Redemption Mountain

by FitzGerald, Gerry

  “Okay, Vern,” Charlie cut him off. “Let’s talk about the library. We got lucky there, too. Hankinson, the chairman of the planning board, has become a friend of mine. He lives next door to me in Red Bone.” Charlie leaned back in his chair in a more relaxed position for the easy part of the meeting. “We play cribbage almost every night,” Charlie said with a smile. “So, at the beginning of the meeting, he pulls me aside—you saw him, Vern, right?—and tells me we’ve got some trouble with the other planning-board members. They’re going to okay the pond relocation, because Hank got their commitment, but they don’t think much of OntAmex or the roof project, so they’re going to sock it to us down the road by making us apply for permits for everything we want to do.”

  “Like what?” Yarbrough asked, trying to regain a leadership position with his client.

  “Like a permit for bringing in the turbines over town roads,” Charlie shot back quickly, “or cutting the right-of-way through the forest—”

  “They can’t—” Yarbrough began.

  “Or for flying helicopters over the town, or for taking water from the Heavenly River, or for having Porta Potties on the site! They can do anything they want, Vern, and they’re a couple of miserable pricks, according to Hank. If they’re not happy, they can shut us down anytime they want.”

  “C’mon, Burden, there’s laws and statutes that—”

  “Oh, Vern, don’t tell me about statutes! You know the way those backwoods boards operate. They can destroy you with red tape and delays, and by the time you get ’em into court, you’re two years behind schedule.”

  Tuthill flinched at the mention of a two-year delay.

  “So I had to improvise,” Charlie continued. “We build them a new building and some athletics fields, and we get the permanent cooperation of the planning board. Now we own them,” he added, knowing the kind of words OntAmex liked to hear. “Plus,” he leaned forward onto the table to play another trump card, “when the PUC hearings come around, we’ve got a showpiece of community involvement to put on display for the media. And we get it all for under a million bucks.”

  “Less than a million?” Tuthill asked. “And we’ve got the board on our side?”

  “Larry, the crowd stood and cheered.”

  “They cheered?” asked Tuthill, looking over at Yarbrough. “Vern, is that what happened?”

  Yarbrough nodded grudgingly. “They loved it.”

  “When’s the last time OntAmex got a standing ovation at a town meeting, Larry?” Charlie asked, pressing his advantage.

  At the end of the table, Torkelson stirred, drawing the group’s attention. “Okay,” he said, “let’s put this all behind us. Charlie, go back down there and keep the plant on schedule. Build the town its library and baseball field. Take care of the planning board, and keep an eye on the DeWitt granddaughter. Spare no expense, but make it clear to the girl that everything stops if she causes trouble.”

  Torkelson turned toward the Charleston lawyers. “Yarbrough, get started on the eminent domain proceedings, like we discussed. Get the judge and everyone else on the same page. Spend whatever you must to keep it quiet, but get the job done.”

  “Already in the works, Jack,” Yarbrough replied confidently.

  “Then we’re done here,” Torkelson announced.

  * * *

  CHARLIE CLOSED THE door to his office and took a deep breath. He’d lied and bluffed his way through the inquiry and come away in a stronger position than when he’d started. But he had no illusions about what had just taken place or about his career at DD&M. His days were numbered. He’d survive just long enough to finish the job in Red Bone. They needed him there, but once the turbines were in, Torkelson and Tuthill were going to put a bullet in his head, and he’d be finished at Dietrich Delahunt & Mackey.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a soft rap on the door. Lucien entered, shut the door behind him, and stood close to Charlie. “Nice job,” he said with a thin smile. “You handled that beautifully. We live to fight another day.”

  Charlie looked his friend in the eye. “What’s going on, Lucien? What’s up with Brand?”

  Lucien dropped into one of the low leather chairs next to the window. He looked drawn as he pointed to the other chair, indicating that Charlie should take a seat. “My time is about up here, Charlie. They’re going to squeeze me out, Brand and the rest of the committee.”

  “That’s impossible, Lucien.” Charlie was shocked. “There’s no way they can—”

  “Times have changed,” Lucien interrupted. “The young guys will eventually have the votes. They’ll move the company out of New York, seek out a profitable merger, sell the building, and the remaining partners will reap the financial windfall.”

