The Day Steam Died (16 page)

Chapter 31

“But times were changing. New technology put on hold until after the war produced machinery that changed our way of life.”

Night to remember

The Marriott Hotel loomed tall in the city’s skyline. Perched on the highest hill in the center of town, it was a grand hotel built to accommodate the many businessmen traveling to the Mecca of the tobacco and cigarette producing world.

The still, cold night air didn’t stifle the smell of cured tobacco that crept uphill from the tobacco warehouses to add flavor to the air of downtown that embodied Winston-Salem. It was a pleasant odor more pronounced to out-of-towners who weren’t accustomed to the aroma. No one objected, because it meant prosperity for their city.

There was a bank on every corner with top-floor offices filled with lawyers that surrounded the court house. The grandest of them all was built in 1909 by R.J. Reynolds. It was the first high-rise building in the city and was still the tallest. The R.J. Reynolds Tower looked over the thriving city with its tobacco warehouses and cigarette plant entwined with railroad tracks threading their way through the maze of buildings.

“I never realized Winston-Salem was so small,” Rick said as they left the warehouse district and headed toward the Marriott. Rick was stalling for the eventual moment he would be alone in a room with Candi. He pulled into the portico of the Marriott and went in to get them a room.

He came jogging back to the car and leaned down to speak with Candi through her open window. “They’re pretty full. Lots of people here for the Dixie Classics. Is the fifth floor okay?”

“Heights don’t bother me.”

The doorman whistled for the valet to park their car. Rick shot an awkward glance at Candi then looked to watch the valet drive away.

“I feel kind of funny going into a hotel without a suitcase and smelling like a winery,” Rick said.

“I don’t have one either, and I like the smell of a winery. Look, couples rent rooms by the night all the time. Let’s check our room out. I’m kinda tired.”

Rick was almost relieved at hearing that. He wasn’t sure he was ready for a sexual relationship, especially with a brassy New Yorker. Maybe they would just go to sleep; after all, it had been a long day and they had consumed a lot of wine.

The elevator ride to the fifth floor was in total silence. They quietly left the elevator and opened the door to room 515, just around the corner from the ice machine.

“Wow!” Candi exclaimed when they walked into the large room with a king size bed. Burgundy silk drapes were drawn closed. An over-stuffed chair and ottoman were arranged opposite a desk in the far corner. In the bathroom she found stacks of monogrammed towels, terry cloth robes, a roomy walk-in shower, and a marble vanity with double sinks backed by mirror that covered the entire wall.

“This is really nice, Rick,” she called out to him. “You really know how to treat a girl. I should get you drunk more often. Relax on that big bed in there while I freshen up a bit.”

Candi closed the bathroom door. Rick walked around the room to the closet and to hang Ronnie’s leather jacket. When he slipped a hanger into its sleeves, he noticed an oversized label on the inside lining of the jacket. It read: Employee of the Year 1962, Ronnie Gaines, presented by Sam Johnson for S & T Distributing Co.

He couldn’t wait to tell Candi about his discovery. But it would have to wait—she told him no more shoptalk back at the restaurant. He hung the coat like it was a piece of evidence in a crime lab then removed his wet shirt and hung it on the doorknob of the closet to dry. After turning on the TV, Rick kicked off his shoes and dove into the middle of the giant bed. The last thirty seconds of North Carolina’s game with Kentucky was on. Coach Rupp was shown full-frame, ranting at the officials over a non-call of a foul on a blocked lay-up that would have tied the game. The Tar Heels took possession of the ball and ran the clock out. Players ran around the floor hugging each other and celebrated with fans that poured onto the court at the final buzzer. They would play N.C. State tomorrow night for the championship, a tough game he would love to watch in person.

Candi stepped out of the bathroom wearing one of the bathrobes and flipped off the lights except for a desk lamp that glowed in the corner of the room.

“Turn the TV off,” she said in a silky soft voice and dropped her bathrobe, revealing the curves of her naked body.

Rick got up, turned off the TV as ordered, and returned to the side of the bed.

“You need to relax,” she said. “Here, let me loosen your jeans.” Rick stood in silent surrender as Candi unzipped his kakis.

“Sit down on the bed,” she said. “Let’s get those pants off.”

Before Rick could respond, Candi pushed him flat on the bed. By the time she’d removed his kakis, his under shorts looked like a tent stretched over his monstrous erection. Candi made quick work of removing his shorts. He was feeling a rush of emotions released by the wine that he hadn’t felt since making love to Ann.

