Shangri La: A Short Story

Detective Logan drove northward along Sandberry Boulevard towards the Shangri La Resort bathed in anticipation and fear. Sandberry Boulevard was cut out of mountain forestry early in the 1900's through Washington State's Snoqualmie Pass; the road was designed for pack mules. The pack mules needed twisting switch-backs to keep their burdening loads from bearing down on them at unbearable angles and crushing their knee joints. This night, the switch-backs served no such purpose and made passage tedious for automobiles. A summer rain made the mile long road particularly difficult to see and the accompanying summer growth on the evergreen trees gave no escape to the blockaded moonlight. Still, Logan plodded along in his car at great speed, determined to be at the Shangri La ahead of time for his scheduled meeting with Sean Burke.

"Sean Burke," Logan thought out aloud to himself. "Once one of Seattle's most dangerous criminals with control of every illegal activity ranging from auto theft to illegal immigrant slavery; thought to be dead and now I find he is alive and I am meeting him in the middle of these mountains. I must be insane!"

Logan's thought was interrupted by the sudden appearance of the Shangri La out of gnarled trees and twisting road. Logging companies built the Shangri La in the early part of 1905 with lavish woods and expansive boundaries. Corporations maintained the lodge for special interests and as a high rent resort for most of the years, but for the decade from 1995 the lodge had been almost private. The fields, green in the summer, boasted trained quarter horses and Clydesdale draft horses. In winter, the draft horses would pull heavy sleds through trails carved into the wide open fields. Over the summer the quarter horses would provide enjoyment for caretakers and their children. From its tourist days, the Shangri La had normal amenities of the wealthy; shooting ranges, indoor spas, and a pond for winter ice skating or summer fishing. In the current time, the pond was converted into a retreat for Canadian Geese, honking and screeching to one another in the rain. The drops of rain excited tiny fish and the geese scooped them into their bills with great enjoyment.

As Logan rounded the main facing of the Shangri La, he felt a pulling at his stomach. He should not have been alone here and without report, he was certain, but Burke's pleading for secrecy was compelling. As Logan looked over the lodge, he saw chimneys giving smoke into the air, lights in caretaker's windows, and he even saw signs of activity in the stables. "Certainly the caretakers will be everywhere," Logan spoke to himself again. The lodge was far too expansive and the amenities too many in number to have less than a dozen full time residents attending to it.

The night was much darker than he had planned. What little light the moon could have brought into the area, the trees absorbed into their thickened boughs. What the trees did not steal, the clouds kept from peering through. The lodge itself loomed towering with its main A-frame structure easily seventy feet into the air and long cedar sided wings spanned out one-hundred yards into each direction. Logan had arrived three hours early, five o'clock in the evening to beat the dark, but he may as well have made the eight o'clock time for all the lighting he received as payment of his efforts. Only the numerous lights in the wings of the lodge assured Logan as he rounded the longest wing towards the service entry. Logan had skipped the guest entrance in hopes that he would enter without being greeted into a controlled setting. He hoped for some time to observe the surroundings, but the light would not have afforded a look beyond what he had already observed in his headlights even had he five hours rather than three.

Finally, Logan reached what was the service entrance of the Shangri La. The paved lot was large as the areas of large supermarkets in his home city of Bellevue, just outside of Seattle. There was what appeared to be a garage with more than twelve doors for cars to store from the weather. "Just as I imagined," Logan thought out aloud again, "at least a dozen service people." A safe feeling came over Logan as he saw the multitude of doors with the knowledge that certainly one person for each door would be within the Shangri La to greet him... and make certain his departure.

Tall lights made the parking area bright. Painted stripes with numbered boxes held a solid acre of paved real estate for guest cars in winter months when the lodge would be opened to many renters. Valet attendants would bring the cars around from the main entrance to assigned numbers as guests would walk into some grand foyer to retreat into the wooden winter palace. "Number four," Logan thought and parked in his lucky spot. The beeping of his alarm indicator sounded out into the valley with the two quick bleeps of having been set, giving a ringing echo. It reminded Logan of just how isolated he was here and he began to wonder if his cell phone would catch a receiving station in these mountains. The rain compelled him to run to the entrance of the lodge, fear wanted him to try his phone. His decision was taken from him with a shout from behind.

"Hello!" rang out a powerful voice.

Logan wanted to continue for his phone, but the voice was reassuring and promised security in its strength. He turned and answered, "Hello yourself." He ran to the entrance way.

The man greeted Logan at the door and ushered him into a pantry. The pantry was on a scale of a town market and while almost barren, contained food for a small army.

