by PAUL BENNETT
I led Lucy to one of the armchairs and sat her down. She wouldn’t let go of me, so I sat on the arm and held her hand in mine. The others gathered around us and milled about, too high on adrenaline to sit down.
‘How are you feeling?’ I asked Lucy.
‘Sort of spaced out,’ she said, slurring her words. ‘He made me take pills. Got kinda sleepy afterwards.’
‘Did he harm you in any way?’ Rafael said.
She shook her head. ‘Just kept me doped up. I don’t even remember much of what happened. It was the basement of a house somewhere. We drove for about thirty minutes to get there, although he could have been going in circles for all I knew. I think he used chloroform to snatch me. Made me feel sick.’ She looked at me with misty eyes. ‘I knew you’d come,’ she said. ‘My knight in shining armour.’
I heard Bull in the background scoffing. ‘I hate to spoil the reunion,’ he said, ‘but at the end of the day the man in black got what he wanted. He got the letters.’
‘Not quite,’ I said. ‘He got some letters.’
‘Don’t see the difference,’ Bull said.
‘He didn’t get the letters he wanted, he got the letters I prepared for him.’
‘I’m lost,’ Red said. ‘I signed the letter and Jerome gave it to him.’
‘I signed mine, too,’ Rafael said. ‘So now we’re committed to selling.’
Time for explanations. Put them out of their misery.
‘When I was in town, I got a most helpful girl at the hotel to prepare the letters for me. She photocopied the original letters, but with a blank sheet of paper covering everything but the Crane, Oaks and Crane letterhead. Then she retyped the letters with the subtle addition of the words do not. I do not agree to sell etc. Neither of you checked the letters, just scrawled your signatures, and I gambled that all the man in black would do is check that you had both signed. Who’s going to read all that legal gobbledygook? Especially when you’re facing five guys who are itching to shoot the hell out of you.’
‘So we don’t have to sell?’ Red said.
‘Nope. You’re not committed to anything. I’d like to see the faces of those who hired the man in black when they realize he’s failed against us again. Won’t be good for his reputation. Shouldn’t wonder if they don’t terminate his contract.’
‘And send someone else?’ Bull asked.
‘Maybe.’
‘You did it again,’ he said. ‘Used that maybe word.’
‘We need to find out who and why. We’re pretty sure the senator is involved, but why? What’s so important that he wants us all out? Is it simply about prejudice? Or is there something else? I feel we’re missing something.’
‘Silver got played out a century ago,’ Jerome said. ‘Can’t be that. Ain’t no oil around here either. And never been a gold rush. My money’s on prejudice.’
‘And you would know,’ Red said. ‘Me, too. Plenty of people still don’t like a half-breed, even in this day and age. My bet is the senator is one of them.’
‘The senator regards us as a bunch of hippies,’ Rafael said. ‘Lowers the tone of the neighbourhood. Most of which the senator owns.’
‘Maybe,’ I said.
‘Stop doing that,’ Bull said. ‘And, while we’re all here, why didn’t you tell us about these fake letters?’
‘Because I wanted everything to be realistic. If you had known, you might have reacted differently – like nothing really mattered. It had to seem important, like we were giving up reluctantly, but that we’d still try to get the man in black.’
‘If only that Kalashnikov hadn’t jammed,’ said Pieter. ‘He would have been mincemeat.’
‘Hate to say I told you so, but I told you so. The Uzi is more reliable – doesn’t jam on you at important moments.’
‘What do you want?’ Pieter said. ‘Applause?’
‘Would be nice,’ I said.
‘Let’s have a drink to celebrate,’ Rafael said. ‘You must try our sweetcorn wine. Brew it ourselves from only the finest cobs.’
The prospect didn’t thrill me.
‘Perhaps later,’ Stan said. ‘I need to know whether I have to be doing more planning. Is the man in black going to be coming back for me? Play some new trick on us?’
‘My guess is that his contract will be rescinded.’
‘And that they’ll hire someone else?’ Red asked.
