The Punishment E-Book

Preston Randall

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

Third Place winner in the keenly contested Write Whatever You Want Contest at Bookrix.com! High school buddies embark on a road trip to Jasper National Park where they have an unexpected encounter with the local Mounties. You won't want to miss the world's slowest car chase, or the harrowing interrogation that follows. Lots of laughs and a bit of a surprise ending.

Leseprobe

Preston Randall

The Punishment

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

“Do you wanna go up to Jasper this weekend?” asks Arlan. “If we go to the Riv one more time I swear I’m gonna blow my brains out.” The Riv is our favourite bar as it’s closest to our high school and they don’t bother checking for I.D. It’s also a horrible, foul-smelling dive but who cares? Trouble is, we’ve been going there every weekend non-stop since classes started two months ago.

“You driving?” I ask. “My brother’s got the ‘blue moon’ this weekend.” We call our family car the blue moon because of all the crater-like dents from when we learned to drive on it.

“Okay… but we split the gas.” Goes without saying, really. Pretty much everyone’s broke in our crowd.

Jasper is a small resort town in the Rocky Mountains and in decent weather it’s about a four-hour drive. The road is flat as a pancake and boringly straight until near the Jasper National Park gates, then winds a bit in the last hour as it follows the Athabasca River through the Yellowhead Pass. But the most memorable part of the drive, unfortunately, is the god-awful stench of the pulp mill in Hinton just outside the Park boundary. If you can hold your breath long enough it’s worth it though, as Jasper sports some world-class mountain scenery. We go there, however, for other recreational pursuits.

“Phew… did you cut one, man? What d’ya have for breakfast, scrambled skunk?” Arlan always makes some crack when we go through Hinton. It’s like a tradition. And I always laugh, no matter how stupid it is.

“Can’t you get the goddam heater to work in this thing?” I ask, ignoring him.

“Nope, but we can stop at the next gas station and snuggle for a while if you’d like,” he replies.

“Sounds good to me,” I say, and slug him on the shoulder, hard.

“Hey, watch it! I’m driving!”

The sun is starting to set; the temperature is already well below freezing and getting colder by the minute. Luckily the road is mostly clear of snow. In really bad weather they won’t even let you through the National Park gates if it’s too dangerous.

Without further incident we pull into Jasper and cruise down the main street towards our final destination—the Athabasca Hotel. Originally a boarding house and then converted in 1921, the “Atha-B” is described as charming, historic and with ambience. In other words, it’s a notch above the Riv, but no Hilton, and right in our budget range.

“You got a reservation, right?” I ask Arlan.

“Yes, mom. Like I already told you fifty times.”

We check in at the desk, chuck our bags onto the two twin beds and immediately head back downstairs to the bar. It’s 7 p.m. and already packed. We squeeze into a tiny table near the washroom door and order four glasses of draft beer.

“Well, here we are, paradise at last,” says Arlan, wolfing down half a glass in one gulp. Neither of us remarks on the irony of the situation. Two hundred miles away and we’re still sitting on our asses in another lousy tavern.

“See that guy?” asks Arlan, pointing towards the bar. “What’s his name, Tom, Tony, Terry… that’s it, Terry.”

“So what?” Terry looks a bit suspect to me. He’s got to be at least thirty and pretty scruffy with a couple of day’s growth. He’s sitting on a barstool, alone, staring into the mirror at his reflection… probably doesn’t like what he sees either.

“Last time I was here I scored some killer weed from that guy. I’m sure it’s him… just stay here.”

“Wait, Arlan. You sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry so much. Christ, relax for a minute.”