  “C’mon, Lucien. You’ve made it clear that you’d never move the company, and you’ve always had more than enough votes—”

  Lucien held up his hand. “Brand has OntAmex now.”

  “How the hell did that happen?” asked Charlie. “How did Brand get—”

  “It’s not Brand, Charlie,” Lucien interrupted. “He’s not capable of managing something like this; we both know that. It’s Torkelson. He’s behind it all.

  “Torkelson’s star is rising fast,” Lucien continued. “He is OntAmex now that Duncan and Red Landon are so far removed from operational matters. He’s been a huge part of their growth strategy and their success, and this Red Bone plant will be his crown jewel. He brings this one in—the biggest, most efficient, most profitable non-nuclear plant ever built in North America—and there will be no stopping him. He’ll have the power to do whatever he wants.”

  “Maybe I should dump some ball bearings into the electrical conduits,” Charlie offered.

  Lucien smiled. “Not the way we do things, heh, Charlie?”

  “So Torkelson and Brand have a deal, is that it?”

  “My spies tell me that Torkelson’s going to use his leverage to back Brand. I’ll be voted out and handed a golden parachute, and, I’m afraid, so will you, my friend.”

  “And he’ll have plenty of leverage,” Charlie responded. “Next year we stand to make, what, thirty million in fees from OntAmex?”

  “And Torkelson will have the power to take it all away.”

  “What does Torkelson get?” Charlie’s voice had dropped into the lower tone that men use to discuss the darker issues of business transactions.

  Lucien leaned forward with his hands locked in front of him. “My guy tells me that Brand had a couple of belts with him one night and let it slip that Torkelson gets five mil out of the deal, and something a little short of that for Tuthill, too, all on the quiet, after Brand takes over.”

  Charlie shook his head. “He’s a crook. A cheap fucking extortionist,” he said bitterly.

  “You’d never be able to prove it,” said Lucien. “That’s the way it is now, Charlie. The world’s changing. Everything’s about money and the power to make more money. And having it all today.”

  Charlie suddenly thought about the China project, Lucien’s dream and his passion. He would never see it completed—and Charlie wouldn’t see it at all. Why not just pack it in now and forget about China and West Virginia? Then he thought about Ellen and her new house and noticed the stack of architectural drawings of small libraries and athletics fields on his desk. Yes, he still had things left to do in West Virginia.

  “I’ve got a company to run.” Lucien’s words jarred Charlie from his thoughts. “And you’ve got a power plant to build.” Lucien stood. “The barbarians are at the gate, Charlie.”

  “We’ll find a way to fight them off, Lucien. We always do,” Charlie said, gripping his friend’s hand.

  “We’ll find a way,” said Lucien, putting on his self-confident smile, but Charlie could see that his eyes didn’t agree.

  CHAPTER 22

  The yellow school bus lurched and swayed along the winding road as the gray-haired woman struggled with the oversize steering wheel. Sitting in a front seat across the aisle
, Natty kept a wary eye on the driver and on the road, her left hand squeezing the top of the seat as they went into each turn. Geneva Gunnells had been the elementary-school bus driver for nearly forty years, but Natty was always ready to leap across the aisle and grab the wheel.

  In the backseat, Zack Willard held court. Sitting next to Zack was Paul, whom Zack had adopted as his “main man” and had engaged in a season-long project to teach him some English swear words. Paul laughed along with the others, although Natty knew he probably had no idea what they were saying.

  There seemed to be some extra enthusiasm in her team today, and while none of them would admit it, Natty knew it was because this was the first game they would play in their new uniforms. That today’s game was against their biggest rival only added to their excitement. Natty had to admit that she couldn’t wait to see the look on the face of the Welch coach when her team filed off the bus.

  She looked over at Emma, two seats behind Geneva. Her shiny black warm-up jacket was zippered all the way up. The matching black pants had a red stripe running down the seam, which Natty had to concede looked sharp, although she would’ve preferred red warm-ups rather than the ominous-looking black. But the kids loved them.