‘And before you answer that question,’ Bull said, ‘let me advise you not to use the maybe word. If I hear it one more time I’m likely to explode.’
‘The man in black is finished. Now that Lucy is safe back here we can tell the sheriff what has happened and get the state cops to put out an APB on him. His days are numbered. Kidnapping is a very serious offence. I think he can look forward to a very long spell in prison.’
‘In that case,’ said Rafael, ‘it’s sweetcorn wine time.’
I wanted to make a discreet exit, but Lucy still had me in a tight grip. I could see the others frowning and looking at me for guidance. I shrugged my shoulders.
Rafael went into a corner of the room and reappeared with an innocuous-looking bottle of pale yellow liquid. He uncorked it and started to pour into some pottery goblets that were on the table. He passed one to me and I sipped it gingerly. It wasn’t as bad as I had feared, which isn’t saying much. It was very sweet and had the texture of thick treacle.
‘It’s good,’ I said politely.
‘Can I have one?’ said Lucy.
‘Me, too,’ said Cameron.
Rafael looked at Fey, who nodded. ‘As it’s a special occasion,’ she said.
In that case they should have spared the kids. But what the hell, might put them off drinking for good.
Lucy took an experimental sip. Pulled a face. ‘Nice,’ she said. She squeezed my hand. ‘I’ve been silly, haven’t I? Getting all fussed up about you.’
‘No need to apologize. I’m flattered.’
‘Is she nice, your woman?’
‘Very,’ I said. ‘We’re good for each other.’
‘She keeps him on the right track,’ said Bull. ‘Who knows what he’d get up to without her. Doesn’t bear thinking about.’
Lucy let go of my hand. ‘She’s lucky,’ she said.
‘Some might say that,’ Bull said. ‘Others …’
Lucy giggled.
‘Thank you for what you did,’ she said. ‘I’ll try not to get silly again.’
‘That’s what being young is about,’ I said. ‘Youth carries with it the licence to be silly. To make mistakes. Plenty of time to be serious when you’re grown up. Anyway, I’m flattered.’
‘So you should be,’ she said.
I downed the wine in one. Fought back a shiver. ‘Time we were going,’ I said. ‘Big day, tomorrow.’
Bull looked at me for clarification.
‘Stan, Pieter and I are filling in a pit. Red is taking you to the dentist. I’m fed up with you groaning half the night, and wincing every time you have something hot or cold. You’ll get that tooth fixed even if Red has to strap you in the chair and force your mouth open with a crowbar.’
‘Be a shame to bother a dentist,’ Bull said. ‘It might get better on its own.’
‘Do you really believe that?’
He considered it. ‘’Spose not,’ he said grudgingly.
‘Can you believe it?’ I said to Lucy. ‘A fully grown man – one who has fought many battles to boot – and he’s scared of the dentist.’
‘Not scared as such,’ he said.
I gave him a withering look.
‘Terrified,’ he said. ‘Bad experience as a kid – too much sugar cane, too little brushing. Had four teeth taken out in one go. Never fully recovered from it.’
‘Do you want a bottle of the sweetcorn wine to take with you?’ Rafael asked.
‘Too much of a good thing,’ I said.
‘You’d only be spoiling us,’ said Pieter.
‘Got to keep a clear head for filling in the pit
,’ said Stan.
‘Got to play bodyguard,’ said Red.
‘Well, thanks again,’ said Rafael. ‘For everything. And that goes for all of us.’
‘It was nothing,’ I said.
‘Speak for yourself,’ Bull said grumpily.
‘You know, I’m really looking forward to tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we should all come and watch. Make an event of it. Film it for posterity.’
‘Nothing to fear from the dentist,’ Jerome said. ‘He’s not lost a patient for a year or so now.’
‘And I thought us black guys stuck together,’ Bull said.
Jerome pointed at me. ‘He’s been the one who buys me beer and coffees with bourbon in. Sort of divides your loyalties.’
‘You’re all enjoying this, aren’t you,’ Bull said to us. ‘Just you wait.’