"You appeared lost out there." The man said to Logan

"Oh, I was just contemplating my...." Logan hesitated. "Burke!" he exclaimed.

"Yes? You were meeting me, weren't you?"

"I didn't expect you to be answering the door, quite frankly."

Logan rapidly matched Burke's face to the one in the photo he had seen. Reconstructive surgery had changed Burke from the published and known figures of a decade ago, but the photograph Logan had found of Burke, the file that had led to this meeting, was perfect in its detail capturing imagery. If burke was troubled at being recognized, he did not show his emotion in any capacity. Burke simply continued to usher Logan into the service sections of the lodge.

Burke did not hesitate over Logan's earlier comment for a moment, but simply began to explain circumstances in a matter-of-fact manner. "Oh, there is a rather large Indian festival in the Issaquah Valley. Most the help is Indian, married to someone Indian, or just loves the Indian way. They get the time off every year to enjoy the festival; I hire a bus to take them to festivities and return. Turnout from this lodge is one-hundred percent every year, no one misses."

"And you just remain here all by yourself?"

"Someone must watch over the Shangri La, don't you agree? She cannot be trusted to stand here in these mountains all alone."

There was some irony in the statement and both men smiled to one another, Logan less than Burke. Burke jumped back to Logan's comments just before exclaiming surprise and asked, "You were just contemplating what?" Burke asked.

"Pardon me?" replied Logan.

"You said that you were contemplating something, when you seemed quite disappointed to meet with me. You were here to meet with me, you already acknowledged this point."

Logan was taken off by being confronted with Burke so quickly, he had planned to make a bearing on the area before attempting his interview. He was more disconcerted to find Burke with run of the house at the Shangri la and the caretakers being away. "My phone," Logan answered, being slightly unnerved at the loss of control in the situation. "I was going to call my wife and tell her that I would be home late tonight."

"Well, I can answer that for you already. Guests must convert to satellite to use any type of cellular phone, but the Shangri La is modern, there is a telephone in every room. Better that you are inside already, no need to catch your death trying to call home outside in the cold; you can make your call from in here. Give me your wet jacket and let's get you in front of a warm fire."

Burke's courtesy and attentiveness were overwhelming of caution, and Logan quite easily followed. Quickly, Logan felt himself relaxing, which in itself concerned him.

Burke led Logan through winding passages in the service quarters and large halls in the guest areas to a small room with books lined on the walls and exotic carpets on the floors. As the passed through halls and rooms, Logan looked for signs that something was amiss, but all seemed in good order. The kitchen was baren of cooking and rooms were all orderly. If Burke had the run of the Shangri la, it certainly appeared that it was meant to be.

"This is my favorite study," burke stated.

"I take it you stay here often." Logan answered.

"Oh, yes. This is my home away from home."

"Then you have been doing well since the last reports of you. What is it that you are doing these days?""

This is to be an interrogation?" Burke replied. "I was under the impression that it was to be more of an interview. Very well, I assume you are resolving a matter not directly concerning me?"

Logan was again disconcerted with himself. He had not meant to get the questioning phase out so quickly, and more, he could not rightly take to the telephone without the fear of losing the course of conversation. He passed the telephone and took a seat in a small chair which appeared fragile, but held rigid and comfortable upon his back. Even the comfort of the chair was against his planning and wanting. He wanted to keep the edge and caution, the Shangri La was not a place to build concern. Even the fire in the room seemed to calculate the amount of heat upon Logan's face as he fell back into comfort and reassurance.

Logan replied, "No, not directly, I am certain. I was looking through records at the King County Department of Judicial Administration. There is one file, by Lawrence Hodges, a detective of ours. Well, he was a detective. I mean he still is, it's just that he has been missing for some time now. He was always considered on the take, so his disappearance has never been heavily investigated, not as a case of foul play or anything. So, anyhow, one of his files has an entry in it, it just says Shangri La and it notes your name, Sean Burke, below that. He appears to have doodled your name, but I thought to call the Shangri La and see if anyone knew of you. When the owner called and gave your number, I was quite surprised to actually reach you. I mean with your being hidden and all."

Burke's smile was genuine and wide as he replied, "And you thought that this Lawrence Hodges may actually have been one of my dirty little beat cops back in my car dealing days."

No, I wasn't trying to..."

"It's O.K. Those were different days. So you thought I could possibly have some knowledge of the whereabouts of this Officer Hodges. Do I guess you correctly?"

