Braddock's Gold
Page 4
After that, he walked back to the house and heard Mike still snoring in bed. He got the last of the coffee. How had he lived without it in prison? What should he do now? Alan walked back out the door and surveyed the large field there on the plateau on the ridge. There was only one tree in the field, the ancient sycamore with its peeling bark. He walked out the lane to it. This thing must be as old as Methuselah. He marveled at its size.
Now, what to do? He decided to walk to the main road which he did. He climbed the gate and looked down the secondary road both ways. It didn't look like it got much traffic ever. It was far different than what he had known in the city. He pulled the cell phone out of his pocket. Yes, he had service. He didn't see any towers on the distant hills. Got to be one close somewhere. He looked at the time feature on the phone, 10 o'clock. He wondered what The Voice would have to say when he called. His stomach churned a little.
Hey, what’s this? A rolled newspaper was in the green plastic box. Cumberland Times-News it said on the box side. Mike must have ordered it. He grabbed the newspaper and looked at the front page, the same old stuff, war, killing, and corruption. Good news doesn't sell papers. He climbed up over the gate and headed for the farmhouse. He could see Mike sitting on the front porch. As he got close to the house, he cried out, "It's about time you got up. Did you sleep tight? You were sure snoring."
Mike smiled. "Yeah, I slept like a baby. Sorry about the snoring. I got my nose broke as a kid, and have snored ever since. Did you find some breakfast? I think my uncle left this place stocked up with supplies. He didn't leave this place often."
"Yeah, I found some corn flakes, dried milk, and fixed some coffee," said Alan.
“Coffee! I’m so glad you found the coffee,’ exclaimed the older man. “Did you get a look around the old place?”
"Yeah, lot more here than what meets the eye," he responded. "Let me get you some coffee. I figured out how the coffee maker works. I got some for myself while you were still sleeping."
“Thanks,” Mike said. “You do that, and then we need to talk.”
Alan had been expecting that. Mike would spell out his plans for the old place and what he needed Alan to do. He prepared the coffee for Mike. It was ready in a jiffy. He brought the big, steaming cup of java to Mike. Mike took it and sipped. "Ah, that's good, really good."
"Now, what was it you needed to talk with me about?" Alan asked, satisfied he knew what was coming.
Mike sipped the coffee, then looked sternly at Alan. "At 1300, that's one P.M. for civilians; you'll get a call on that cell phone in your pocket."
Alan’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. This was not what he expected from Mike.
Mike continued, “You will get instructions and an offer. You can walk away if you want at this point, but I think it would be very profitable and in your best interest if you take it. The Voice has been good to me. He’s fair, and working for him has been very profitable for me. But this you must remember, above all else you must remember, don’t ever, ever disappoint The Voice.”
Mike looked at the stunned young man. Even Alan's experience at hiding his feelings he had learned in prison had not prepared him for this. "You didn't really think my picking you up on the interstate ramp was sheer chance, did you?"
Mike let him think about that for a few seconds. “Everything has a reason. Everything is connected. Don’t forget this.”
Alan recovered somewhat and stammered, “Who is this Voice?”
Mike shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, but never disappoint him. It's not healthy."
Alan sat back in the chair. Who was this Voice, and what had he gotten himself into?
"Was there any more coffee left in the pot?" Mike questioned.
"Yeah, about a half-cup," Alan answered.
"Good, I need a warm-up." With that, Mike got up and headed for the kitchen, leaving Alan to his thoughts. Just what had he got himself involved in? And where would this lead? Time would tell, and he had a decision to make.
Chapter 13
Mike came back several minutes later with his coffee cup full. "Good coffee, I made another pot," he said matter of fact.
"Yeah, good coffee, I found a can that had never been open this morning," Alan responded.
Mike sat back down in the chair. He looked at Alan. “Guess you’re wondering about who The Voice is, and what he wants of you?”
Alan nodded.
"To be completely truthful with you, I don't know who he is, nor am I sure I want to know. Whoever he is, he has power and connections. When you left prison, did they talk to you about parole?" Mike asked.
“No,” Alan answered.
“Didn’t you think that a little strange, you being a convicted felon?”
“Yes, I did,” Alan said.
Mike began, "The Voice took care of it for you. Like I said, he has power and connections. I don't know how far his tentacles reach, but I wouldn't want to try to outrun them. I know you have been looking the place over. You notice how isolated we are here. You've seen the empty double-wide trailers, and the stuff in the shed, the plastic pipe, and the batteries. My uncle ran a marijuana grow house up here for The Voice for some years till he started getting sick. It was very profitable for him, but what he did with his money, I don't know. He didn't put it in this house, and it was not in his will. I don't know if he buried it here, burned it, or gave it away.
After he got ill and couldn't run the grow house, The Voice pretty much put him out to pasture right here. The Voice is fair if you do him right. What he wants from you and me is to set up the grow house operation in the old trailers out there. He wants two people, so when one needs to leave, this place is always manned. He will provide the money we need while here for this operation. At the end, when the crop's harvested and out of here, we get our cut of the profits. I've never known anyone to have not been treated fairly by The Voice. That's how he keeps his troops happy and loyal. You might see him as a benevolent dictator. He prefers the carrot, not the stick, but he carries a big stick. You know, a little like old Teddy Roosevelt, 'Walk softly and carry a big stick.'"