She spread his legs apart and leaned in. Before she could devour him with her mouth, Rick sat up, reached down, and pulled Candi up by her firm, rounded butt until their lips touched. They fell back on the bed and she mounted Rick, riding him like a bucking stallion. Rick released all the years of pent up emotion and frustration and nearly bucked her off the bed. Candi shrieked with each thrust and prodded her stallion for more with her knees. Rick responded by rolling her over and pounded her thrusting hips until they both lay exhausted.

“You’re a wild man,” Candi said as they both lay on their backs.

Rick responded with only heavy breathing and a smile.

“Jeez, we’ve been wasting all this time. Don’t die on me,” Candi said. “I’m not done with you.”

Candi snuggled next to Rick, who was facing her and shaking his head in disbelief. She massaged his limp manhood until it grew hard again. He pulled her on top of him. They kissed and explored each other’s bodies. She slid him into her, and they made love again, and again.

When the sun finally peeked through the space between drawn drapes, a shaft of light cut across their naked bodies stretched across the bed.

Candi nudged Rick. “You awake.”

“I am now,” he groaned.

Candi massaged him gently. It didn’t take long until Rick responded.

“Careful, you’re going to wear it out.”

“Never happen. Last one in the shower buys breakfast,” she teased.

Candi bolted for the bathroom with Rick right behind her. She jumped in the shower and turned it on full blast.

“Oh shit, it’s freezing!” She leaped out of the stream of water and began stroking him again.

“We can’t get in until the water gets hot, but I don’t want to waste that beautiful hard-on of yours.”

Steam soon started rising from the shower and with a firm grip on his growing erection, Candi pulled Rick into the shower with her. The hot water stung like pin pricks on his back. The pain was quickly forgotten when she wrapped her legs around his waist. Their wet bodies slapped against each other in the steam-filled shower.

Checking out, Rick didn’t allow Candi to go Dutch for the room as she’d insisted the night before. He also picked up the breakfast tab since he lost the race to the shower.

They stood in the front entrance without speaking. Images of last night’s marathon raced through their minds while they waited for the valet to bring Rick’s car around.

Rick wasn’t the same person who’d watched the valet drive away the previous night. He’d awakened an unexpected personality. Rick had finally broken down the wall he’d built around himself after the loss of Ann. Now he could feel emotions for someone else without guilt.

When the car arrived, he gave the valet a generous tip.

They wound their way through the hilly Winston-Salem landscape, looking for I-40 East.

“Do you think Dan will go for us staying over for the championship game?” Candi asked in mock seriousness.

“In your dreams after he sees this bill.” Rick laughed as he turned the Corvair onto I-40 and headed for Raleigh.

Chapter 32

“Men learned new skills and how to tame the powerful diesel locomotives that pulled twice the load of steam engines for thousands of miles without costly repairs.”

Tank faces crisis on every front

“Don’t worry, Pop, I’ve got everything under control.” Tank assured his father with the swagger he’d acquired dealing with his staff and members of the General Assembly.

“I called the Sheriff myself and he wasn’t even aware a deputy was patrolling our warehouse. You better get control of the situation and quick.” Sam raised his voice for emphasis.

“I had my chief of staff contact the Sheriff after your complaint call. The Sheriff assured him it was just routine. The officer was new and a little overzealous, his first week on the job.”

“That’s not good enough. I want to know why he was snooping around.” Sam pounded his fist into his palm in front of Tank’s face.

“Calm down, I’ll take care of it!” Tank slammed his chair into the desk then grabbed up a handful of letters and waved them at Sam. “Look, I’m swamped here.” Tank threw the papers back on his desk, pulled the chair out again, and sat down hard. He covered his face with his hands and sighed.

Being an assemblyman had grown into a much harder job than Sam had made it out to be. Tank was hardly sleeping, and the constant nagging by his constituents only made dealing with his father all the more frustrating.

Tank clamped his face with his hands. “Lobbyists are camped out here seven days a week, the General Assembly is hounded about the flood of imported textiles, tobacco law suits are piling up, and kids are holding demonstrations on campus and burning their draft cards, protesting the Vietnam War.” He put his hands flat on his desk and looked at Sam. “We get thousands of letters a day complaining about these issues and dozens of others. I’ve got my hands full, Pop, so cut me a little slack, okay?”

