Chapter 129

He found Michael in the Patch, after work, riding around on a tiny, low-rider style bicycle.
Rawle looked at him and cursed aloud: “Fuck!”
“What are you doing?”
“I have to get to the Kootenays! Fast.”
Michael raised his eyebrows. “Ready to go? I need to get some pot, then let’s go. You put gas in the van, I’ll drive ‘er. I’ll drive her as far as Calgary and back.”
“Oh my God, you’re a life-saver.”

They got into the Econoline and broke out for Calgary, without saying goodbye to anybody.
Olivier and Gillespe watched them go from the patch and waved.
Michael tried to smoke a cigarette but winced at the taste. “It tastes like shit.”
They only smoked marijuana, the whole way to Calgary.
Michael drove Rawle out to the highway, heading toward Banff, and they said a quick goodbye, hugging eachother.
“Thanks, man.”
“Thank you. I would have been bored, otherwise.”
Then Michael drove away, back to Jasper.
Back to work.
On more than one occasion, in the last few weeks, Rawle had found himself alone, looking down a vacant road, wondering where to Christ Kurtis Missions was.
But, this was not one of those times.
He gazed down the empty highway and saw nothing. Flat wasteland, road, no cars, nothing. Just at the horizon was a tiny wall of mountains in the distance, like a row of teeth. The Rocky Mountains.
He knew it was the right way to go.
In about 15 minutes, he got picked up by a Pakistani man in the dry-walling business. An exceptional mood infected the vehicle and Rawle laughed in the man’s face for a long time. The man was only going a few minutes down the road.
He worked for his brother, he said, who was much richer than him. His brother had seduced his wife away a month ago. And yet he still worked for him, as if for the ultimate insult.
“I’ll quit pretty soon,” the man said, near the end of the ride, “or maybe I’ll kill him.”
Rawle got dropped off at a gas station and went straight for the pay phone, to make his calling-card call to Dee Lee.
Glen Frederick answered, his deep voice unmistakable. There was a party in the background. Glenny seemed drunk and started giving Rawle shit for not being in more regular contact.
“Calgary! Fuck. You idiot, we had a sighting. He’s in B.C. He’s in the Okanagan Valley, as we speak.”
Valley, Rawle thought. A valley, west of Banff, but not the Kootenays. The Okanagan. It made sense. “Don’t worry, I’m heading that way. I’ll find him. Where’d you get that from?”
“What do you care, man? You know, Raoul, it used to be when people questioned me, I slit their throat.”
Rawle grumbled under his breath. “For fuck’s sake. You’re a real tough guy, aren’t ya, Glenny? Are you always on?”
“Ah-ah-ah. See, I knew we’d get you comin’ out of your shell, Raoul… Our friend Jackie Atwell’s sister lives out there. She seen him. Except, he has a buzzcut and no beard no more.”
“That’s true. I’ve been told the same thing.”
“Good. She said he’s picking fruit, like a bum, down there. There’s a lot of bums there, picking fruit. What’s, uhh, the name of Kurtis’ town again?” Glenny called out to someone on his end. “Hold on a sec…”
He came back after a moment. “-Kelowna. He’s living in Kelowna, picking fruit. The pickers down there follow the crop, so… Head to Kelowna first, but assume he could be anywhere’s in the valley. When the crop’s over- cherries- he might move on. He might try to cross the border. The Pork would have issued an alert to Border Security when they made Kurtis a person-of-interest. If he tries to cross the border now, the cops will get him, unless he has really good fake ID. Either way, if he tries to cross, we’ll lose him for good. So, don’t let him.”
“Okay,” Rawle said. “Anything else? What’s everyone up to back home?”
“Your wife says she loves you, and to come home soon.”