nine millimeter was there in the drawer beside his bed gave Richie the confidence to stand up to his old man. Sacha didn't give him any sentimental girly response. She'd just shaken her head and said,
Parents. They should feed kids and leave them the hell alone. We'd be better off all raised by wolves.

“Jesus, Sacha,” he said aloud, tracing a glove in the snow. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Oy! Richie!” Richie heard Chopper's shout before the big yellow ski suit skidded to a stop beside him.

Richie quickly pulled his goggles off, wiped his eyes, and replaced the goggles before turning to face Chopper. He was glad he'd worn his tinted pair. “I think I have a leak in these,” Richie said. “They were fucking expensive, too — Oakley.”

“Are you freaked being up here? It's my first time on Blackcomb since Sacha bailed.” Chopper slid his skis back and forth, like he was running in place.

Richie said nothing. He hoped Chopper would get the point and ski away.

“It's like, she's gone, but she's not, you know?”

“No.” Richie flicked a chunk of snow off his board. “It's like she's gone. The end. What are you doing on groomers, anyway? Second time I've seen you here this week.”

Chopper shrugged. “Avalanche warning's been crazy high. Back country's dangerous with all this new snow. Is this the place? This spot where you stopped to . . . defog your goggles?”

Richie wanted to throttle Chopper. Interrupt his grief and then call him on it? “This is the run.”

Chopper nodded, was silent for a moment, and said, “I talked to Norris. He told me we absolutely cannot make this delivery to Washington.”

“You tell him about the million bucks if we don't?”

“He doesn't care. Not only will he not make the drive; he says he'll bust us if he catches us trying.”

“What?” Richie pooled some saliva and spat at the ground. “Does he understand that he doesn't get to be bent one minute and toe the line the next?”

Chopper shook his head. “This is bad, Rich. There's something going on with Norris. Says it's bigger than we know, bigger than all of us. But he won't elaborate.”

“Shit.”

“It could be nothing,” Chopper said. “Norris is scared for his job, his rep in town. He's always been a worrier. I think the risk of being caught is way exaggerated in his mind.”

Caught for what?
Richie wanted to ask. He tapped a gloved finger to his mouth. “What if one of the Seattle crew recognized Sacha — figured out who her mom is — one time when she was down in Blaine for the delivery?”

Chopper squinted, pulled his tinted goggles back over his eyes to block the sun. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, yeah, Sacha's mom's famous. Powerful, even. But for the
FBI
to go outside their jurisdiction — pretty sure they'd need more than just a murder case. You know?”

“Um . . . no.”

“What if someone in the Seattle crew thought he could make a quick buck selling that info, about Martha Westlake's daughter as part of a smuggling ring?”

“Who would they sell it to?”

“Maybe to the
DEA
? More likely, though . . .” Richie tapped his mouth some more. “More likely they would have sold it to someone who would pay a lot of money. Like one of Westlake's opponents in Washington who could use the information for political leverage.”

“Heavy,” Chopper said. Which meant he was too stoned to think too hard.

Richie's wheels were spinning. “Sacha Westlake smuggling drugs would be some juicy information in the wrong hands. The question is
whose
hands?”

Chopper's eyes sharpened, like his mind was finally on this. “You think Seattle ratted Sacha out to some politician? And that's how come the
FBI
's so interested? Not because of her death, but because of the drugs?”

“Yeah,” Richie said. “That's exactly what I think.”

“Shit. I gotta go see Norris again.”

Chopper kicked off and did a few stylish 360s on his trick skis before disappearing around a curve on the hill.

CLARE

Clare strapped on her left binding and pushed off. She tried to keep the fear off her face as Jana glided toward the double black diamond — double black meaning it wasn't just challenging, it was a run that only insane people took.

“You good?” Jana yelled up the hill.

“Are you kidding?” Clare shouted. “I learned how to snowboard two days ago. I am not jumping off a cliff.”

“You said Chopper wanted to show you some jumps.”

“Yeah, and I told him to get lost.”

Jana put a hand on the hip of her baggy snowboard pants. “Please? This was Sacha's favorite run.”

Clare rode down and stopped beside Jana so she could talk without shouting. She stared at the trees and the near-empty slope. It was four-forty-five. The last chairlift had just taken them to the top of the Blackcomb Glacier. It was almost dark. Almost exactly like the day Sacha had died.

“I'm not Sacha.” Clare peered over the edge. It looked more like a cliff of certain death than a run someone would go down on purpose.

Jana shrugged. “You kind of are the same. You'll totally get it when we trip on Mountain Snow.”

When
, not if
.
Clare hadn't felt peer pressure like this since she was thirteen.

“Are you working tonight? I didn't see you on the schedule.”

Clare shook her head under her balaclava. It had been a sunny day, but now a bitter wind was picking snow up from the hill and whipping it around like a fresh blizzard. Clare looked forward to being back inside, curled up with a hot chocolate. Or maybe one of those craft beers she was actually coming to like.