Sam’s stone face showed no reaction to Tank’s plea. “You just keep in mind how you got this job and where the money came from, and most of all, why it is important to have this job. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for a little help on protecting our investment.” Sam paused then said, “Oh, by the way, your mother wants to know if you’ll be home for Christmas dinner, we’ll be in Bankstowne for the holidays”

“I’m the grand marshal of a parade in the district next week. There are several speeches . . . but, I’ll be there. I really do need a break. I’ve never been so tired in my life. Football practice was never this exhausting. I’m taking the week between Christmas and New Year’s off and plan to watch Carolina in the Orange Bowl. I’d love to go to the game, but I just don’t have the time or energy.”

The bright star that had shined on the Grad School Assemblyman earlier had lost its glow. Campaign promises for change that flowed so easily off the tongue of the young challenger with no record to defend proved much harder to keep than to make. Slowing the influx of textile imports was the federal government’s jurisdiction, which he couldn’t control in Washington. But try to tell that to the laid off workers.

Tobacco, the backbone of the state’s economy, was coming under heavy attack by anti-smoking activist groups nationwide. Congress legislated a printed label on each pack of cigarettes warning that smoking was hazardous to the smoker’s health. Lawsuits against cigarette producers in the state over cancer cases alleged to be caused by tobacco smoke had increased and won large settlements.

Tank was growing weary of the endless stream of lobbyists looking for payback for their employers’ support and grassroots special interest groups bent on banning smoking in public buildings. The roar of approval he once enjoyed in his football playing days and as a young candidate was gone. Back then, he’d almost thought he was doing the right thing because of all the support, but now he felt as if nothing he did would bring him back to that place of adoration. And now his own father badgered him to rein-in law enforcement doing its job by investigating his cigarette operation.

“I have to go,” Sam said. He gave Tank a pat on the back and headed for the door but stopped and turned facing his son. “I know you’ll take care of the problem. You’re doing a great job, son. Just stay focused on the game plan. See you at Christmas.”

The door wasn’t half closed before Tank went to his liquor cabinet and poured a shot of Jim Bean black label and tossed it down. In quick succession, Tank downed three more before he sat down in his chair and propped his feet on his desk.

Tank reared back and waited for the mellowing effect of the bourbon to kick in. He buzzed his secretary with instructions to hold all calls. Almost two years in office had etched permanent dark circles beneath his eyes. His belly strained against the buttons on his shirt and hung over his belt.

He fired up a Winston filtered cigarette, a habit he picked up during the campaign that turned into a three-pack-a-day addiction. But it wasn’t a gesture of support for the besieged tobacco industry. Like the bourbon, it was an effort to escape the relentless pressure he faced. The political lark Tank so naively began at his father’s insistence had morphed into a reality he never anticipated and wasn’t prepared to handle.

SBI office

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mark, but I understand your position. I don’t want you to jeopardize your job. You’re going to be a fine officer and I was glad to help you get into the academy. Really appreciate your help. Check you later.”

Wil hung up the phone, disappointed at the bad news. His only contact couldn’t do surveillance for him anymore. Forsyth County Sheriff Allen Swenson had received a complaint from S & T about the unusual frequency of patrols by one of his deputies.

Wil’s phone rang again. “Agent Barnes, how can I help you?” he answered in his usual professional voice.

“Agent Barnes, this is Sheriff Swenson from Forsyth County. I want to know what the hell you are doing by having one of my deputies do surveillance for you. I don’t appreciate one damn bit an SBI agent secretly contacting my deputy for cooperation in an investigation in my district. Are you trying to get that boy fired? I don’t want to have to talk to your Captain about this, but if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll have you demoted to a parking meter reader. Do you understand, Agent Barnes?”

“Yes, Sheriff, and I’m sorry. It isn’t our policy to operate that way. This was just a hunch about some suspicious activity by S & T Distribution Company in their warehouse. I’ve known Mark since he was a kid and all he ever wanted was to be a police officer. I helped him get into the academy and—”

“I don’t give a shit if you’re sleeping with his mamma, don’t ever contact one of my deputies without talking to me first. Clear?”

“Yes sir. It was a mistake that won’t happen again.”

“You’re damn right it won’t!”

“I’ll keep you advised on the case. Again, I apologize for not following procedure.”

“Apology accepted. My department will cooperate and lend any assistance you may need. Just do it by the book, son. Have a good day, Agent Barnes.”

Annoyed at the dressing down by the Sheriff, Wil knew he was on shaky ground. Not able to spend time on the investigation himself, he needed something to formally open a case against Sam Johnson. He needed hard evidence.

Bad news

It was barely eight o’clock on Monday, and all the office phones were ringing already. Customers complained about missed paper delivery over the weekend, and Citizen’s Patrol called in events on their weekend watch. Then came a call Rick wasn’t happy to receive.

