The impact knocked Keith's skicap off, exposing

his pulled-back dark hair as he plopped into the snow. (C) Alopex 1987, 2003

Dave had just come outside when we launched ourselves into the chase. He wanted to say, "How about me?", but none of us heard him. He could always report to Troy, I thought.
Our suspect was already seventyfive meters away as we reached twenty kilometers an hour. At that time I realized the significance of what I had heard; He was calling for reinforcements! Nonetheless, if this Rob showed up, we'd still have them outnumbered three to two. Unluckily, that arithmetic was too simple.
Joe strained to catch us as we reached the slopes. I didn't know whether to discount this chase location; I had to decide whether this Mike had actually called their headquarters and whether this Rob would have time to meet us at the same sloped location or another. Soon I realized that indeed the burglars were raising the ante; I had gone down this same suspicious slope five times yesterday! We were within four hundred meters of the murder site when another skier joined the suspect and split off. I then realized that the suspect had only seen me, for they didn't expect three pursuers.

Joe veered a yaw to follow who I thought was Rob. Keith and I contined to chase Mike, now three hundred meters from the murder site. I moved alongside Keith and shouted, "Let's do the maneuver!"
We split perpendicularly for a pincer movement. I figured we'd meet at the suspected area. We were now out of sight of Mike, but we were quite sure not for long.
I zigzagged around conifers and came out to the slope some hundred meters from the murder site. Keith was standing in an osar. I slackened to the spot. Keith flashed his gelasins.
"He went in here somewhere."
We unlatched our skis and felt for an opening, any kind of aperature. The weak but bright January sun revealed a crack in the layer. My finger followed it to an underpass aside the hill. I beamed as the rock slid aside.
Tenebration greeted us as we sheltered ourselves. A lamp sat nearby with matches. I lit it and we proceeded into the bowls of the mountain. We walked about a hundred meters down the passageway until we came to a door. When I opened the door, Keith rushed into the room.
"Wow!" he exclaimed. "This whole place ls loaded with jewelry!"
"Stolen, no doubt," I deduced. "It seems as if we be in the subbasement of one of the buildings, given the existence of these lights."
"Correct, Król!" hissed a strange voice. I had been looking at the light fixture. I whirled around to see a semibearded, curly-haired man about one seventyfive and a bit gray. He must have been a sexagenarian, so I momentarily contemplated a rush. However, he had anticipated my reaction, for he had Keith in a headlock and a hypodermic syringe aimed at Keith's left arm.
"Given that you know some physiology, at least enough to know orthostatic syncope, you also know what will happen if I should inject this solution of potassium chloride into your buddy," he sneered.
"Surrender, Król!" he ordered. He could have been bluffing, but if it had been KCl, Keith would have died nearly instantaneously from cardiac arrest.
"All right, you have us," I said defiantly, "Now what?"
"It's simple," leered the leader. "Orris, Dan, tie his hands behind him!"
Two men pulled my arms back, and rope bit into my wrists. I dared not turn around because of Keith's precarious position. When they wound a rope around my chest to pin my humeri, the man relaxed enough to speak again.
"I'm glad you decided to coöperate, Król. It will be a pleasure to prosecute you."
The fellow we had been chasing entered with more rope and began tying Keith's wrists behind him. The mystery man took the needle and placed it on the table aside him.
"You were smart, Król. That syringe does have KCl in it. However, the death penalty here is much more subtile and excruciating! Allow me to introduce myself. I am Robert H. Brock, Associate Justice on the Supreme Court. My fellow justice, Donald Ginzberg, and I are running an enterprising operation here, and you've broken the law."
"What law did we break?" Keith asked.
"I live like an anchorite here to run a business. It must be surreptitious. Oh, dear. Your coming here was adventitious, unfortunately for you," Brock mused. "You've discomposed our caper by finding us, for which you shall die."

Joe had been chasing the second skier for about a kilometer when he lost the chasee. Perplexed, he sidled to stop. A chill swept through his body as he realized he was alone!

