The Exhibition (An Executive Decision Trilogy) by Grace Marshall Page A

bought out and rebuilt by a local company hoping to make the place into a successful roadhouse-style restaurant. But there were problems,’ she said, flipping through from the very modern, very quirky clean rebuild to its decay and fall into disuse, and then continuing on to the next incarnation, more similar to the squat cinder block build of the present. ‘At this point,’ Stacie said, ‘the place was bought out by Core Invest.’
    Harris stopped her hand with his palm. ‘Wait a minute. Core Invest – isn’t that one of Terrance Jamison’s companies?’
    She held his gaze. ‘It is. Though they don’t own the Boiling Point now. At least not technically.’
    ‘Not technically?’ Harris asked.
    Her gaze didn’t waver, but it was Waters who spoke up. ‘The place has stayed open through some seriously nasty legal battles, which tend to magically disappear just when it looks like the doors are about to close for good.’
    Almost by instinct, Harris glanced around to make sure no one was listening. There was no one else in the place but the bartender and a couple of slummers in designer smart casual who leaned against the bar. Across the cavernous interior that appeared much bigger inside than it did from the parking lot, a grungy-looking band was setting up. ‘I thought this was photography, not investigative journalism.’
    Waters gave him an impish grin. ‘Come on, you’re a fine one to talk about art, Walker, when you’re the editor of one of the most trouble-making green rags on the West Coast. And the trip you made to the Valderia a few months ago with Ellison Thorne – well, that wasn’t exactly about taking pretty pictures, now was it?’
    Before Harris could respond to what he could only consider a compliment, Stacie cut in. ‘I’m not looking for pretty pictures. I’m looking for stories, stories of the Northwest. I’m looking for histories and journeys and the things that make this place what it is.’ She waved a hand to indicate the space around them. ‘I don’t mean just the Boiling Point, although its history goes way back to before Prohibition. I mean the whole Northwest. It’s shaped by the people who live here. There’s no place left you can go where that’s not the case. In some areas, the evidence of human interaction is less than in others. But the evidence is there, and in some cases it’s devastating. In others, the environment and humans have evolved to live in some kind of tenuous harmony.’
    The band began to warm up, and Harris noticed that while they were talking, there had been a steady trickle of people coming through the front door past the bouncer, a trickle that was increasing rapidly.
    ‘Here’s my moment.’ Waters grabbed his camera, practically bounced out of the booth, and began to snap photos, leaving Harris and Stacie sitting next to each other to observe.
    For a little while they watched Kyle moving easily in and out among the new arrivals, who were a well-tattooed lot, mostly clad in leather and denim with a fair smattering of overworked spandex.
    ‘There.’ Stacie nodded to half a dozen suits at the bar who Waters was now shooting. ‘They know how to work the camera,’ she said. ‘I recognize their type; cocky, barely out of university, more money than brains, most of which they spend on hookers, blow and expensive cars. They’re a big part of the problem here, if you ask me.’ She spoke next to his ear. ‘They never used to hang out here until about the time Core Invest sold the Boiling Point to a company out of Vegas, which magically appeared out of nowhere when it looked like Core Invest would have trouble holding the place legally. I don’t know all the details, but all at once this was where all the testosterone-driven banker boys came to party.’
    Harris felt his shoulders tighten as he watched the men preen for the camera and check out the asses of a couple of women in very short, very tight skirts. ‘It bothers me a bit that you know