“Wil, good to hear from you, got anything for me?”

Wil explained the conversation with the Sheriff. “Look, I know how this deal is bugging you, but you need to take a break, man. I can’t help you anymore until we get something solid to go on. Unless you have something concrete, we’re dead in the water. Let me know when you have something solid, and I’ll try to run it down. That’s about all I can do for now.”

Rick sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Sorry about the trouble. I’ll . . . I’ll get something more substantial soon, I promise.”

“By the way,” Wil said, his tone shifting from annoyance to concern, “I talked to Momma and she seems to be doing okay at that assisted living place. I think she was ready for a break after having to nurse Daddy all last year. His passing was a blessing. Have you been over to visit lately?”

“I’ve been really busy. All the protests on campus against the Vietnam War and draft card burnings has really gotten out of hand. Not as bad here as it is up north, especially the Ivy League schools, but enough to keep me hopping.”

“We’ve been watching that pretty close, too. Carolina seems to be more involved in the protest movement than most of the other state schools. Governor Mathews was even considering calling out the National Guard, but Attorney General Grover talked him out of it and let the local and state police handle it. Gotta get back to work. Sorry about the bad news, but I’ll keep my eyes open. Be sure to call Momma. She always asks about you. Have a good one.”

A twinge of guilt washed over Rick. His mother was always there for him, supporting his writing and especially during his breakup with Ann. He would call after work.

Right now he was too disgruntled over the news of the lost surveillance to talk to her. Maybe his friend, Keith Devry, a reporter for the Winston-Salem Journal, could do some snooping for him. No, that wouldn’t work. Rick couldn’t have him in the loop. That would mean he would have to share information and byline. It was his story and he wanted to be the one to break it to the public. His selfish motivation might prolong the exposition, but he was willing to take that risk.

Pushing aside his disappointment, Rick scanned the morning paper while he drank the awful office coffee. The longer he read the news, the more his mind wandered back to the Marriott in Winston-Salem. Just thinking of that night aroused him. Candi had been like a dog in heat. Even his best times with Ann weren’t close to her ravenous appetite for sex that night. He didn’t know if their relationship would last or where it was going, but he planned to enjoy the ride.

Candi walked into his office quietly so as not to break his concentration. She hadn’t quit smoking but didn’t smoke around Rick anymore. The urge to irritate him had turned to something else. She was always attracted to him; the attitude was just her strange way of showing affection until that night at the Marriott. Now she was able to act out her true feelings for the first time since she was raped by her therapist. No promises for the future just taking things as they come, one day at a time.

“Good morning, tiger,” Candi said in a lilting voice.

“Good morning,” Rick choked out the words, caught off-guard by her presence and a little embarrassed about his thoughts. “Uh, about last weekend . . . I don’t know exactly what to say. Everything always looks different in the light of day. I don’t want our relationship outside of work to interfere with how we do our jobs.”

“No problem. We’re good together, in the office or in bed,” Candi shot back. “I don’t want you to think I jump into the sack with every guy I meet. After my therapist raped me, I had trouble trusting anyone. I’ve learned to trust you and where ever this relationship goes, I think we can handle it. Don’t you?”

“Yeah, sure,” Rick said, feeling a little bolder. “I was thinking—”

“Rick, got a minute?” Dan’s voice interrupted from his office next door.

“Yeah, boss. Be right there.” He got up but went to Candi before leaving the office. “Listen, why don’t we finish this conversation at dinner tonight? I have some calls to make and an interview but should be able to swing by to pick you up by eight. Okay?”

“Sure.” Candi smiled and nodded her approval.

It wasn’t the
Swan Lake
he promised, but it was a good start. She headed to the dark room to develop the roll of film she shot at the Dixie Classics tournament. The sports editor promised her a photo spread if she had any good shots.

Later that afternoon, Sports Editor Wayne Morris looked over Candi’s shoulder at the results of her work strung on a drying line across the darkroom. They had an electric dryer, but she preferred to hang them up the old fashioned way. The paper didn’t curl as much and it was her way of showing off her best pictures to anyone who passed by.

“These shots are great,” Morris said, stroking his graying beard. “We’re printing the Dixie Classic special pullout section on Wednesday. Put a copy of these on my desk when they’re dry. I can use you when the season gets into full swing, if you’re interested. You work is good, you have a sharp eye.”

“Thanks. I’ll think about it,” Candi replied, knowing she really didn’t want to be a sports photographer. She sought validation of her work to get her to Africa to do the work she wanted.