Alan looked at Mike and mulled all this over in his mind.
Mike continued, "I'm gonna need to go into town and get some supplies. That will give you some time to think. When he calls at 1300, answer promptly, be polite, and tell him if you're in on this operation. There will be no opting out till it's done. You think about it."
Shortly afterward, Alan would watch the truck with Mike in it disappear down the two tire worn country lane to the state road. What would he do? Did he want to be in on this? How much money would he get? Enough for him, maybe enough to help Momma. He weighed the pros and cons. This Voice had to have connections to have gotten him off without having to do parole. And he had to know how people thought when he so slyly had Mike pick him up at the interstate ramp. He was good, but also dangerous. Power hadn’t gone to his head, and from what Mike said, he knew how to use it. Alan didn’t think he wanted to find out first hand.
When the call came at 1300 hours, Alan had made his decision. Yes, he was in till the crop was harvested. The Voice was pleased. He told him he would profit handsomely if all went well. Think of it like profit-sharing The Voice had said. Treat him fairly, and he would treat you fairly. At the end of the conversation, The Voice gave the veiled threat, "Don't disappoint me; I don't handle disappointment well."
Alan was sure he didn't. It had been somewhat unnerving talking to the computer-enhanced and altered voice that came to his ear. This was a person of power, means, and ways. This was not a person you wanted to disappoint.
It was late in the afternoon when Mike pulled up the farm lane. The back of the truck was full of plant potting mix, and the cab was full of groceries. Alan went out to the truck and said to the returning Mike, “I’m in.”
Mike smiled and answered, "Yeah, I know. You made a smart move. I was afraid I would have to kill you."
Alan smiled sheepishly. Was he kidding or not?
Alan quipped, “Chinese restaurants, they’re everywhere.”
“Yup, even in Jerusalem,” Mike added. “We’ll get started on the operation tomorrow. When you go down to get the paper tomorrow morning, look for a brown paper bag hidden in the weeds by the road. It will have inside a plastic container filled with the best genetically modified polyploidy pot seed this side of Vietnam.”
The next morning just as Mike had said, the paper bag with the plastic container was there and full of seeds. It was one efficient operation. Alan knew he had made the right decision, but a little doubt remained. He would do his share and then some. He hoped there would be enough to help his Momma. That was his plan. That was his motivation. And he knew he did not want to disappoint The Voice.
Chapter 14
Tom pulled the old truck out of the Catholic Church parking lot space and stopped at Route 28. He looked south down the road and noticed the church marquee, "Choose life," it said. Father Frank believed in expressing his faith. Where had the Supreme Court ever found a right to abortion in the Constitution? Forty million dead and still climbing. America was killing its future. How different the nation would look if those missing people were here? God must be weeping. Tom reasoned the Supreme Court found it at the same place they found the separation of church and state, even though none of these words are in the Constitution.
Why old Thomas Jefferson who wrote the Declaration of Independence, America's first founding document, approved at government expense, the use of Hymnals and Bibles as school books. Government buildings were used on Sunday for church services. I guess that's what you get with a 'living Constitution. That's like trying to build on quicksand. Quicksand is 'Living.' Give me the unchanging solid rock. That's the right foundation for a country or a life.
He was glad he had friends like the Padre. There were days in his life when he felt he was being pulled through a knothole. He paused for an additional minute. He thought of what Father Frank had put up after the vandalism at the church. All things work together for them that love the Lord. The church and community had really come together after the destruction. Things had worked out. It was harder to see with other events, like his son and wife's deaths. He had learned more compassion for hurting people, but at a terrible cost. Maybe he wouldn't understand till he made it to heaven. Some things are like that. He used to think taking one's life was an unforgivable sin, but now he realized there was only one--- rejecting Jesus as Savior and Lord. He understood how death could be the wrong choice in the mind of a person with mental illness. It was an escape from the confusing madness they must be living with. He took a deep breath and eased his way on to the highway.
As the truck crossed the small bridge over Turners Run, he wondered what else would happen today. He thought of all the people that had been maimed or killed on bloody Route 28, as he cruised toward Short Gap. When would the state ever improve this road? A couple of hundred feet of new guardrail would not solve its many problems. So many lives had been cut short on this heavily used highway. He rounded the turn in Short Gap and passed the old Methodist Church, now boarded up. The present owner used it for storage, and it sure needed a coat of paint. The Methodists had moved to their new church off Rt. 956 years ago. He slowed for a car turning left onto Route 956, then by the road leading up to Frankfort High School. Senior Class Play this Friday at 7:00, "My Fair Lady," the sign read.
After the long straight stretch, Tom rounded a moderate turn. He remembered a wreck at that spot years ago. Two guys from school were feeling invincible, bulletproof, and immortal from too much testosterone, alcohol, and speed. They had missed the turn and ended up putting the souped-up Pontiac on its side among the numerous trees. How they got out alive with barely any scratches would never be known. No seat belts and a tree through the windshield of the overturned car. People said it was a miracle no one died. This accident was driver error. He couldn't lay the fault of a bad road on this one. Another mile and he would be home. He turned left at the Hunt Club Plaza. His family had owned the land on both sides of this road. Some had to be sold off when things got tough, but somehow, they'd always made it through.
