Red Helmet (35 page)

“Let me put it a different way. While all the tonnage for the other grades of coal increased, the high-grade coal you needed for India decreased.”

The constable frowned. “I don't understand what you're getting at here.”

“I do,” Cable said. “And it's nothing I didn't already know. We've been going through some bad coal since last April.”

“No, Cable,” Song said. “I don't think so. I think somebody's been stealing your coal.”

Cable laughed. “That's ridiculous.”

“Is it? Square's been watching the preparation plant. I think whoever's been stealing your coal was there tonight and Square caught him. I don't know how he got pushed off the road, but when we drove here, I saw where he'd gone over and there was a lot of coal on the road. If you tested it, I bet it's high grade.”

When Cable said nothing, Song asked, “You didn't have anything to do with this, did you?”

Cable didn't answer. The constable was looking at him. Song felt like crying but she didn't. Coal miners—and that's what she was now—didn't cry.

“You gentlemen know where to find me,” she said, then walked out.

T
HE NEXT WEEK
passed in a blur. Song was shifted around to different sections each day, spending most of her time shoveling gob. On Friday, she and Gilberto spent the day with two black caps, changing out track on an old section that was scheduled to be reopened. The spikes had to be pulled, then the heavy rails levered off into the gob, the old ties lifted and carried away, then replaced by new ones. It was a laborious, difficult job, made worse by the low roof. Most of the work was done on their knees, and Song was grateful when one of the black caps provided her with a pair of spare knee pads. That evening she went to Omar's and got her own. And a fresh bottle of ibuprofen.

The news from the clinic was not good. Although he had been moved out of the ICU, Square remained unconscious. Song had seen nothing of Cable or the constable. Before her shift started, she spoke to Mole, who had nothing to say. He just raised both of his hands and said, “You keep this up, woman, you're gonna cost me my job,” and refused to say anything more.

She thought about calling her father and asking his advice, but decided that was no good. If he heard about what had happened to Square, he would order her home. She finally did call, but told him everything was fine. No, better than fine. She thought she might have found the problem and she'd be home soon. But first, she said, she wanted the chance to operate a continuous miner.

Her father had chuckled at this. “You've turned into quite the little coal miner, haven't you?”

“I love it, Dad,” Song confessed with a frankness and ardor that surprised even her. “I look forward to going to work every day. I've been told that mining gets in your blood. Maybe it's true.”

But, though Song was happy in the mine, her heart ached. She wondered what she had unleashed. Square was injured Cable was in trouble. She didn't mind showing him how smart she was, and brave, and how stupid he was for giving her up, but she didn't want to send him to prison. She studied Hillcrest from the Cardinal's porch, wondering if he was up there, perhaps with a lawyer trying to figure out how to escape jail. There had been no sign of Governor Godfrey. At least there was that.

The weather turned bitterly cold. The autumn leaves withered, then fell in a rush until the surrounding mountains were brown and gray except for splotches of green pine and cedar. Highcoal seemed to wither too, the people retreating indoors. Chimney smoke drifted across the town with the delightful aroma of seasoned hickory and oak. Song imagined what it was like at Hillcrest, with fires built in the fireplaces and the kitchen warm with cooking. She tried her hand at baking biscuits with Rhonda and discovered she was pretty good at it. There was nothing quite so enjoyable as eating something you'd cooked yourself.

But mostly she waited and wondered what was going to happen next.

She didn't have to wait long.

Thirty-One

I
t wasn't hard for Bum to find him. Stan hunted on Sundays, and Bum knew where, at the old farm that belonged to his family out by the lake. It was Stan's plan to build a big new house on his property as soon as he retired. Bum guessed Stan would be able to afford it, considering the risks Bum had taken for him.

Bum had worked himself up for a confrontation all morning, mostly by popping meth. He was vibrating as he got out of the truck. He slapped his arms and legs and did a little dance, as if he'd been attacked by fire ants. He had enough sense to know it was just the meth. The sores that had erupted on his back and buttocks were caused by the meth too, but he loved the feeling of energy it gave him. It also allowed him to work all day in the mine, then moonlight for Stan at night.

