The Day Steam Died

by Brown, Dick

  “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.

  Chapter 33

  “The new engines were not only much more efficient but required different maintenance and repair, which required fewer crew members to operate and maintain them.”

  Christmas holiday

  Christmas spirit was evident all around the warehouse office. Marie and Ann had decorated the windows with boughs of pine tied with red ribbons, and a small, decorated tree stood in the corner. Fresh pine and cedar scent permeated the usually smoky pall that hung over the office. It even lifted Marie’s spirits, who’d mellowed since Ann came to work for S & T.

  Ann had made herself indispensable to Marie by quietly taking over many of her duties. She knew Marie’s health was declining and it would only be a matter of time until she would have full responsibility of the office.

  When Ann had enough indisputable evidence a crime was being committed, she would make her move. She even managed a smooth working relationship with Joey to help get at the truth of the operation. The Enforcer was the private name she and Marie gave him when they were talking among themselves. Joey was Sam’s eyes and ears who kept his operation low profile. He was also a major player in the organization to which Sam sold his illegal cigarettes.

  The friendship and trust Ann cultivated with Marie had failed to yield much information. What Marie knew, she kept to herself. With Marie’s health failing, Ann felt a sense of urgency to pry knowledge out of her. She hinted about retiring once or twice in a joking manner. But Ann took her seriously, seeing it as her cue to press harder.

  Marie’s raspy voice and hacking cough had gotten steadily worse, but she refused to quit smoking. Her only exception was when Jerry occasionally brought Ricky and Libby to pick up Ann from work; she didn’t light up around them. She loved those
kids like they were her own grandchildren. Marie never had children and never remarried after her husband left her with only a short goodbye note and a maxed-out credit card. After that she immersed herself in her job at S & T.

  “Do you have any plans for Christmas?” Ann asked on her way to Marie’s file cabinet.

  “My sister in Boone is getting senile and can’t do much for herself anymore. I thought I’d go up and fix Christmas dinner for her. How about ya’ll? Bet there’re lots of presents under your tree. Kids are really what Christmas is all about. When you get old, it’s just another day where you eat too much and wish you didn’t have to go back to work.”

  “The snow is starting to come down harder now, and twelve inches is predicted for the mountains by tomorrow. That drive will be too dangerous,” Ann said. “Why don’t you let Jerry go up this afternoon and bring her down here in his four wheel drive pickup? We’d love to have you two spend Christmas day with us. It’ll be fun for the kids. Jerry’s mom and my mom will be there. They’ve heard so much about you. It was all good, I promise. What do you say?”

  “Well, it is getting pretty nasty out there. Are you sure Jerry won’t mind driving that far in this weather?”

  “Are you kidding? He looks for excuses to drive his new truck where there’s mud or snow. He’s picking the kids up early because of the weather and bringing them here for our office party. After lunch he can pick your sister up. It’ll be great to have a house full on Christmas day. We’ll finally be able to fill up that giant dining room table.” Ann laughed.

  The weather cooperated with Ricky’s wish for a white Christmas. Snow had been falling since early morning with no hint of letting up. Sam gave everyone Christmas Eve off and the following week until the day after New Year’s.

  On the day before Christmas Eve, the office staff and warehouse workers celebrated with a potluck luncheon. And Ronnie Gains spiked the Wassail punch. There were no boxcars scheduled until next year, so everyone could take it easy. Sam had enjoyed a profitable year and gave everyone a turkey for Christmas. Ann donated her turkey to the Salvation Army to help them feed the unfortunate families in the city.

  Jerry arrived carrying Libby with Ricky by his side. “Hi, honey. Here, let me help Libby with her coat.”

  Libby’s hearing was damaged at birth, but she was in therapy to develop her speech as well as learning sign language. She stretched her arms out and wrapped them around Ann’s neck in a big hug. She slowly mouthed, “Hi, Mommy. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas to you too, sweetheart. I’m so glad you’re here.” Ann slowly signed as she spoke the words. “We have your favorite, macaroni and cheese and chocolate cake. And for you, young man, we have Lexington barbeque. Come on, let’s get those coats and boots off so we can eat lunch.”

  “You have barbecue for the young man, but what about the old man here?” Jerry kidded.

  “You’ll have to settle for Lexington barbeque for now. You’ll get your desert later.” Ann winked at Jerry and herded the kids toward a long table spread with enough food to feed twice the number of warehouse workers.

  The warehouse crew ate like they hadn’t seen food for a week, going back for second and third helpings of barbecue, beans, potato salad, chips, and several varieties of dips. Pedro Gonzales brought in three dozen of his wife’s home made special recipe tortillas stuffed with beef, dried spiced tomatoes, jalapeno peppers, chili, and refried beans drenched in cheese. To quench the fire from the tortillas was a wash tub full of Cheerwine, Dr. Pepper, and Coke placed next to the table.

  “Jerry, you had better get going before the roads are covered,” Ann called to her husband, who was still grazing the food table. “I fixed you a goodie bag and a Thermos of coffee for the road.” She gave him a hug. “I hope you don’t mind me volunteering you to pick up Marie’s sister in Boone.”

