The truck veered roughly in the lanes of traffic. The driver had the brim of his hat fixated tightly around his forehead, drooping down around his nose. Westly was concerned he could barely see the road. The two large men who dragged Westly in the car looked straight ahead like department store mannequins. He craned his neck to see the blue and white trucks following close behind, but he couldn’t see Holly’s Malibu or the flashing lights of the police. He tried to wiggle for his gun but every time he moved, the large men would move closer and crush whichever side he was moving. Pike kept looking forward. Save for his first interaction with Westly, he had kept his eyes focused on the road. The eerie silence that filled the car was difficult for Westly to cope with.

“So, I assume this is initiation for some lumberjack themed strip club. Good choice in Yogi and Boo-Boo here but I think I am not what you are looking for,” he mocked.

One of the men leaned forward and punched Westly’s sternum so hard that he felt the breath leave his lungs. He leaned forward and spit up a small bit of radish. Pike still refused to look.

“Your off-color wit is not going to save you here. So, I highly recommend you sit in your seat and remain quiet for the rest of the journey. Else it will continue to be an uncomfortable ride for all parties involved. Oh, and I don’t think your friend is going call the police for fear of having to admit your involvement with Myron Baltic so again, I suggest you stop looking,” Pike said.

His voice was long and drawn out as if he thought about every word he was going to say before he said it. He continued to hold his phone tightly; the screen was lit up with several dots and monitors almost as if he had a minicomputer. The driver turned off the main interstate on to highway 470. Westly looked at Pike’s gaze as it shifted over his shoulder, making small motions with his right hand. Small taps loud enough for the entire truck to hear. Westly stared out the window as the cars went by. They were close to Morison, Colorado. A small town just outside of Denver metro, largely considered to be connected with the city. It was the last town before the roads dipped and wound up through the mountains. Westly grinned to himself, something he regretted almost instantly. Pike motioned to one of the men.

“Now if you please.”

The man clutched Westly’s hair and slammed him into the back of the seat. The other large man threw a black hood over Westly’s head and they fastened it tight around his neck with a braided cord. Westly head pumped against one of the men’s shoulders as the truck wildly shifted lanes before making a sharp left heading in the direction of Denver. They only traveled in this direction for a few miles when the truck moved wildly again, this time to the right, spinning its tires back towards the highway before making another right and heading north. The truck did these violent turns and curves six to seven times before coming to an abrupt halt. The two men clapped Westly’s arms and lifted him up out of his seat. They carried him three feet off the ground as they moved from the truck. Westly could feel the heat from the sun before they dragged him up a flight of stairs. He tried to hear anything else to understand where he was at but as they started to climb, all he heard was the Star-Spangled Banner being played through a loudspeaker. He did however hear the sound of doors being opened. The large creaking behind the weight of each door suggested wood. Upon entering the building, it became quite cool, which Westly considered might be due to central air. They continued to carry him up another flight of stairs. The bellow of each board again suggested wood. Immediately upon reaching the top of the stairs, they carried him through another set of creaking doors, throwing him to the floor. He hit the ground hard but was unharmed as the floor was a soft carpet. Westly guessed from the fibers it was likely polyester. One of the men reached into his coat and took his revolver. Westly could hear the click as the barrel opened before the sound of the bullets being emptied like a metal rain stick. The gun was dropped carelessly against him as the two men lumbered out of the room, slamming the wooden doors behind them. Westly unbound the cord from around his neck. As he took off the hood, he saw from the shape that he was in a cedar wood chapel. The chapel was odd in the fact there were no markings of any religious sect. There were wooden chairs lined like pews leading up to an altar but no pulpit or anything else suggesting Christianity. No stars of David to suggest a Jewish synagogue. The back of the chapel had a large bay widow with fogged glass, making it impossible to see outside.

He picked up his revolver and opened it. All the bullets had been removed. He sighed and placed it back in his coat. He reached for his phone hoping it had not been damaged in the struggle. It was functional but it had no signal. A door to the right of the chapel creaked open. Pike emerged with a tall blonde woman with long heels, dressed in jeans and black sleeveless top. Her hair was short and styled, resembling a long pixie cut. A third person followed her, tall yet thin. His long hair was tied in a tight ponytail he had tucked into his shirt collar. They all took the seats facing Westly and stared at him. Pike lifted his hand to one of the chairs.

