Read Online Life on the Preservation, US Edition by Jack Skillingstead - Free Book Online Page B

something wrong, baby?” (echo: Babe, what’s wrong?)
    “No, no. I didn’t think you’d be awake. I mean I was going to leave you a good morning message, kind of, before I left.”
    “That’s so sweet,” Sarah said. (echo: How sweet! )
    It was as if he’d had this conversation before and the other words were still running on a loop somewhere. “Yeah, isn’t it?” he said. Ian’s phone beeped with an incoming call. He held the phone away from his face, saw it was Zach, and frowned.
    “You’re not supposed to agree that you’re sweet,” Sarah said. “Oh, I can’t wait till you get here.”
    “Me neither.”
    The incoming call quit beeping.
    “Do you love me oodles and oodles?”
    “With extra oodles,” Ian said. He hated when she lapsed into baby talk. “Anyhow, I better get moving.”
    “You better, sweetie. Love you.”
    “Love you, too,” Ian said.
    Sarah hung up. “Fuck!” Ian looked at the missed call. If Zach was calling at seven in the morning it meant he’d been up all night and was still drunk or, worse, high, and wanted to talk about some mad inspiration for a new game. Ian turned his cell off and finished dressing. Ten minutes later he was on the road, wind in his face, feeling more alive than dead but not much more.
    The closer he got to the I-90 ramp the more his nerves jumped and popped. Deciding it was guilt, he pulled into the curb and dug his cell phone out. The engine idled roughly then died. Ian thumbed Zach’s number and it rang through to voicemail. He tried again with the same result. Probably Zach had passed out asleep (drunk) or gone for breakfast (high).
    Ian looked at his watch. It was coming up on eight. He wasn’t sure whether it was intuition or simply his mind hunting excuses to forego the Pullman trip, but he adjusted the choke, kick-started the Chief, then swung around and headed back to Capitol Hill to check on his friend.
    He parked in front of the brick and ivy condo on 14th Street, called Zach’s number and got no answer. He rang Zach’s buzzer in the alcove outside the front door of the eight-unit building. Again: no answer. He buzzed again. Still nothing. Enough? Ian stood listening, as if somebody was going to tell him. And somebody did, sort of. His intuition or whatever.
    Not enough.
    Ian walked around to the back of the building. Zach’s new Beetle was snug as, well, a bug in the garage. So he was up there not answering his phone or intercom buzzer. Or he could have walked to he Deluxe, or Charlie’s, or the Grill for breakfast.
    Ian had keys. Zach had given them to him months ago so Ian could feed his fish when he was out of town. Not that Ian wanted to use the keys now. It was perfectly possible his friend had a girl up there. Okay, not all that possible; Zach was almost morbidly self-conscious around girls. But even if he was alone he was entitled to his privacy.
    Ian let himself in the front door and mounted the carpeted steps. Outside Zach’s door he hesitated, then knocked. Waited. Knocked again. So he was out. Or something.
    Ian slotted the second key and opened Zach’s door. He leaned into the entry, feet still planted in the hallway.
    “Zach, it’s me.”
    The tropical fish tank bubbled away in the front room.
    “Zach?”
    Suddenly Ian didn’t want to go any further. He felt strongly compelled to withdraw, pull the door shut, and get back on the road. Instead he stepped inside, closed the door partway but not enough for the latch to engage. There was a framed Billy The Kid Wanted poster on the wall of the entry. It was real, preserved and sealed under glass. Zach had a thing for Old West outlaws. He even had a brace of Colt revolvers, Peacemakers from the 1870’s. Ian had accompanied him to the shooting range once, but didn’t get it.
    “Zach?”
    He followed the bubbling sound of the fish tank to the front room. Zach was sitting at the Danish desk that faced the bay window. On the desk his iBook was running a text document. But Zach,