  Natty had a tough time believing it when she discovered the six boxes piled just inside the children’s library. She’d gone in to get the soccer balls before Wednesday’s practice, and there they were. A note taped to the top box read, Mrs. Oakes—A gift from the OntAmex Company. It wasn’t signed, but the boxes all had white shipping labels from New York City.

  Natty’s mouth fell open when she realized what the boxes contained. Then she found an envelope with a form letter from the salesman, thanking Charlie, along with a packing slip and a pink copy of the invoice. Natty gasped when she saw the total cost—four thousand dollars! My God! She’d gotten this year’s T-shirts for less than a hundred dollars for the whole team.

  Natty looked back toward the rear of the bus, toward her four-thousand-dollar team. They had quieted down a little as they got closer to Welch. Then Sammy Willard moved to the side and she could see Zack, talking earnestly now. Natty knew he was talking about today’s game and he was getting the Bones ready. That was good, because this was going to be a tougher game than when they took Welch by surprise in their first meeting this season.

  * * *

  CHARLIE SKIPPED DOWN the flight of stairs between the store and the restaurant. He was looking forward to an enjoyable afternoon with Hank. He wandered into the restaurant to say hi to Eve. It still bothered him that she’d obviously cooled toward him.

  In the first booth, he recognized the unmistakable form of Mabel Willard. Across from her sat Ada Lowe and a white woman they introduced as their travel agent from Bluefield. Mabel’s huge smile brought Charlie to their booth. Taped to the side of the table was a hand-lettered poster stating: NEW YORK CITY TRIP! SIGN UP TODAY! Mabel slid over to leave just enough room on the bench for Charlie. “Come sit down with us here, Mr. Burden. Need to talk to you ’bout somethin’.”

  “I’ve only got a few minutes,” Charlie explained, as he settled into the booth. “Going over to Welch with Hank to watch the soccer game.”

  Ada Lowe smiled. “Oh, that’s nice, Mr. Burden. I’m too old to be traveling to all them games, but that’s nice that you boys are going.”

  “Now, then, Mr. Burden,” said Mabel, “I’m thinking that you might be interested in going on our little trip. We only got fifteen out of the twenty bodies we need to get the special group rates.”

  Charlie listened politely, wondering why anyone had signed up for the trip—a ten-hour bus ride each way, with a stop for lunch at a Bob Evans in Pennsylvania, two nights at the Milford Plaza, and, of course, the trip’s salvation, a Saturday-matinee ticket to Les Misérables. And all for just $321, which, Charlie had to agree, was a pretty good value.

  “What do you say, Mr. Burden?” Mabel was all business, slapping the fingers of her right hand on the table for emphasis. “Can we sign you up and get a small deposit today?”

  Charlie knew he wouldn’t be taking a ten-hour bus ride or staying at the Milford Plaza, but he wanted to make sure the trip came off and that Natty Oakes was on it. If anybody in Red Bone deserved to go, it was Natty, and the prospect of meeting up with her in New York was irresistible. He smiled and shook his head. “No, ladies, I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to make your trip, much as I’d love to see Les Misérables again.”

  Mabel sighed and patted Charlie on the arm. “That’s all right, Mr. Burden, we’ll find some others somewheres.”

  “How about Natty?” Charlie asked. “Is she going?”

  Ada Lowe shook her head. “No. She’d love to, but she’s feeling real bad ’bout owing Gus money for repairing her car, so she really don’t have the money to spend.”

  Charlie pulled out his wallet and platinum American Express card and handed it to the travel agent. “Okay,” he said, “here’s what I’ll do. Put the last five trips on this, courtesy of OntAmex Energy. Then find five more people who want to go but can’t afford it.” He smiled at Mabel. “Just make sure Natty’s one of them.”

  Mabel grinned from ear to ear. “Why, Mr. Burden, that girl goin’ to have a wonderful time in New York City!”

  * * *

  THE CHRYSLER NEW Yorker was actually a very comfortable ride when it hit a stretch of road without any bumps, ruts, or potholes to challenge the ancient car’s suspension. Charlie leaned back into the once-soft leather seat, stretching his legs out in front of him. “They don’t build cars like this anymore, Hank,” he said, looking over at the old man hunched over the chrome and wood-trimmed steering wheel.