“I'll bail on my shift if you drop with me. I have two tabs in my pocket.” Jana patted her pink plaid jacket. “It would be so perfect if we take them now. We'll be coming up on the trip by the time we reach the village. We'll have the whole evening to enjoy the natural wonder.”

“You sound like an ad for Grand Canyon Travel.” Clare's legs ached from how she was leaning, but she didn't know how else to stay upright on her snowboard.

“Good comparison,” Jana said. “On this drug you'll go places that will make you contemplate your own insignificance. At the same time, you'll feel beyond empowered.”

“Cocaine makes people feel empowered,” Clare said, “and yet I have no desire to try that, either.”

Jana laughed. “Mountain Snow won't turn you into an asshole. I'm talking real empowerment — the world will open up and you'll see it more clearly. You'll learn to take control of your destiny.”

“Is that what Sacha learned?” Clare immediately wished she'd kept that thought to herself.

“Way to bring the mood down. That's totally a question a cop would ask.” Jana pushed off and snowboarded away down the easier of the two runs, the one coded blue — not the cliff, which Clare appreciated.

Still, as she followed, Clare got worried. Was Jana accusing her of being a cop?

Halfway down the run, Jana skidded to a stop. Clare stopped beside her.

“Why don't we do
LSD
some other time?” Clare said. “With Chopper. He wants to drop with me, too.”

Jana pulled her gloves off and held them with her teeth. She unzipped her pocket and pulled out two tiny squares of paper. “Now. How else will I know you're not a cop?”

Clare laughed too loudly — she hurt her own ears. “Doesn't a cop have to say they're a cop if you ask them?”

“Yeah,” Jana said. “I've heard that, too. Is it true?”

“I don't know. I'm not a cop.”

“You'll always be an outsider, though. Until you drop with us, we're not going to trust you. But maybe you don't care. You can find other friends here. I'm sure there's a goody-two-shoes club you can join. Spend evenings baking muffins with the Bible as your guide.” Jana put her gloves back on, pushed off, and rode straight down the hill for several feet before stopping and waiting again.

Clare pushed off, too. The hill was getting icier. All the fresh snow had been packed down, and Clare thudded onto her ass the first time she tried to turn. She understood now why powder days were so sought after. She edged down to meet Jana.

She had to react right now as Lucy — it was more important than ever. “This isn't junior high,” Clare said when she'd caught up. “I don't care if I'm in the cool group. I'll fit in where I fit in; it's no big deal.”

“
If
you fit in. But whatever; you can always move again. Salt Lake City — where I grew up — is excited about people like you.”

Clare's impulse was to laugh, but she thought that would annoy Jana. “Look, I'm not going to ruin my brain to make friends. What's next, I have to kill someone to stay in the club?”

Jana's eyes glassed over. “Low blow, Lucy. Aren't you on fire today?”

“Sorry. I didn't mean it like that.”

“You have to decide if you're here or you're not. Why did you come to Whistler?” The edge was leaving Jana's voice, being replaced by the level calm of a guidance counselor. Clare wasn't sure which was scarier.

“To figure my life out,” Clare said, playing along.

“Mountain Snow will help. You'll get answers to questions you didn't think you could find in this lifetime.”

“But I'll forget it all when I'm sober.”

“No.” Jana's eyes were wide, like she was talking about a cult leader who had sold her hook, line, and sinker. “You don't forget. That's the amazing thing — you remember every millisecond. The wisdom that you gain is yours to keep.”

Clare couldn't help laughing. “Now you sound like an infomercial. How many brain cells does it cost?”

“No long-term damage to your brain. There have been tons of studies. Pure
LSD
— and Mountain Snow is the purest, that's why Sacha was so excited to find it — is one hundred percent safe.” Jana pulled off her glove again to show Clare the acid. “You think these tiny pieces of paper can hurt you?”

The tabs
were
tiny.

“I'll show you Sacha's suicide note.
If
you drop with me. The police still have the original, but Richie scored me a photocopy for the meantime.”

Clare tried to sound disinterested while her mind fired with excitement. “What does the note say?”

“No sneak previews. Because only on Mountain Snow will I know if you're the real Sacha coming back — if you're even supposed to see the note.”

“Are you already high?” Clare hoped so, because the alternative was Jana being insane.

Jana giggled. “No, I said that to freak you out. I
do
think you're Sacha, but not in a ghosty way. Just in a . . . I don't even know . . . I just really want to drop with you.”

“I'm afraid,” Clare said.

“Of learning something? Having fun?”

Clare thought of Amanda, stomping her little foot and ordering Clare around. Amanda might have the right answer if she were taking a test with a lead pencil in an
RCMP
classroom, but Clare knew the field. She was going with her gut on this.

Clare grinned — she tried for casually — and said, “Fine. Give me one of those pieces of paper. What do I do? Swallow it?”

“Stick it under your tongue. Here — hold your mouth open.” Jana was quick to close the deal before popping the other tab into her own mouth and pushing off with her snowboard.

Clare followed. Though it would take the drug several minutes to work its way into her bloodstream, she was already trembling with a strange kind of excitement.