Bum followed the retort of rifle fire and found Stanvic near the lakeshore. Stanvic frowned when he saw him, and this made Bum angry. He took it to mean Stanvic wasn't pleased to see him. Since all this started, it had been Bum who had done all the heavy lifting, driving the truck at night to load the coal, then hauling it to the buyer in Fox Run. He didn't know how much Stanvic got, but Bum had always suspected his cut was only a small percentage. The way Bum saw it, that needed to change.

“What do you want?” Stanvic demanded as the muscled, wide-shouldered miner got closer. “It's not good for us to be seen together.”

Stanvic's attitude made Bum even angrier. “You know what happened to Square Block? That was me
who done it.”

Stanvic nodded. “I figured as much. How come?”

“He saw me.”

“You were careless then.”

“Yeah. Just like you were when Squirrel heard you talk to your buyer. That makes two men I've had to kill because of your little scam.”

Stanvic shifted on his tiny feet and moved the rifle he was carrying so it could be swung easily. He had his finger on the trigger. “Well, you're well paid,” he replied.

“Hell I am. Not like you. Anyway, I think it's time to end this thing. Square's a big buddy of Cable's. I think he was over there spying for him.”

Stanvic looked into Bum's eyes and saw that he was not only angry, he was also on drugs, probably meth. “Maybe you're right,” he said to give himself time to think.

“You got rich doing this,” Bum accused.

Stanvic rolled his eyes. “Rich? You think I'm rich? None of this amounts to that much money. We're just skimming off the top, that's all.”

“I figure you made a couple hundred thousand a year off it. What did I get? Twenty thousand? It just ain't worth it. I got bills, you know.”

“The only bills you got are the ones you stuff up your nose,” Stanvic said.

Bum was not impressed with that argument. “You give me a hundred thousand, I'll go away. We'll pretend this never happened. Neither Cable or the constable can prove a thing.”

“What about Square?”

“I plan on paying him a little visit at the clinic, just to be sure he never wakes up.”

Stanvic knew he was in trouble now. The meth had caused Bum to lose all sense of reality. “Bum, listen to me. I can't give you that much money, but I'll scrape up what I can. As for Square, what I heard is he might not wake up, so just leave him alone.”

Bum took a step in his direction and Stanvic defensively raised his rifle. “Get off my property. I'm warning you, Bum. I'll shoot you otherwise. You know I will.”

“I want my hundred thousand dollars,” Bum said.

“I said I'd get you what I could.”

“I want it all!”

Stanvic knew what he had to do. He had to kill Bum. It would be reported as a hunting accident. Bum had no business being in those woods, sneaking around. Probably taking drugs or something.
I fired, thinking it was a deer
, Stanvic would tell the constable.

Stanvic raised the rifle but it was already too late. Bum was coming at him like a crazed locomotive. He knocked the rifle aside and bowled Stanvic down. Stanvic's head struck a stump and that was the last thing he ever knew. A dark crimson pool of blood leaked out of his head, soaking the roots at the base of the stump. Bum looked down at him. “Well, Stan, look what you've done to yourself now. You never could take a good hit on the football field neither.”

Bum dragged Stanvic to the lake, then tossed him in, wiped off the rifle, and threw it in too. After watching the body float for a few seconds, he took a circuitous route off Stanvic's property and back to his truck. There were more pills there. He needed more pills, but not meth. OxyContin ought to do it. It always brought him down and leveled him out until he was ready for more meth. Though his eyes were jerking around and his head felt like it was about ready to screw itself right off his body, Bum managed to stay in his lane all the way home.

Thirty-Two

M
onday morning found a foot of snow that transformed Highcoal into a pristine white wonderland. As Song walked to work, she heard the sounds of joyful laughter. The children of Highcoal, and not a few of its adults, were out with their sleds. The constable, the blue and red lights of his truck flashing, was at the main intersection, watching over things, keeping traffic moving into the mine parking lot. Most of the pickups carrying miners had chains on their tires.

