Treadmill by Warren Adler Page B

be late for his workout. That was one part of his life he was determined to preserve, and he was certain that once the Parrish affair was resolved, he would slide back into his life like a foot into an old, comfortable shoe.
    Toward the end of the time he allotted himself to call the agencies, he struck something promising. One of the owners of a small agency remembered Parrish well.
    “Funny guy…a loner,” the man said. His name was Runyon. “I liked his work, but he was very secretive. Insisted to be paid in cash. That’s why I remember him, I guess.”
    “That’s Parrish,” Cooper said, elated with this bit of successful detective work. “I’m trying to reach him.”
    “A job?”
    It sounded to Cooper like a very logical idea. The others hadn’t even asked him why he was inquiring.
    “Yep. A big job.”
    “If I remember, I think we had a contact number on file.”
    That was getting somewhere , Cooper thought.
    “I’ll have to look it up,” Runyon said.
    “I don’t want to give you any trouble,” Cooper said.
    “I can’t promise you anything.”
    “I understand,” Cooper replied. He gave Runyon his phone number, feeling only vaguely optimistic.
    It was nearly ten o’clock. Not once had he been late for his workout.
    Late for what? he wondered. It didn’t matter to anyone but himself.
    Before he could leave, he checked the apartment, making sure that everything was in its place. He put The Magic Mountain where it belonged. He checked the silverware in their wrappers and the Healthy Choice boxes in the freezer, made sure his clothes were neatly hung in his closet. He made the bed, as he always did, with sharp hospital corners, and puffed the two pillows and placed them one on top of the other. Hesitating a moment by the front door, he took a mental snapshot of the apartment and its contents, satisfied that he had restored the order necessary for his tranquility.
    On the street, Cooper maintained a swift jogging pace, periodically breaking into a sprint. As he ran, he caught himself doing something unusual: he was studying the faces of the oncoming pedestrians, hoping that one of them might be Parrish. It occurred to him that such an obsession might lead to him spending all his waking hours roaming the streets, inspecting public places, movie theaters, supermarkets, shopping malls, always looking for Parrish. Cooper decided he would visit all the other health clubs in the area, pretending that he was interested in joining. During the sales tour, under the guise of inspecting the facilities, he would search for Parrish.
    “Exercise is addicting,” the woman behind the counter had said. He supposed there was some truth to that, although he considered the entire process the real addiction—not only exercise itself, but also the planning, the preparation, the gear and equipment, the before and after rituals. It was more like a religion, with its concepts of heaven and hell: healthy being heaven and unhealthy being hell. It was a cultic way of life, controlled and disciplined.
    Cooper was a half hour late when he finally strode into the exercise room, and he had a strange feeling that something in the atmosphere had changed. He felt that he was being observed, despite the fact that eye contact with the other members was sporadic and indifferent. At first, he attributed it to his own break in routine, but then he realized that there was something more awry here.
    He did a slow survey of the room. The regulars were doing their workouts. Melnechuck was wiping off his sweaty bald head. Anni was concentrating on the step machine. Blake was instructing one of the women on the use of the leg press machine. Beth was doing bicep curls, but she had slowed her sets, as if she were waiting for him to acknowledge her. Cooper’s gaze momentarily lingered on her. He saw her eyes shift in the direction of the treadmill Parrish frequently used.
    At first, he was stunned. For a moment, his mind told him that it was