Purgatory's Gate

Chapter 6: Welcome to 9 Locks

We go to dinner at a little place in town, and Love calls me while we're there. I have the job if I want it. I can come start Monday provided my background check comes back clean. Of course it will. Harris just shrugs.
"You get to go home," I point out, "And the sooner I'm in a routine the better."
We both know I mean for my sanity more than hiding.
Harris makes the appropriate calls and I send WITSEC the proper forms. They'll send 9 Locks an appropriately foraged background check.
And Harris and I spend the rest of the week in the motel and walking around town. I want to go running and he doesn't complain, so we try out a couple of local trails and I begin to do something like relax. It's very, very quiet here. Blessedly, Harris sticks with the story that he's my ex helping me move. We look almost nothing alike so relative wouldn't have worked, or at least would have drawn more stares.
We run, go to dinner at the exactly two local diners, and sleep. After that much driving we're both just glad to be out of the car. WITSEC approves the job the same time my background check comes back clean. WITSEC hates me for that, when they were in processing me and all I had to give finger prints to link to the new identity and I cheerfully informed them I burned those off years ago. They were not amused. The official story is I was in a car accident that killed my parents, like that explains the obvious bullet wounds. Those really aren't a problem though. It's cool enough here there's no reason for me to be taking off my shirt.
The following Monday, Harris and I drive back up to 9 Locks, he'll get a cab home from here. It's not too sad a goodbye, he'll be calling me weekly to check in.
"If I call you answer it. If any Marshal calls you answer. You do not answer within twenty minutes we show up with guns looking for you you hear me?"
"I hear you," I say, calmly, "I'll answer. If I'm out of range—? On the mountain?"
"A very marshal sounding person calls the front desk asking where you are. The answer had better be good. Do not be out of range for your check ins."
"Got it."
Harris will come once a year to check in, and I have to do interviews. Also the FBI will want me well before that.
But for now I'm Reynard Weaver. And I'm very ready to be him.
Monday morning, Love greets us at 9 Locks and shows me to employee parking. There's a motel like outbuilding, with a series of rooms for all the staff, she and I assume her miserable brother are on one side with bigger suites. I and whatever other staff are on one side with a sort of covered walk area in front of the rooms.
My room is small but hospitable, a double bed with pillows and a green comforter. A framed print of wolves on one wall. There's a desk, and a bathroom with basic white towels and a floor mat. No kitchen, microwave or fridge, but I didn't expect it.
Harris helps me carry in my few bags then bids me farewell. He tosses the Rubik's cube at me in lieu of saying any formal goodbye.
"Keep it," he grunts when I look surprised. We both know he'll be in touch.
Love offers me a tour before I get unpacked. I want to know my way around and I'm not that attached to my possessions so I accept.
"Stables, dog kennels, don't worry before we expect you to do anything yourself you'll shadow me or—you'll shadow me."
My schedule is Wednesday through Sunday, the busiest days, with Tuesday and Monday off. I work starting at six am to ten am, then a four hour break in the middle of the day a 'powder break' during which time I'm free to ski and join in any ski lessons if I want. Three meals a day provided in the lodge diner. There's a staff fridge and microwave and as free coffee in a small break room behind her office. We can eat in the main area with the guests but due to our hours and the guests it's understood we may not want to. There's a few free hours when we can use one of the machines to do personal laundry. The rest are for guests.
We is the staff, me, Love, her miserable brother, a housekeeper, and apparently Love's daughter, and the housekeeper has a son.
Housekeeper is a Mrs. Volkov, her son is named named Raff. Mrs. Volkov is old enough to be my mother, but her son looks maybe twelve. Love's daughter is like eight, a little bouncy girl that takes after her mother with fair skin and dark hair, name is Rudi, with an i. I'm introduced to them rapidly by Love as she shows me around. The kids go to school online apparently, but they do some classes in town.
In Love's office there's a whiteboard shift rotation she's drawn up.
The shifts cover meal service, cleaning the rooms, manning the front desk, caring for the animals, general cleaning and maintenance of hot tubs, and the like.
"Zev and I lead ski tours and all that come winter. For now we lead hikes but nobody has signed up for those," Love says. It's worth noting they don't have a lot of guests. "Once you learn the trails and if you're comfortable we can send you out on ones too. Mrs. V and I cover in the kitchen if Zev is out, but he's usually our chef."
To that end Zev has shifts cooking every single meal. One of us is bussing tables, and doing the washing up. At first my shift is mostly following Love or Mrs. V around to show me where everything is and what to do.
"I try to change it up so no one is washing dishes every day or same for scrubbing down rooms. Front desk can be a nightmare especially during holidays so if you're feeling burnt out dealing with stupid guests then it's fine if you and Mrs. V swap or if you want to switch with me. I get it. Dirty plates are better than guests sometimes," she says.
"I believe you," I smile.
"I'm not having you do anything with the dogs or horses alone for a little while till we show you around a bit more. You can shadow me on that in the afternoons. If you're sick or have a doctor's appointment we'll work it out, just let me know as soon as you can so I adjust the shifts. Oh and on the weekends Raff and Rudi will come and help out, usually they clean rooms or something as their chore, if so then I might change things up, and if the kids do a room themselves one of us walks through after making sure they didn't miss anything," she explains.