Joe decided to catch the lift to the top, and to follow the path George and Keith had taken, perhaps meeting them back at the top. He accelerated downhill, taking care that he was alone and that his foe was not following him. Another kilometer down, Joe caught the lift and met some companions at the top. Troy and Craig were worried as Joe alit the lift and skied toward them.

"Where's George?" Troy insisted.

"The last time I saw them they were chasing the other guy down the hill. We had to split because our fugitive had some help. The joiner lost me, so I came back to find out if George and Keith had returned also."

"Well, they surely haven't," Craig affirmed.

"Do you suppose they had caught this guy and were working him over?" Joe inquired.

"No, they'd bring him back here, unless he had led them to the hideout," Troy hypothesized. "Craig, get me some skis. Joe, show me where you last saw them!"

Five minutes later, Joe and Troy reached the divergent point. They skied at high speed until they realized that they were coming down the same slope as the murder site, or more precisely, where Troy et aliï had found Neil's corpse!

"The hideout must be around here," Joe deduced as he found the spot where we had diverged to entrap our prey. "See, they diverged to fool this Mike they were chasing."

"Uh, oh," Troy added. "Room one seventyfive was rented by a Mike Sawyer."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite. To rent a room, one needs a license."

"Troy, we should follow these tracks to determine if they had converged."

Surely enough, they met in front of the abri. Troy skied along the osar and met Joe on the other side.

"They must be in there," Joe observed. "How far do the ski marks go?"

I saw them end near the right side, which is closer to us, up to a side crevice."

"So, they must be in there.! Should we wait a bit to see if they come out?" Joe dubititated.

"We're in aquandary. If we should storm into there, and George and Keith are not in there, we'd lose any evidence we find should we uncover that burglary ring," Troy opined.

"It sounds judicious, particularly because we might be outnumbered," Joe empiricized.

"Joe, duck!" ordered the curlpate. "Someone's coming to the abri!"



The two investigators observed an imprecating skier following the tracks I had made from the port side of the dugout. He could not believe that his partners were so imperspicacious to leave the tracks behind. He was busy obliterating the spoors when he reached the entrance. Only then did he turn his cautious countenance to scan his environment. His lentigenous and strigine nose sniffed the air. How could Mike be so stupid to lead his pursuers to their safehouse? At least they had removed the skis!

He took one glance once more after he removed his skis. Then he slipped inside. Finally, he issued into the subbasement. He doffed his skicap, revealing short, dark hair, parted from the right side. A short and sandy-haired man came into the room.

"Steve," the dark man addressed his subordinate. "Where's Sawyer? That idiot led Król and Cahill here, didn't he?"

"Rob," Steve objected. "We caught them!"

"So, what?" Rob replied scathingly. "Now we'll have to kill them! Do you think Fedora is going to give up looking for them? We're going to have to leave here, and if you guys weren't careful, you'd be back on welfare!"

"Brock is trying them now," Steve resumed the information flow.

"I suppose Peck and Nipp are guarding the prisoners. Where's Toledo?"

"He's setting up the skis with Ginzberg. We should be hanging them within the hour."

Brock banged his gavel. "The Case of Bork versus Król and Cahill commences. Justice Ginzberg, the evidence, please."

Ginzberg stepped forward in front of a make-shift bench. "Your Honor, we caught the defendants' spying on the premises."

"Hmmm," the flagitious professor muttered as he stroked his bearded chin. "This calls for the death penalty. I sentence you to skiing until you are dead. Because this crime is particularly heinous, we will prolong death as long as possible."

"How will you dispose our corpses?" I shot back to addle the nefarious pseudojustice.

"You're too censorious about our plans. We will use this cave as a charnel for your bodies. This time we will be chary," Brock returned the fire.

"Take them away, and let the executions begin!"



As Dan and Orris led us away, Rob entered the chambers. Ginzberg met Rob halfway to the bench. "What do you want, Ratfinkel?"

"Look, Hophead, you've been smoking too much marijuana to think clearly. Fedora just received three more investigators! We have to get out of here! Where's Sawyer?"