‘Enough,’ I said, ‘or I’ll give you an ice cube to suck.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
We all enjoyed a late breakfast except for a subdued Bull, who was sharp and irritable when he wasn’t being silent. I didn’t know which I preferred – both were unnatural for him. He and Red departed for town and the three of us who were left stripped off our shirts and started loading the wheelbarrows with the earth to fill up the pit. It was going to be another hot day, although we’d never had anything else in our time here. We’d be working up a sweat. It would be nice to lose ourselves in some manual labour, not to mention not having to think of the man in black.
It was a slow process. We needed to stop frequently to replace the liquid we were losing. Just as we were starting to make real progress Stan gave a shout. ‘Damn!’
‘What’s the problem?’ I asked.
‘Ring slipped off my finger. Fell into this damn pit.’
Pieter and I stared into the pit. The words needle and haystack came to mind.
‘Nothing for it but to get in there and dig around,’ Pieter said. ‘I’d help you, but I have this fear of depths.’
Stan’s sense of humour was restricted to jokes about dill pickles, so Pieter’s remark went over his head. He jumped down into the pit and started to dig around with his hands like someone who pans for gold does with a sieve, sifting dirt from one part of the pit to the far end, away from where the ring might have landed. Pieter and I stopped and drank some water and peered into the pit for any sign of a sparkle.
After ten minutes Stan gave another shout. ‘Got it,’ he said triumphantly, holding the ring aloft.
Pieter and I grabbed a hand each and helped Stan climb out of the pit. He polished the ring on a handkerchief and put it in his pocket so as to avoid a repeat of the incident.
‘What’s that on your hands?’ I said. Stan’s hands were a dull grey-black with the odd silvery sheen.
‘Some sort of stain from digging around in the dirt,’ he said. ‘It’ll wash off.’
‘Excitement over,’ I said. ‘Back to work.’
‘I’m starting to envy Bull,’ Pieter said, standing up to his full height and rubbing his back. ‘Maybe we should take out a patent on a wheelbarrow designed for tall men.’
I tipped another load into the pit and headed back to the piles of earth near the ranch house. I made a mental note to call Pa Blenkenstein and get him to come over and collect the digger.
We stopped for coffee and to fill up our water bottles. Stan washed his hands, but the stain stubbornly refused to go. He shrugged and drank his coffee greedily, taking large gulps and sighing with satisfaction. It was good coffee, Jamaican Blue Mountain like we had on St Jude, too good not to savour.
Stan looked at us. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘When are we getting back to work? Can’t be seen here sitting down and sipping coffee when Red and Bull get back. They’ll think we’ve been taking it easy all morning.’
‘OK.’ I sighed. ‘Coffee break over.’
We got up and wheeled our barrows to the diminishing pile of earth. Another few hours and we should have it done, especially if Red and Bull helped as well. We lifted our spades and got back into sweat mode.
It was another hour before Red and Bull got back. Bull was all smiles.
‘Didn’t have to take it out,’ he said. ‘Just drilled and filled.’
‘What did you say?’ I asked.
‘Drilled and filled. Why?’
A cold shiver ran down my spine. Hell. ‘We have been such fools,’ I said.
‘Speak for yourself,’ Bull said.
I turned to Red. ‘Have you got a university near here?’
He shook his head. ‘Got a college halfway to Fort Stockton. Best I can do.’
‘Excuse me then, guys, but I’ll have to leave you to fill in the pit. Things to do, places to go, people to see.’
They looked at me as if I was mad. If my theory was right, they’d see me in a better light soon. I showered quickly, washed off the sweat and earth, then dressed in clean clothes. I went to the kitchen and fetched a brown-paper bag. Red threw the keys to the jeep to me and I was off, adrenaline pumping.