  “And a good thing, too,” Hank replied. “An environmental disaster is what it is, burning too much gas and fouling the air.” He looked over at Charlie with a glint in his eye. “If I didn’t love it so much, I’d feel guilty.”

  Charlie laughed and rolled down the window. He was enjoying himself, riding along with his friend on a beautiful fall day, the workweek over and things going well at the plant. And to top it off, he was on his way to watch the Bones in action. Plus, he had to admit, he was looking forward to seeing Natty again. Charlie hadn’t seen her since he’d returned from New York. He told himself that he wasn’t avoiding her, just being prudent. But he did get her note, pushed under his apartment door that morning: Mr. Burden, Please thank the OntAmex Company for the new uniforms. The kids love them! Game tonight in Welch, 5:00 P.M., if you want to see how they look. Sally and me will be at the Roadhouse later. Buy you a beer. Nat.

  It was a hard invitation to pass up, and Hank was happy to let Charlie buy him dinner afterward at Moody’s, although he warned Charlie that the place could get a little raucous on a Friday night.

  “Well, Hank, I’m about due for another fight,” Charlie said, laughing. “It’s been a couple of months.”

  Hank had insisted on driving, as the big Chrysler needed some exercise. He also wanted to show Charlie a spot he might find interesting if they had some extra time. On Cold Springs Road, they came to a stop as a long flatbed trailer, loaded with freshly cut tree trunks, strained to pull itself out of the logging road. Hank edged the Chrysler forward a few yards, to where they could see down the newly carved dirt road. A long white trailer sat up on blocks. A sign on the side door read GARVEY LUMBER.

  Charlie could see a flurry of activity down the road and hear the big chain saws. He breathed in the heady mixture of sawdust, pine scent, and exhaust from the gasoline engines and envied the men working down the road.

  “That’s a good day’s work they’re putting in there, eh, Charlie?”

  He turned back to Hank and nodded. “You earn your money when you’re cutting trees. Kind of work that lets you know you’ve accomplished something.”

  Along both sides of Cold Springs Road, a dozen cars and pickups were parked at haphazard angles in the tall grass. A white pickup caught Charlie’s eye. It was the truck he’d seen on this same road, the day he and Pie
rode the bulldozer around the site. The same truck that Natty had reluctantly climbed into when they were walking up the hill from the library.

  When the log hauler finally pulled out, they made good time. Hank would point out things of interest along the road, mostly things that used to be—a closed elementary school; a derelict factory; a drive-in movie theater with dozens of rusted speaker pipes pushing through the high weeds; an old Dairy Queen.

  As they approached Welch, Hank again broke the silence. “First thing you need to understand about where we’re going is that, if there was ever an industry that cried out for a labor union, it was coal mining. Back in 1890, when the United Mine Workers of America was formed over in Ohio, and then for a good part of the first half of the 1900s, coal mining was about as close to chattel slavery as anything we had in this country since the Civil War.

  “The coal companies owned the towns and the houses and paid the miners in scrip, which could only be used at the company store at inflated prices. The miners were systematically cheated by the clerkweighmen on the amount of coal they were credited with, and the working conditions in the mines were lethal. Between 1890 and 1920, West Virginia had twice the mine death rate of any other state. The opportunity for organized labor was ripe, but it wasn’t that easy back then. Didn’t have the labor laws we got now. When the union finally started to send organizers down here, the coal companies got together and formed the Kanawha County Coal Operators Association. Then they hired the infamous Baldwin-Felts Detective Agency in Bluefield to provide mine security.” Hank glanced over at Charlie to see if he recognized the name. Charlie shook his head.

  “For years, Baldwin-Felts was just an army-for-hire of thugs and gunmen—leg breakers used to intimidate miners and union organizers. And they were effective. Baldwin-Felts made these southern counties, McDowell, Logan, and Mingo—bloody Mingo, it came to be known as—hazardous duty for organizers and union men. Just the name filled miners with terror. They operated like some kind of law-enforcement agency, ’cause the coal companies owned the politicians and most of the sheriffs.