"Fair enough," I nod, "Zev—?"
"Is not your boss I am. If he's bothering you let me know he can be a little—caustic," she shrugs. I'm not shadowing him at all.
"I bused tables for a family restaurant in college, I'm a fine sous chef, that's all," I shrug. It's closeish to the truth. Not really but it's as close as we're going to get.
"Zev doesn't need that kind of entertainment we leave him in there he's fine. For tomorrow you're Mrs. V's she's gonna show you around. She has been working here since I was Rudi's age," Love explains.
"Cool, sounds like a plan, want me in here at six?"
"Yep, clean up from breakfast, then you'll help her with the rooms," Love says, checking the schedule.
I don't see Zev at all, which is probably for the best. I go back to my room and lock myself in. I realize the idea was probably that I come back for dinner but I'm not up to that right now. It's easier to not know who I am when I'm alone. I rig up a decent alarm system on the door, bells and the nightstand shoved in front of it. Then I pull the blinds on the window and tape them down. One long shower later I lie down on the bed, breathing in and out. It's going to take a lot of convincing to believe that I'm going to be okay here.
The next morning I rise with my alarm. My mood is lighter than when I went to sleep. Remarkably so. I curl my fist around my mother's arrow head and breath.
"We're going to be all right here," I say, quietly, in my real voice.
Then I get ready to be Reynard Weaver.
Love said just to wear black, jacket or flannel if I get cold. So I put on black jeans and a black t-shirt and leave it at that. As before I carefully apply eyeliner. I also put on a face mask. I'm more worried about dying of mafia-informant than COVID, but I can't pass up the opportunity to disguise my identity, especially when I'm at the front desk. I eat a protein bar in lieu of getting up early enough to have breakfast in the dining hall. It's my free meal but I'm not comfortable enough taking it yet. I'll have lunch later.
I crunch across the gravel drive. The dogs immediately start barking from the barn. It's a cool, crisp morning, but inside the lodge is warm and bustling. The few guests are up and eating breakfast.
I'm greeted first by Zev, if you can call, "LOVE I THOUGHT WE SAID WE WEREN'T HIRING HIM." A greeting.
"We said we need someone willing to be around you—come on back," Love waves to me, beckoning me into the swinging kitchen doors.
"Morning," I say, like I didn't hear the exchange.
"Go wash up, Raff is already collecting plates," Zev says, to me, throwing a rag at me.
"Yes sir," I say, politely. I'm not looking for trouble. He doesn't need to like me.
"Be nice," Love pushes her brother before going to help.
Raff comes in with tubs of dirty dishes. It's been years but I've got nothing against washing up and loading the dishwasher trays.
I do have something against having having dirty soapy dish water splashed in my face. Zev immediately dumps the entire bin into the sink, intentionally soaking me.
"Lighten up, Orestes," Zev almost smiles, as I clearly blink dirty water from my eyes.
"Do not call him that," Love comes in to hear that part.
"He can call me that," I mutter. It's not like I'm less likely to respond to it than Reynard Weaver.
I am over him splashing me just in time for him to do it again. I say nothing, not about to rise to the bait. For one, I need this job. For another he'll likely bore of me when he doesn't get a rise.
I wash up the dishes in record time. The soggy food in the bottom of the sink turns my stomach as ever but it's far from the worse thing I've seen in my life. Unfortunately that bar is very low. Whatever. It's not forever. I'll be out of here by spring if I live that long.
Mrs. V comes to collect me from the kitchen as soon as I'm finishing the washing up. She smiles kindly and Zev looks very innocent when she studies him and how clearly soaking I am.
I follow her out without a word.
She has a list of the rooms that need to be cleaned, and a cart we leave in the middle of the hall.
"Mr. Weaver, correct?" She asks, kindly.
"Rey is fine," I say, wiping some suds from my face.
"I keep forgetting, you don't look like a Rey," she says, studying me through thick lenses.
"It's ah, what my dad wanted to call me. My mother called me my middle name, Enda, Irish, old family name. Call me that if you want. I'm probably more likely to respond to it," I quip. Easy enough way to work that in. And I honestly probably will respond to the E quicker. I've had no issues thus far though but I don't really want to slip.
We get to work cleaning the rooms. I am very good at cleaning out hotel rooms. Very good. Haven't done that in a few years but old habits die hard. Mrs. V is suitably impressed as I quite effectively scrub down the rooms and strip beds. She shows them how she wants them remade, and I obey. We make short work of the first floor, in time for me to shadow Love at the front desk.
The computer system isn't overly technical, and pretty soon I'm comfortable with managing the bookings. Love stays with me for the rest of that shift, though, which I appreciate. I don't want to seem too at ease with all of it. Just confident enough they don't ask questions. I keep expecting another inquisition from Zev. But it doesn't come.
He doesn't like me though.
"Really?" I ask, as suds and half eaten food splatter my face when he basically slings a dish into the sink.
"Yeah," he says, completely cheerfully. Oh well. If Zev Lyall is the biggest problem I'll have here, I should count myself lucky. He's nothing compared to the mafia.