"He went back to the motel room to check out."

"That moron! I am tired of operaing with amateurs! It's obvious that we'll have to start all over again. I know! We'll kill our accomplices, bury them in the corridor and set off a neat explosion. We'll have to move fast, for those tracks may have given us away already."

"But, Rob," Ginzberg contravened. "How are we going to kill them all so soon?"

"Always objecting that we cannot do it.," Ratfinkel railed. "Remember the tough time we had with that blond curlpate? I still managed to break his neck. It's time I returned to the motel room and did the same to Sawyer."

With a huff, Ratfinkel stomped out of the chambers past a hidden accomplice. Steve Blake had a mental storm brewing. First, he jointed this group because he had been jobless and Thornbushfare ran out after three months. Burglaring put some excitement into his youth in addition to money. Murder was not part of his plans. Now, with the new year, he had been part of two murders. Not that he had personally killed anyone. He surely didn't like it when he, Dan, Orris, and Mike carried the body of the inspector outside on Saturday morning. How did they know that this method was not what Ratfinkel and Toledo meant when they told them to dispose of the body? He could not endure watching that inspector die, yet his shyness prevented him from doing any more than tacit acquiescence. He couldn't allow it again. particularly in light of Ratfinkel's murderous intentions. The latter reason gave him enough courage to tell Orris when he had the chance.

"Let's hit the jewelry shop first. Maybe we can get enough information to nail this guy and the whole ring. Do we have a search warrant for the backroom of the shop?" Troy hedged.

"The judge just signed it. We don't have enough probable cause for searching room one seventyfive."

"You guys make the pinch. I'll go with Joe and Dave for a little stakeout for a member of the gang. Maybe we can bluff our way into the room."

Craig took the four investigators -- Josh Last, Rich Kernel, and John Cradle -- to the jewelry shop. Troy took Joe and Dave to room one seventyfive. With Joe and Dave's flanking him, Troy listened then knocked. "Open up, Sawyer. It's the police!"

After a minute of silence, Troy pulled out a key and unlocked the door. The three rushed inside to a room devoid of humans. Troy was addled. "I was sure I had heard him in here. It's a good thing there's no evidence in here." "If there had been," Joe continued. "Sawyer just took it with him. " Joe pointed to an open window and its fluttering drapes.

No one knew it, but while they were squinting into the nival outside, Ratfinkel nearly walked into the room. While they were stil nictitating to spot Sawyer, Ratfinkel began a retreat to the den.

The snow reflected so sharply because the sun was setting. Troy, Joe, and Dave went back to the jewelry shop. Craig was beaming. "We got this guy flagrante delicto. He was buying stolen diamonds when we moved in."

"Good work", Lauded Troy. Now we move into the piêce de resistance. Does everyone have a gun?"

"I don't", Dave rebuked.

"You guys stay here", Troy overruled.

"Look", Joe protested. "We were part of this team. We will take responsibility for ourselves. Besides, I have George's revolver."

Troy raised his eyebrows, furrowing his forehead up to his curls. He couldn't help admiring such loyalty. "Okay, you guys may come as long as you stay in the rear. We may need more than five anyway."

"Are the regular police standing by?" Craig checked in preparation of the raid.

"They're all set for the bust," John replied.

"Okay. Let's go . We'll just have enough daylight to get into the redoubt."

"Don't bother to yell," the wicked professor advised. "That inspector was screaming right before he expired, and it didn't do him a bit of good." The depraved professor then left us trapped in his latest malefaction.

Brock's toadies had shown us what he meant by "skiing"; Using four skis nailed to the wall, they used the fasteners to bind our wrists and ankles. They also tied us into an immobile position to bring on orthostatic syncope as fast as possible. It was an exhilerating feeling at first, then it would become more painful as our blood settled in our lower limbs. Keith was hanging on a perpendicular wall. After Brock left, he looked at me.

"Our chances look gloomy, don't they?"

