Alan Cook - Run into Trouble

“No. If you quote me, I’ll deny it, and you’ll be shark bait.”

“I’m trembling in my boots. Was Sterling born in the U.S.?”

“Yes, in Minnesota.”

“So his English is probably better than what’s in the letters, even though his education isn’t proof of that. Does he have any connections with the commies?”

“None that we know of.”

“Give me a description of him, in case he’s still around.”

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll give you a description and also have Slick deliver a picture of him to you. Call Slick and tell him where you are.”

Drake had borrowed the Giganticorp car and was driving himself into Santa Barbara for his appointment with a chiropractor. That meant Peaches would be free after he delivered the runners to the motel in the bus. All the runners had finished within a few minutes of each other. There had been no spectacular breakaways. They had followed the same route. As far as Melody knew, there had been no changes in position. She and Drake were still in ninth place.

In spite of what she had said to Drake about getting to know Peaches better, she didn’t have any idea of how to go about doing it. She had made sure that she was the last person to get off the bus. She stopped beside Peaches, who was still in the driver’s seat.

“Uh, Peaches, I was wondering whether you could help me with something.”

“What can I do for you?”

At least he hadn’t rebuffed her.

“Look, can I buy you a drink or something?”

“I don’t drink.”

That was a surprise.

“I don’t drink much either. How about a Pepsi or a Coke? Or even a cup of coffee?”

Peaches smiled, the first time Melody had seen that expression on his face. It made him look a lot less formidable. “You don’t have to buy me anything. Meet me in the lobby in ten minutes.”

They sat on a small patio in the back of the motel overlooking the sea. While she was running, Melody rarely thought about how beautiful the ocean could be, especially when it was calm, like an endless field planted with a blue crop. The few ripples were not unlike those caused by windblown grain. Not far offshore, the Channel Islands beckoned, promising romance, much as Bali Hai promised romance for Lieutenant Cable in South Pacific.

Melody had made herself a cup of tea from the motel’s supply of hot water and tea bags. It wasn’t English tea made in a pot, but she had learned to accept what passed for tea in the U.S. She didn’t doctor it with large quantities of milk and cream like many of her fellow Brits, so she could actually taste the tea. Peaches had settled for a glass of water, in spite of her attempts to get him something more.

Peaches was silent after they sat down, seemingly as enrapt with the view as she was. He was wearing a short-sleeved white shirt, having taken off his jacket and tie. As far as Melody could tell, he wasn’t carrying a gun. She decided it was up to her to start the conversation. “May I ask what your real name is? Peaches doesn’t seem to fit you, somehow.”

Peaches smiled for the second time. “My name is Robert.”

“So where does Peaches come from?”

“One of Fred’s daughters came to work with him one day. She saw me eating a peach and referred to me later as the peach man. Fred got a kick out of that and started calling me Peaches. It stuck to me like a burr in the woods. That man has a weird sense of humor.”

“But you don’t mind?”

Peaches shrugged. “As long as they pay me, they can call me anything they like.”

Melody didn’t want it to sound as if she were interrogating him. She decided to ask one more question. “When you’re in San Jose, do you work for Fred?”

“No. He’s not over security there. Why do you want to talk to me?”

A little of his gruffness had returned. Melody was correct in stopping the questioning. But how much could she tell him?

“I want to talk to you about Fred. He strikes me as being a very competent person. He’s doing a good job of running the race. But he seems to have a thing about…women. Both Grace and I have had a problem with him.”

Peaches didn’t say anything, but Melody saw a muscle twitch in his jaw, as if he were clenching his teeth. Well, she had gone this far. “I can take care of myself, but I don’t want anything to happen to Grace.”

“Grace is a good girl. I’ll take care of her.”

The statement had finality to it.

“Thank you.”

She couldn’t think of anything to add on that subject. She was aching to ask him one more question. She might not get another chance.

“We know that Fred is using several men to help him with the race. Men that we haven’t been introduced to, for reasons I can’t comprehend. I was wondering if you had any contact with them.”

Peaches stiffened visibly. He appeared to be choosing his words carefully. “What Fred does is his business. I will do what he tells me, as long as it isn’t shady. I am not involved with any people in connection with the race other than those you’ve met.”

That ended that discussion. But Melody didn’t want to end the meeting like this. “I wanted to tell you that I used to do some dancing when I was young. I wasn’t great but I had fun. You looked very graceful today.”

Peaches smiled for the third time. “We had something called Cotillion when I was in school. My mother made me go. I told her I was a football player, not a dancer, but I secretly enjoyed it. Later I went with a girl who liked to dance.”

He gazed toward the islands, so close and yet so far. Melody wondered whether he was yearning for his personal Bali Hai.

Today we’re going from Carpenteria State Beach through the city of Santa Barbara to a point on Hollister Avenue west of Goleta. Don’t underestimate the run as it is close to marathon distance. Remember that the beach heads east-west here. This is an opportunity for each team to use its skills at picking a route because there are many ways to go. The best route may be some distance inland. For starters, we suggest that you don’t try to follow the beach directly west of Carpenteria, because you’ll run into a marshy area. Go inland to Carpenteria Avenue. You young studs may be tempted to go through Isla Vista to ogle the luscious lovelies on the bathing suit optional beach near the University of California at Santa Barbara. If you do, you’ll get bogged down in sand and dead ends, and it may cost you a million dollars.

“This is where we separate the men from the boys.”

Drake was feeling better than he had at any time since the race had started. Not only physically but his face was almost back to normal. Practically gone were the black eyes and discolored nose. He had to look closely in the mirror to tell that his nose was permanently enlarged and had a slight hook to it. He told himself that he had never been vain about his appearance, but it was nice that the visual reminders of his injuries were disappearing.

Melody chuckled. “This life seems to agree with you. I’ve never seen you acting so youthful. Perhaps your aging clock is rewinding, and you’re getting younger.”

“That would be nice, to a point. Right now I’ll settle for gaining on Tom and Jerry.”

They were running an inland route carefully picked out by Drake who had acquired a map of Santa Barbara. One thing he had learned in the service of his country was map reading, and he figured that gave them an edge over the other teams.

Melody looked around her. On a summer Saturday the locals and tourists were heading for the beach or shopping. The sidewalks weren’t crowded.

“I don’t see anybody else. We haven’t been this alone since the first few days when everybody ran away from us. Hopefully, that isn’t happening today.”