Tough times don't last, but tough people do. The Lord will provide what you need. The Lord will provide. On this promise, he could depend. He pulled the truck up onto his property, turned the engine off, and sat in the quiet of his truck. His mind was on a roll. There was much more thinking to do.
Chapter 15
Yes, those were some tough times. The big plants were shutting down in the area, Celanese, PPG, and his job place, Kelly Springfield Tires. It seemed like you couldn't buy a job around the Tri-state area. He was glad they had the old farm. Tom sold off some land for the commercial center where the credit union located. They’d been good to him, and the business he had started. He sold some more land off to the Knotts Brothers, and they built homes and some buildings for their business.
Tom sometimes needed to pinch himself to believe how his fortunes had turned, though not without challenges from many sources. The state, back in the days when Model T's traveled the road in front of the house, had built a trough to catch water from the big spring that poured out of the mountain, Knobley Mountain that rose up sharply about 500 feet behind the old barn behind the farmhouse that sat next to the highway. People stopped to water their overheated cars in the old days and then got water for themselves too. Tom's Dad had stuck a can up next to the trough, which was on his property with a sign that said "money for water." He was amazed that people gave. It wasn't much, but it helped, especially in the hard days of the depression.
The state said he couldn't ask for money for the water, so he changed the sign to "donations for water." It took a year, but they said he couldn't do that either. So Tom's Dad just left the can up and took down the sign. People still gave. After Tom lost his job at the Kelly Springfield Tires plant, he looked into bottling the water for sale.
No one encouraged him except for his good wife, Sarah. She was his rock, always believing in him. No one wanted the water in their store. They had plenty, they said. Who was he to think he could compete with the big boys? Now the big boys wanted to buy him out. How his fortune had changed. Many government agencies with all their regulations had tried to stop him? No wonder the companies were moving to China. He was so glad he had a lawyer friend from good old Fort Ashby High School days that helped him fight them, and as a favor to a friend, was willing to wait for his money that may never come. Tom had paid him back with interest and made sure his office always got bottled water for free. The lawyer always smiled and asked for a bill. Tom's employees were told to tell him they would mail it. They never did or would. Tom had been able to get some bottling equipment from the old Queen City Brewing Company when it shut down, and that had helped.
He laughed to himself how he got his first account, Wayne's Grocery in Fort Ashby. Tom talked to Wayne, but he'd said he did not need another bottled water, even if it was a local one called Knobley Mountain Spring Water. Tom was desperate. He'd used all the money he had to get this started, and now no one wanted his product. That day he sat at the house and put an old cassette by Sammy Hall in the tape player. Tom could still hear Sammy singing in his mind, "If nobody loves you, create the demand." Those words in the song were the key he needed that day. Tom contacted the Mineral County Fair directors. He would give them all the bottled water they needed Monday night for free if they would buy bottled water from him exclusive at his costs for the rest of the week. They agreed, and thus the demand began.
Tom had printed on the bottle's labels, "Knobley Mountain Spring Water, available at Wayne's Grocery and other quality stores in the Tri-state area." Under that were the company's address and phone number. Tom remembered the call from Wayne the next day because h
e had taken it. "Your dog, you dirty dog," Wayne had laughed. "I got bunches of people over here wanting to know where that 'Knobley Mountain Spring Water' is in my store, and I ain't got it. Bring me two pallets right now, and I will put it right at the door for all to see. And I need it now!"
Tom said he would bring it over ASAP. He anticipated the calls and had the truck loaded fully. Wayne got his load within the hour. The rest of the day, he was busy answering calls, taking orders, and making deliveries. It had mushroomed from there. Now he, his two sons, new wife Joann, and four other employees were on the payroll of Knobley Mountain Spring Water. He felt blessed. When given a lemon, make lemonade. Tom got out of the truck and walked into the office. "Hey, Dad," his son Doug said, "glad you got here. We got a big order we need delivered today. Everyone else is busy. We need you to get it out."
“That’s great news. Why needs the rush order?” Tom asked.
“Your favorite place, Dad.”
“No, don’t tell me I just volunteered for White Tails?” Tom groaned.
“Right, as usual, Popster,” Doug replied.
White Tails. Excellent account, they always paid by check on delivery. And a good check at that. But White Tails? Why didn't they give the delivery to the naive new driver as they always did for fun? Tom smelled a conspiracy and said so.
“No, Dad, they called about an hour ago. You know they always waited till the last minute,” replied Doug.
Tom knew this was true. White Tails. It was his lucky day. White Tail Nudist Resort needed water for an event, and he was going to get his eyes full. Why me? Tom thought. Seeing lots of naked people, most of them baby boomers full of wrinkles, sags, and bags, was not his idea of a fun time. They always sent the new, unknowing drivers for this chore. One had even wanted to quit. They talked him out of it only by promising him he would never have to go there again.