“Detective Gibbons, please have a seat.”

Westly brushed himself off and cracked his knuckles. He and Pike stared at each other, neither one breaking eye contact. The tall man stepped out his chair, lifted the end of it, and walked it down to Westly. He smiled at him and pointed to the chair.

“Please,” the man said.

Westly bit his lip but sat in the chair. The man picked up another chair and carried back up the altar. Pike checked his watch and sighed.

“Sorry Zack, am I keeping you from another appointment,” Westly said with heavy frustration in his voice.

Pike laughed under his breath. The blonde woman glared at him, digging her long nails into the chair. Westly tapped his knees looking around the room.

“My guess is an old elk lodge. There was one in Morison that was condemned a few years back. I thought they made it a frozen yogurt place.”

Pike gripped the chair inhaling deeply through his nose.

“Did you think the violent turns back forth were fooling anyone. You tapped a x4 tempo which likely means Exit 4. Which leads down to Bear Creek Canyon and this is the last structure before the highway splits out to Idledale. Either that or you wanted me to think this is your base of operations.”

The woman stood up when Pike caught her wrist.

“Your brain is going to be the death of you Mr. Gibbons. We are waiting for one more to join us before we make introductions. Yet perhaps I do feel our other guest has been acquainted with us for some time, so why create more of a hinderance,” Pike said in a low droll.

He leaned his left hand to the tall man to his left.

“This is my attorney and confidant, Mr. Corbin Slater. Mr. Slater will be stating the legal issues with the occurrences that have transpired.”

He leaned over and stroked the woman’s shoulder.

“This on the other hand, is my reason for living, my gift from the heavens, my lovely, lovely wife, Bethany. We would like to clear the air as it were with you and others involved in the terrible ordeal.”

Westly leaned his head back, trying to tip the chair over.

“This takes me back to middle school. Expect the principal had much better cans. No offence to your “reason for living.”

Pike bureaucratic face turned quickly to a scowl.

“I will thank you to show some damn respect to my wife. I won’t tolerate it. Do I make myself clear Mr. Gibbons?”

Pike’s unstable manner and his lack of defenses made Westly concerned that he had finally hit Pike’s nerve. He held his hand up.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” he said, doing his best to mask the sarcasm.

The right door burst open again and two more men came in carrying another person. They threw the body on the floor and walked out.

“That you good sirs,” Pike said returning to his kinder tone.

The person tore violently at the hood, trying to remove it. Westly knew who it was before his head emerged from the bag. The black polo and sleeve tattoo gave it away. Once the hood was off, it was clear it was Olenick. His stern face had withered away to a small fearful stare.

“Fredrick, so nice of you to join us. Please have a seat. I was just catching up with your former contractor,” Pike said again in a sweet tone.

Olenick leapt to his feet and rushed the altar. Corbin and Bethany stood up and obstructed his access to Pike.

“Mr. Pike I don’t know what this man told you but I never…I mean I would not… what I mean I never thought you killed my son it’s just that the police they-”

Pike held up his hand and Olenick’s voice faded out into a small whimper.

“Fredrick take a seat and we will discus the matter at hand, please,” Pike said with a deep grind of frustration in his tone.

Olenick nodded and sheepishly walked down to the floor and grabbed a chair. Pike folded his hands and stared intently at the group.

“I have had quite a busy and unpleasant last few 24 hours. First I am rudely visited by the Denver Police department with an unfounded claim that I was responsible for the murder of your son Fredrick-”

Westly shifted in his seat.

“Well, Zack is it really unfounded,” Westly quipped.

“Straight Razor!” Olenick snapped.

Pike bit his lip but continued.

“Yes Mr. Gibbons, unfounded. However, on that note, after I told the police that not only was I nowhere near Mr. Olenick’s estate, but I didn’t even know what Sunshine or Hunter’s Moon was. I had to ask Corbin here, who told me it is a form of crystalized methamphetamine used by the lowest of people. Which then shocked me when a motorcycle gang called the War Wolves destroyed a few of my outdoor apparel stores. One hundred percent American made and now completely useless. The leader of this gang is a low life by the name of Myron Baltic. He is under the impression that I stole some his crystalized methamphetamine. Therefore, I can’t help but come to the conclusion that someone or a group of someones has been giving out false information regarding my business dealings and motives. Now I am all for free speech, but this is bordering on slander. I have made myself clear to the police and now to you that I had nothing to do with the unfortunate death of your son, Frederick. So, can one of you explain to me why I am still dealing with this problem?”