I looked at him with a diehard gaze. "I would lie if I said no. Just think positively, and be in a state of grace. I'm afraid, little buddy, that hope isn't enough to save us, but let's look at the possibilities."

First, my suspicions about the location of this place I descried in my diary yesterday. Joe also knows where we were going if he had followed our path, and he and Troy were part of our investigation of the site they found the deceased. Surely, they are looking for us."

"Then where are they? It looks as if my carelessness when I rushed into the subbasement be going to get us killed. You should have rushed Brock when you had the chance."

"No, Keith," I disapproved with philadelphian gentleness. "There is no evidence that I could have escaped at the cost of your life. Stop torturing yourself."



Those words were lingering when Ginzberg sauntered into the dungeon. Obviously high, he walked up to me with faraway eyes.

"Hey, man," he slurred. "Want a hit? It would be less painful if you died high."

"No thanks," I declined.

"Maybe the cute, little Celtic guy would like a snort," Ginzberg said while staggering towards Keith.

"No, I don't think so," I clued.

"No matter," Ginzberg agreed. "The little guy's unconscious, so he can't feel pain."

Shock sprayed my hypokinesized body.

"Keith, don't go out on me already!"

It was futile; The extra stress he felt about our capture may have caused alkadosis, enough to accelerate unconsciousness. I then knew his time was shorter than mine.

"Ginzberg," a voice admonished. "Cut the raillery, and get out of here."

It was the one whom Keith and I had chased into the hideout. Sawyer had enough viridity to led us to the cave, now I had to wheedle his help to get us out of this lethal situation.

"Your friends nearly caught me in that room, so I figure they'll be here soon. If we should rescue you, would you forget our part in this gang?"

"All I came here for were the leaders of the burglary ring and the murderers. Who are 'we'?

"We are Dan, Orris, Steve, and I. We joined this group because we were jobless and nearly street people. We had no intention to murder anyone, just to rip off rich tourists."

"Okay, Mike," I agreed. "You cut us down, and we capture the culprits. I will also pledge to help you find jobs."



"Just a moment," Toledo interrupted as he burst into the room. "Are you guys crazy? You are all murder accomplices. The state may execute you for the two murders. Isn't that right, Król?"

I knew Toledo had me there, so I feigned unconsciousness.

"We'll take our chances," Dan disagreed. "Steve overheard Ratfinkel's planning to kill us all."

Frank Toledo became indignant. "Does that include me?" he asked lugubriously.

"Regardless, Frank," Dan Peck rebuked. "We're revolting against those two fruitcakes who think they're justices. We will have no more of this ring!"

Toledo blanched noticeably, even framed by his vanilla-blond hair. He pivoted and left the room. Perhaps Rob could change their minds.



Dan and Mike grabbed a ladder and started cutting my arm bounds and unlatching my wrists.

"No," I protested. "Get Keith down first. I can wait."

While the four scurried over to Keith, I flapped my arms to pump up the circulation. Using a knife they had left me, I began to cut my trunk loose. They had him down by the time I unlatched my legs from the protean.

"Is he alive?" I supplicated as I ran over to the table where they had laid him.

Dan was listening to Keith's chest. He smiled as his cap slipped off his head. Mike took a vial of ammonia and waved it under Keith's nose.

Keith's nose became rubescent, then he coughed. His rosy cheeks returned. I was relieved; we were just in time.

Just as Keith stirred, several men burst into the chamber. Troy emerged as he asked, "Are you guys alright?"

"Yes," I responded. "Did you get our four captors?"

"Aren't these guys your captors?" Troy asked incredulously.

"No," I denied. "These four are our rescuers. Our four captors are Toledo, Ratfinkel, Ginzberg, and Brock. Didn't you catch them as you came in?"

"Why, no. We thought you were the only ones here," Troy looked confused.

"None of these guys was the one we saw come in," Joe affirmed. "They must have escaped another way."

"Is there another way out of this subbasement?" I asked our rescuers.

"I'll show you," Steve said, leading the five into the hallway.

"Gack, George, all the excitement and I'm lying here unconscious," Keith blurted behind me.