  “Not at all. I just hope you didn’t put any of Pedro’s tortillas in there. My eyes are still watering. You need to get his recipe.”

  Jerry took the bag and walked Ann toward the door and then gave her a warm, loving kiss under the mistletoe dangling over the doorway.

  Ronnie whistled and the other workers whooped at the sight.

  “What was that for?” Ann blushed, embarrassed in front of her coworkers.

  Jerry pointed to the mistletoe. “A down payment for tonight. I’ll try to be back before dark. If I’m not, you all go ahead with dinner.” He knelt down on one knee and kissed Libby, who not only gave him a big hug but signed, “I love you.” He had to settle for a hug from Ricky who thought he was too big now for a kiss. “Be careful driving home,” he cautioned Ann and waved goodbye.

  Chapter 34

  “Progress brought greater opportunity for citizens of Bankstowne to live a better life and share that growth with their families.”

  Trip to Boone

  A light covering of snow was sticking on Highway 421 when Jerry turned onto the four-lane highway to Boone. By the time he reached Wilksboro thirty miles later the highway narrowed to two lanes and snow was accumulating faster than the snow plows could clear it. It had been snowing longer in the foothills with the temperature four degrees colder than in Winston-Salem. Jerry had loaded several fifty-pound sand bags over the rear axle of his pickup to help with traction. The further up the mountains he drove, the heavier the snow came down, driven by a strong Easterly wind. Snow piled up in the corners of his windshield and crept toward the center, partially blocking his field of vision.

  Ann’s homemade blueberry muffins and hot coffee made the trip more bearable.

  Jerry’s head bobbed to the beat of country music blaring from his radio. He was doing everything to help break the hypnotic monotony of the swishing wiper blades laboring to clear his windshield. It occurred to Jerry he was the only vehicle on the road and the cleared path had disappeared as he continued the uphill climb toward Boone.

  Halfway up the long incline, snow fell so heavily it was nearly a whiteout. At the higher altitude, temperatures dropped into the teens. Snow had covered the truck pull-over lane to his right and blanketed a stalled vehicle that couldn’t make it up the hill. On the downward side, big sand traps for runaway trucks were covered by eight inches of snow. They were almost impossible to distinguish from the rest of the roadside. It was the most treacherous section of highway even in good weather with speed posted at thirty-miles per hour for trucks descending the mountain.

  Jerry’s four-wheel drive pickup crept up the slope without slipping in second gear. This was still an adventure for him. He loved to challenge his truck and smiled when he noticed a snow-covered car waiting for a tow.

  Jerry’s light bar across the top of the cab penetrated the early darkness less than twenty feet before hitting a black wall.

  From previous experience, he knew a blind, hairpin curve loomed ahead. Signs warning of the sharp curve were obscured by the snow plastered on their surface by the swirling wind. From his many trips to watch the Appalachian State Mountaineers football games, Jerry had a sense of where he was. He proceeded slowly, trying to stay on his side of the highway as he navigated the turn.

  In the middle of the sharp bend in the road, he heard loud, repeated blasts from a trucker’s horn. Jerry leaned forward and strained to see what might be coming down the hill. The sound got louder. He lowered his window and reached around to try to clear the accumulated snow off his windshield with little success.

  Then he saw it. Headlights in the downhill lane traveling much too fast. The blurred image of a jackknifed gasoline tanker hurdled toward him. With only seconds to react, Jerry pulled his arm back inside and slammed his truck into first gear then floored the gas pedal. All four wheels dug at the ice-packed road as he aimed for the pullout lane in a futile effort to avoid the oncoming tanker. Nine thousand gallons of gasoline hit Jerry’s truck broadside, swept it in its path until both vehicles c
rashed through the guard rail and down the side of the mountain.

  Jerry’s pickup catapulted from the ruptured tanker like a pellet from a well-aimed sling shot and slammed into a pine tree. The impact shook the snow from its heavy laden branches, burying the twisted truck.

  The driver desperately tried to bail out of his rig as the tanker tumbled down the mountain spewing gasoline as it went. When it finally settled at the bottom of a gorge, it was upside down and burst into a ball of fire. Flames leaped hundreds of feet into the black night. Fire quickly engulfed the rig and raced up the mountainside, incinerating the wide swath cut by the tanker. Only the heavy layer of snow between the gasoline-soaked heap of twisted steel that entrapped Jerry saved him from the wall of flames that raced up to the highway.

  A wrecker dispatched to aid the stranded motorist a mile below the collision saw the orange glow of the fire. The driver pulled over to where the vehicles had crashed through the guard rail and franticly called the highway patrol over his CB radio.

  “Smoky, this is Road Angel, come back.”

  “Road Angel, this is Patrolman Knox, go ahead.”

  “There’s been a God-awful wreck. A tanker went over the side and exploded. There’s fire everywhere. I’m about five miles down the hill, the road is covered, but you can see the fire for miles. Over.”

  “Roger that. I’ll radio fire and rescue to the scene. Thanks. Ten Four, over and out.”