The drive took about thirty minutes. The college was a modern brick-and-glass building, two storeys high. The building was surrounded by grassy lawns with students lying back, catching a few rays and trying to look like they were thinking deep thoughts. Mostly they were smoking and talking – nothing much changes. There was a spare space in the car park marked ‘Principal’ and I slotted the jeep in there. I walked up the steps and entered an air-conditioned atrium filled with large pots of tropical plants in some hydroponic material. The whole area was green, light and airy, a far cry from my days at school. There was a receptionist’s desk facing the entrance, behind which sat a woman with red hair, too much make-up and a bosom that looked like it would make it difficult for her to stand up straight without falling forwards; I started to wonder whether it was a requirement of a receptionist’s job. Maybe I’d just been unlucky with my random sample of two – or maybe lucky, I suppose. I approached her, trying to look her in the eyes and appear confident at the same time. She gave me a manufactured smile.
‘I’m looking for a geologist,’ I said.
‘What’s that?’ she said.
‘You know, rocks and stuff.’
‘Mr Meacham teaches geography. Will that do?’
Geology, geography, what’s the difference, she seemed to be saying. Maybe she was right.
‘OK. I’d like to talk with Mr Meacham.’
She looked at her computer screen and frowned. ‘He’s teaching class until three,’ she said.
‘I’ll wait.’
‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘Just ring him and tell him I’d like to contribute to his next field trip.’
‘We don’t do field trips. Can’t afford it.’
‘Well, you can now.’
‘Take a seat,’ she said. ‘I’ll text him.’
I sat down in a faux-leather chair and looked at the pile of magazines on the black coffee table. There were a few copies of a prospectus for the college and a small collection of learned journals, presumably featuring articles by the staff – didn’t seem much point in them otherwise. I went for the prospectus and soon learnt more than I ever wanted to know about the college. At a little past three a tall man in his late thirties with long unkempt hair, jeans and a check jacket with elbow patches walked over to me.
‘You wanted to see me?’
‘Johnny Silver,’ I said. ‘I need to talk geology. Can you handle that?’
He nodded.
‘After we’ve talked I’d like to make a donation for your next field trip, or books if you prefer. Whatever you want.’
He nodded again, more thoughtfully this time.
‘Follow me, Mr Silver.’
He led me up a flight of stairs and along a long narrow corridor with an insipid green carpet on the floor until we reached a room with his name on a plaque on the door. He opened the door and ushered me inside.
My confidence grew. I’d found the right man. The office was a mess of paper strewn over every surfa
ce – desk, side table, chairs, window ledge, piled on the floor. This was a room of a guy who pretty much knew everything, certainly seemed to read everything.
‘What do you know about the geology of the Pecos?’ I asked.
‘Nothing that’s interesting. Was some silver there a while back, but that was soon played out – not high enough a content to make it worth mining. Why?’
I picked up the brown-paper bag and handed it to him. ‘I’d like to know what this is,’ I said.
‘Came from the Pecos?’
I nodded.
He peered into the bag, dipped his hand in and drew out some of the earth. Rubbed it between his fingers. Looked at the stain that formed.
‘I’ll need to run some tests,’ he said.
‘I can wait,’ I said.
‘Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you some coffee?’
‘That would be good.’
He left the room with the bag in his right hand. Five minutes later a young girl brought me some coffee on a tray with cream and sugar and a bone china cup and saucer. They were pushing the boat out. I could get used to this, but I’d lose credibility points with the others.
He came back an hour later, smiling. Good sign. He sat himself down in the chair, leaned back and looked across at me.
‘You heard of rhodium?’ he asked.
I shook my head.
‘Well, that’s what you got.’
It sounded like a disease. ‘Is that good or bad?’ I said.
‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Let me tell you about rhodium.’
Lecture time. I was all ears. ‘You might want to dumb it down a bit,’ I said.
‘I’m a college lecturer. What do you think I do all day?’
‘Silly of me,’ I said.
‘Rhodium,’ he said. ‘Knew that was what was in the bag before I even did the tests – stains.’ He showed me his fingers, stained like Stan’s. ‘Atomic number 45, one of the noble metals – inert, won’t corrode or react with anything. Usually found in small quantities along with other metals – silver mainly. Worldwide output only 25 tonnes a year.’