"How're you feeling?" I ased perfunctorily.

"Quite well, given that I've just been crucified," Keith beamed.

We embraced as he lay on the table, but not for long; there was work left to do.

"Are you well enough to get the guys who did all this?"

Keith scanned his surroundings. "Aren't these guys part of the gang?" he stared bewilderedly.

"No," I admonished. "These guys are our rescuers. As Doctor James Eisenstein would say, we just knocked them out of the criminal process."

"Let's get those perpetrators," Keith yelled, concurring my judgment.

"Where would Brock go?" I asked the real victims of the four deceivers.

"I'd say they went back to the motel room unless someone's watching there, Mike ventured.

"Troy," I called. He returned a minute later. "They might be back at the motel, plotting an escape. You'd better alert the police to block off the effluent roads!"

Josh Last dejectedly strolled into the room. "They egressed through the first floor," he muttered disgustedly. "We have no idea which way they went."

"We think they went back to the motel to escape," Troy contravened. "Let's get to the snowmobiles and get back there before they do."

"Come, guys," I waved as we followed the group out through the cave.

"George", Craig observed. "We can't take all seven of you back."

"That's okay," I winked at our former captors. "These guys can stay here."



Taking my cue, the four planned their disappearance from this case. We soon left them far behind when we reached the motel.

"This is awful," Troy growled. "We have no idea what kind of vehicle they're in."

"Wait a minute," I blurted. "Did they escape on skis?"

"Sure, there're ski tracks outside the window," Rich Kernel affirmed my suspicions.

"So, they probably took the lift up. All we have to determine is which lift is the closest to the abri."

Craig pulled out a map after we went inside. He pointed out the nearest lift.



"My group will take my car. You guys meet us there," I said. "Keith, you have my car keys."

Keith became abashed as he seached his pockets. "No, I don't have them."

"Neither do I," I added as I explored my pockets. "I'm sure I had given them to you to get the skis."

"By the way, George, here's your revolver," Joe remembered after he had search his pockets.

"You don't suppose..." Keith started.

"Let's find out," I answered.

We sprinted to the place I had parked my car. Bête Grise was nowhere in sight.

"They must have taken the keys off you, Keith. Perhaps they had intended to dispose of the car after they did of us."

We sprinted back in time to catch Troy. I quickly gave him the details of my car, and he relayed them to the roadblock crew.
"It's going to be difficult to see a dark grey Renault in the dark," he stated.
"I'd like to know how the four of them squeezed into it," Joe teased.
I turned away, and Joe and Keith followed. When we were inaudible to the officers, Joe dared the question. "Why did you let them go?"
"Look, you guys, they are ecnomical victims whose blundering led us to the burglary ring. Do you honestly believe they deposited the body so close to the hideout accidentally? No, the murder motivated them to end the operation. I figured if we had played our cards right, they'd have given up. The criminal justice system will have enough to do with those four."
"What do you suppose will happen with the nuclear gang of four?" Joe contemplated.
"Brock and Ginzberg need asylum. The other two probably deserve death for the second murder. But this is all speculation. It'll be for a jury to decide."
"How did you know Brock and Ginzberg were not the killers in the seond murder?" Keith queried.
"Not the way Verdigris fought them. I just hope we can get some Miranda-admissible confessions."
"Good news," Troy called to us. "Rob Richardson's crew just captured the four of them."
"Our job is done," I concluded.

Epilog

"So, George," Troy addressed as we shook hand. "You're going back to State College."

"It's a new semester. My assistantship's kicking in next Monday"

"Goodbye, guys," Troy said to Joe and Keith in my car.

"We'll be available to testify," I reminded Troy, "If you should need us."

I dropped into the car, slid behind the wheel and started Bête Grise up. We waved as we started down the Pocanos back to Wilkes-Barré. I'd stay with my mother another day or so, and then it was back to routine in State College.

"Hey, George," Keith interrupted when we left the resort. "Doesn't it bother you that some moron was sitting where you are last night?'

"Nonesense. I still own the car!"



THE END