Westly leaned in chair.

“So, Zack, first of all, cut the bullshit. Neither Olenick nor myself are the cops so even if you admitted to your crank lab or some other crime like, I don’t know, the crucifying of children in Castle Rock, what the hell are we going to do with it?”

Pike gripped his chair again, growling slowly under his breath.

“The death of those children was a tragedy that our own government is guilty of allowing. My men may have been in Castle Rock at the time and from there people believe what they will. The guilty are the ones who should be punished,” he growled at Westly.

“All I am hearing is an admission of guilt in the death of children. Something even us low lives take as evil.”

Bethany leapt from her, chair swinging her hands wildly at Westly.

“You horrible weasel of a man. Zachary loves children there is no better father than him!”

Her accent was masked from years in the states but Westly immediately could tell that she was native French.

“Buy American. Marry French is that RMCA way?” He sniped.

Pike white knuckled his chair.

“What did I tell you Mr. Gibbons about my wife!”

“When did French become an insult? I merely pointed out your taste in women and your disregard for the lives of children.”

Bethany started down the stairs when Pike stopped her.

“You shut up! I won’t have you talk this way to him! He is most loving father!”

“It is alright my love,” Pike said sweetly.

“Someone needs to protect you darling”

“Mr. Gibbons is just lashing out. What do you think Fredrick, am I terrible to children?”

Olenick jumped from his chair.

“Mr. Pike, I promise you if you think I thought you were responsible considering our business I know that isn’t true I know you are reasonable and thoughtful man it was the bikers they did this.”

Pike smiled.

“I know it was their methamphetamine that poisoned your son. The police will arrest them and this small sadness with fade away.”

“How do you know it was Hunter’s Moon that killed the kid. Only I and the War Wolves know that. Well and a cop I’m blackmailing, and while we’re on the subject of honesty Zack how did you know I was up in Genesee? Seems to me like you got a spy trying to clean up your mess.” Westly growled.

Pike sighed deep into his lungs he motioned his head in a nodding fashion to Corbin who stood up and left the room.

“Fredrick please return to your seat,” he said coolly.

Olenick obeyed. Pike stood up rubbing his hands together.

“I understand there are a lot of opinions in this room about what occurred. I can assure everyone in this room that I was not involved. This will be my last diplomatic conversation regarding the subject. It is a free country and I would not tell anyone what they should or should not do but if either of you go down this road, I can promise you it will be the most unwise action you have done in your life. Now if you’ll excuse me. I have other matters to attend to.”

Corbin returned with the two men and two more hoods. Westly rolled his eyes.

“Oh and Mr. Gibbons if you see Mr. Baltic anytime soon remind him that he lives a dangerous lifestyle. Motorcyclists can have a very short life span,” Pike smiled.

With a wave of his hand the hood were clasped around both of them and they were carried out of the room. Westly kept his head down as they dragged him through the wooden doors, back through the main door, and back into the one of the trucks. As they shoved him into the seat, he could feel them place Olenick in the seat next to him. The trucks rolled out and traveled down the road. Westly could hear Olenick’s short breaths.

They traveled for what seemed like hours when the truck screeched to a halt. The two men jumped out, opening the doors and spilling the two of them on the side of the road. Before Westly could remove his hood, the truck’s engine roared, and it was gone.

Westly took his hood off and looked around. He was just outside a Starbucks near Mississippi Ave. He took his phone out and dialed.

“Holly. Slow down, yeah it was Pike. Well he’s an asshole but I’m fine. I am near a Starbucks off the Mississippi and Colfax. Yes, I’m fine let’s discus this over a chai latte.”

He hung up the phone and pulled himself to his feet. As he started towards the Starbucks, Olenick tore his hood off and threw it at him.

“Goddamn it! Straight Razor you have no idea what you cost me. Why couldn’t you just let this go!” He said, almost in tears.