Song went over to have a word with Constable Petrie. “Did you and Cable have a talk?” she asked.

The constable looked at her. There was no information in his steady eyes. “We did. It's always good to talk to Cable.”

“What did you talk about?”

“That would be police business,” he answered.

“I was the one who ran the numbers. If you have anything, it's because of what I gave you.”

“Still police business, ma'am.”

“My father owns this mine.”

“Now, Cable did say something about that.”

Song recognized the futility of trying to get any information out of the constable, so when he tipped his cap to her, she nodded and left him to join the crowd of miners at the manlift.

“You and me are with Vietnam Petroski today,” Justin informed her. He lifted his chin. “He told me the other day I had the makings of a good coal miner and maybe some day I might even wear a foreman's white cap.”

She smiled at him. “I'm sure of it, Justin.”

Chevrolet swung by, his eyes lit up with news. “Did you hear about Mr. Stanvic?”

“No,” Song said and wrinkled her nose at the thought of the grumpy, obese man. “What about him?”

“He drowned in Spivey Lake.”

“What are you talking about?”

“One of the foremen said Mr. Stanvic was hunting squirrels over there and fell in. They found his body yesterday.”

“That don't sound right, somehow,” Justin mused. “You'd think a man that fat couldn't possibly drown. He'd float, surely!”

Chevrolet shrugged. “Maybe he fell in face down, couldn't get hisself turned over.”

“Maybe that's the stupidest thing you've ever said,” Ford remarked as he joined the group of red caps. “All a man would have to do is flop his arms and over he'd go.”

“I heard Mr. Stanvic had a bashed-in skull,” Gilberto said, “so I don't think he could flop his arms too good.”

“How did he get a bashed-in skull?” Chevrolet asked.

“Got hit by something, likely,” Ford answered.

Chevrolet looked at Ford, then shook his head. “Brilliant, brother. Sometimes I just marvel at how you put things together.”

Ford blushed. “Well, I do my best, you know.”

On the mantrip, Song thought over the news and the subsequent discussion. Stanvic dead and found with a cracked skull. She wondered if the two-plus-two that was going through her head was really four. Cable, not only a thief, but a murderer too? Was that possible?

After his prayer, Petroski had a surprise announcement. It was the last day of mining on Six West. To get any closer to the old section just north of them was too hazardous. It was filled with water, and if they dug into it, it might flood the entire mine. Tomorrow, he said, they would come back and start moving out the equipment. “Cable says we're good to go for one more day,” Petroski said, “but listen to me, boys. If you see any water seeping in, give a shout and we'll shut down and get out.”

“What'll happen to the section?” one of the black caps asked.

“It'll be sealed off,” Petroski answered.

“Too bad. There's still some good coal here.”

“That's right, there is,” the foreman agreed. “So let's make it a
good day. Let's dig out as much of it as we can.”

Song was put on gob-shoveling duty for the shuttle cars, her job to toss any coal they spilled onto the conveyor belt.

As quitting time approached, Song's tight shoulders and stiff back protested with every monotonous sweep of her shovel. At least she was almost caught up with the spilled coal, mainly because the continuous miner was down for maintenance. It had lost a tooth on its rotating drum and the operator had replaced it, then taken a short break. The face was quiet. A light swept over her, then came back. It enlarged as someone crabbed over to her.

It was Bossman. “You ready?” he asked.

She leaned on her shovel. “For what?”

“You want to try your hand on the miner?”

Her aches and tight muscles vanished in an instant. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“I was. But I liked that you stood up for Justin.”

“I never thanked you for that.”

“No need. He did a good job. Come on. Let's get you checked out.”

Ten minutes later, Song was operating a continuous mining machine, the best job in the mine. She loved the feel of power and control as she pushed the giant machine forward, tearing into a piece of the world that had lain undisturbed for hundreds of millions of years. She was the first human to ever see it, and that in itself was thrilling. She quickly got the hang of the levers that raised and lowered the boom with its spinning cutting heads. It was pure fun.