"Closely. I mean to say, this isn't a real investigation, uncovering a dirty cop. The department doesn't officially frown on investigation of its own officers, but it someone were to believe that I were actively pursuing corruption against one of its officers, especially one that is decorated as Lawrence Hodges was, well, it just wouldn't go over so well.

"So you're a rogue investigator. You don't even have permission to investigate this cause. Yet, you found me without even contacting the people authorized to contact me. That's why you're nervous to speak with me. Please correct me if I am wrong."

"No, you're not wrong. I mean, I'm not any rogue investigator or anything like that. I'm assigned to the records office at the Judicial Administration and they have Hodges' files there."

"And you just found a little excerpt with Shangri La on it, and my name written below with little doodles? So, you called the Shangri La, and here I am? Is that it?"

"Mostly. I mean, I dug a little harder than that. No one had heard of you, so I checked registries of the Shangri La and found that indirectly Mr Boughman, he owns this place, had bought this place from you during the whole fiasco...the deal at the peirs."

"Yet, you're surprised to see me with clean run of the place. You believe that Mr Boughman is too clean for business with me?"

"No, I've never met him. I was surprised that you still had such a tie here, I just figured you vacationed here. You still have official ties to the place?"

"No just a vacationer. John, Mr Boughman, suggested that I use the lodge to meet with you, felt I would be more comfortable here. He didn't buy the place from me, but we met in the dealings as he researched the history of the place. Always a clean place the Shangri La, a shame to even tie it up in conversations of my past. Nonetheless, we've started, what other little questions do you have for the day you would like answered? Do you have anyone I can contact, or a card to hand me, just in case I remember anything?"

"No, no official investigation. I was just hoping you could give me information on Lawrence Hodges."

Burke was taking a serious countenance and stared Logan deep in his eyes. He thought to himself that before him was standing a true honest man. The man was brave to come before him without official report of his whereabouts and alone. He thought about the man's wife and his own wife and children. He liked the young man and admired the desire of the young man to find the truth in even a matter discouraged by his fellow officers.

"Would I have to come by your office and answer questions in an official capacity if I helped you locate Mr Hodges?" Burke asked.

"No, not if I can help it. I would report Hodges' location to senior officers. I have enough rank in my detective status that I could maintain your status as confidential."

"Then it is confidential?"

"Oh yes, very. No one knows of you but myself......"

Horror struck upon the young detective's face as he revealed his holding card. The one material fact that had given Logan the courage to drive the winding roads from Snoqualmie Pass to the Shangri La was the security of his police force behind him. The assumed fact that a score of police would come investigate his last known location if anyone knew where he were. He suddenly remembered Burke for the savage who fought for his life at the cost of more than a dozen men just a few years before. He remembered the Burke who had been a wanted man, with dead or alive a condition of his capture. He wanted to draw his firearm for security, but was not ready to lose prospect on finding Hodges. He braced himself.

"Weren't you intent on calling your wife?" Burke asked.

"Oh, Yes!" Logan exclaimed with great relief.

"Well, you had best make the call before we begin such a lengthy conversation as we are to make."

Logan raised the receiver to his ear and with great satisfaction, there was a dial tone. As he dialed the numbers, he knew his call would be registered. Better, he knew that Burke knew this fact. He waited for the number to connect, but no connection came. He looked over his shoulder for Burke and exclaimed, "It's not connecting!"

From behind Logan came the reply, "Business phone, you have to dial nine."

Logan faintly recognized the sound of gunfire, but never felt the shot that killed him.

The great furnaces of Shangri La would consume Detective Logan and the fine carpet he shrouded into. Caretakers of the lodge would never notice the missing carpet, nor would they ever know of Detective Logan's presence in the lodge. A secret companion of Burke's would remove Logan's automobile, and Burke would greet the caretakers of Shangri la after the Indian festivities with laughter and merriment. Only Burke himself would never know the great pain it inflicted upon him to pull the trigger.

To read further chapters of this story, contact Dean Kellogg at shirlsguy@bellsouth.net. You may also obtain the rights to this book.

Logan was not like Hodges, Crushing the bones left in the furnaces had been relieving when he had taken Hodges' ashes from the furnace. With Hodges, he had felt loss at the spoiling of an exotic carpet from the very same room. For Logan the amount of ten-thousand dollars paid for each carpet seemed a pitiful funeral procession. Still, he turned Logan's skull and bones into ashes the same as Hodges' and carried them to the pond with the geese. He felt shame as the geese swam into him and tried to find pieces to swallow while he spread Logan into the pond. But, he spread the young man about the still pond with only Logan's ashes and the raindrops sensible to his mind.