Free Arctic Fire by Paul Byers

silver platters, Pike’s knees began to
buckle. The smell of perfectly roasted prime rib escaped in a plume
of steam when the lid was lifted and it filled the room like a low
lying summer fog—light, barely viable but unmistakably there.
    The waiter lovingly placed the beef on the table
then surrounded it with three small cups of horseradish sauce,
mild, medium and “bring out the fire hose hot.” He placed a baked
potato that was flanked by an army of condiments next to the prime
rib. Pike could feel his mouth starting to water and just when he
thought it couldn’t get any better, it did.
    With the flair of a showman, the waiter took a
smaller covered platter, whirled it around, then gently placed it
on the table, and flipped off the cover to reveal a petite lobster
tail worshiped by a congregation of bacon wrapped scallops.
    Next, the waiter placed another small covered
platter to the back of the table. He lifted the lid just enough to
reveal a chocolate cake drizzled with mint sauce. And just as
quickly he put the lid back down, teasing him with its decadence,
like a fan dancer teases, then strategically covers again.
    Pike didn’t know how long he had been staring at
the food, when he suddenly realized he must look the fool. He
started to say something but the headwaiter held up his hand.
    “It is all taken care of Mr. Pike, compliments
of the house, served with our thanks.”
    “Well thank you very much; hang on a second.” He
ducked into the bathroom to grab his wallet, hoping he had enough
cash on hand to give these guys the tip they deserved. When he came
back out, the door was just closing. He looked at the table and all
the food. Maybe it was good to be King.
    He took his time, wanting to savor and enjoy
every bite and yes, enjoy a little of his fifteen minutes of fame
as he knew the clock was ticking away. Satisfied, he stood and
gazed out his window. He lived near Seattle, so the lights of the
big city were nothing new to him, but the lights of Vegas were
different from any other city on the planet. Here, not only were
there more colors than a Sherwin-Williams paint store, they also
moved.
    They glittered, flashed, ran in lines, blinked
on and off, popped with the sound of music; they were alive and
gave life to the city. From space, he imagined that Vegas would
look like some giant, undiscovered sea creature probing in the inky
depths with its brightly colored tentacles scouring the dark ocean
floor for food.
    He enjoyed the pulsing lights for a few more
minutes then closed the curtains and told the city good night. It
had been a long day and he knew he would sleep well after the meal
he had just devoured. He laid his clothes out for the next day and
had just stripped down to his shorts and was preparing to climb
into bed when he heard a knock on the door.
    “What now?” he grumbled as he grabbed his robe
and answered the door.
    Marilyn Talbot stood at the door, eyeing Pike up
and down.
    “Looks like I’m just in time.” She smiled
seductively.
    ‘”What do you want, Marilyn,” Pike said flatly,
“I’m really tired and want to go to bed.”
    “Well don’t let me stop you, why don’t you open
the door so I can come tuck you in?”
    Pike sighed. “Marilyn, we’ve been through this
before, I can’t, we can’t, you’re my boss’s wife for Pete’s sake;
besides, who says I’m alone in here?” He threw in as an
afterthought.
    Marilyn laughed. “That’s a good one, Mr. Boy
Scout. If you won’t sleep with me, then why would you sleep with
anyone else?”
    “Marilyn?”
    “Fine.” She replied with a bit of frustration
and anger in her voice. “George finally checked his voice mail and
Nigel Cain’s office called. They want you and the Clipper in
New York by noon tomorrow.”
    “NOON?”
    “Yup. George doesn’t care how you do it or what
time you have to get up and leave, he just wants you there. You
know how important this contract is to him, to us?”
    “Okay, okay. I’ve got a