Page 33 of Battle Mountain

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Everyone was dressedin street clothes, or what could be referred to as street clothes at a mountain ranch resort. There were lots offleece vests and ball caps, as they weren’t required to don their uniforms of snap-button, red-checked western-style shirts, tight jeans, cowboy hats, and aprons until the guests began to arrive.

The semitruck and refrigerated trailer maneuvered on a narrow circular path that cut through a grass meadow. Team members from the transportation department walked alongside the cab and shouted to the driver to stay on the pavement and not veer off into the grass. It wouldnotdo to have tire tracks in the turf when the guests arrived.

It took a while. The new waitress was patient, unlike others on the dock.

Tension was high.

“I heard the first jets arrived in Warm Springs this morning,” someone said. “We can expect the first Centurions to show up at dinnertime.”

“Then we better get this goddamn truck unloaded,” another team member groused.

“Language,” Peaches cautioned sweetly from the back. “Language.”

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At last, thetrailer of the vehicle inched up to the dock and blocked the new waitress’s view of Battle Mountain. The driver of the truck swung out and directed the transportation guys how to open the back doors so they wouldn’t damage the dock when they swung open.

“It’d be nice if they had a forklift for all of this stuff,” a busser standing next to the new waitress complained. “But no, we have to carry every box in one by one.”

“Ridiculous,” someone else said. “This is fucked up.”

“It’s the way we do things around here,” Peaches said in a honey-coated southern accent. Her comment quieted the complainers because they realized who she was, and that there was no advantage to pissing her off.

The trailer was full. Each box was cold. There were boxes of steaks, seafood, chicken, ice cream, and every other kind of frozen food imaginable. The boxes were stacked from the floor of the trailer to the ceiling.

The new waitress joined the line and slowly advanced forward. When she was in the cold trailer, she lifted a box of steaks and turned and carried it into the lodge to where the walk-in freezers were. The chefs were there to direct her where to place it.

She made dozens of trips. There was no break, and she didn’t need one. The waitress had no doubt she was more fit than anyone else on the loading dock.

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The unloading tooktwo hours. She made a point of being one of the last employees to enter the trailer for the few remaining containers. It was cold inside, and cavernous, by the time she did it.

One of the other servers trudged behind her, breathing heavily. It was Peaches. Sweat beaded on the woman’s forehead and wetted the armpits of her smock.

The new waitress turned to her and said, “Don’t worry about this. I’ve got it.”

“Are you sure?” Peaches asked. There was no doubt she was relieved.

“There’s only three boxes left,” the new waitress said. “I can handle it.”

“Bless you,” Peaches said. She turned and trudged toward the loading dock.

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The three remainingboxes were unmarked except for anXon the side of them in black marker. They were in the left corner of the trailer. Each was no bigger than the food boxes she’d already carried.

As she approached them, the driver swung up into the trailer behind her. She turned and nodded to him. He curtly nodded back. The driver was fit and young with dark eyes and a prominent handlebar mustache. A jagged scar marked his right cheek.

“They’re heavy,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “Was there any problem getting through security at the gate?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” the driver said.

“You are.”

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