Otis circled the double-wide blowing out windows, reloading twice on the way. He couldn’t see was anybody inside till Boyd Crowder stuck his head out the door.
O tis, you done?”
“I’m on come in there next,” Otis said, “shoot up the office and put you out of business for an hour.”
“Otis,” Boyd said, “I had the key to the dynamite locker I’d give it to you. I feel I owe you for the damage done your house, even though it was Mr. Gracie said to do it.”
“I don’t have a house,” Otis said. “It’s gone.”
“All right,” Boyd said, keeping his tone down, “but you got it totaled account of your fishpond.”
“What’d you tell Mr. Gracieell for the n,” Otis said, “you gonna knock my house down soon as you get done kissin his ass? I remember you, Boyd, standin up like a man the time we struck Duke Power. But tell me what we got out of it.”
“Not much that time,” Boyd said.
“We got nothin. The whole country watchin, the company says they gonna play square with us. The country stops watchin. The company tells us it takes time to change ways of getting the coal out. They take twenty years thinking about it. It’s how it is and always been. The company builds a slurry pool gonna hold all the mess they make washing coal. The wall busts and poisons dump in the stream feeds my pond. I work for those people or ones like ’em forty years underground. They kill my fish and don’t think nothin of it.”
Close behind him Carol Conlan said, “He’s a threat.”
Boyd turned his head to the side.
“He broke some windows.”
He felt the company lady pull out the waist of his Levi’s and shove something hard against his spine. Boyd knew it was a gun, he’d packed guns stuck in there before. Now she was telling him, “I know all about you, Mr. Crowder, how you become different people whenever you feel the need.”
“I follow my instincts,” Boyd said. “Do the first thing comes to mind like my Higher Power is slippin me the word and I go with it. I’ve learned to think without arguing with myself.”
“Well, I’ve slipped you a Glock nine,” Carol said. “A loose cannon’s a high risk. He raises the shotgun, shoot him.”
“Otis? I told you, he broke some window’s all.”
“I’m not going to court on this,” Carol said, “while we’re the bad guys, and I won’t take risks with nothing at stake. We handle this right now. He raises his shotgun, shoot him.”
Otis, standing no more than twenty feet away, said to Boyd, “Who you talkin to?”
“Tell him,” Carol said.
“I got a lady visitin,” Boyd said. “One of the coal company high-ups come by to see how we’re doin up here. I told her well, the mountain keeps gettin lower, don’t it?”
Carol stepped into the doorway, gave Boyd a shove and he had to step outside. She said to Otis, “I’m the one looks into whatever we disagree on.”
“You want,” Otis said, “I’ll disagree on what you done to my pond, my home. How doy hhei you like being disagreed with?”
Carol began with a pleasant tone saying, “In a couple of days I’m coming back to put on a big open meeting and hear from both sides, friends of coal and complainers.” Carol changed her tone to a whine, pretending to rub her finger over a flat surface as she said, “They’s soot all over my organ I play at Sunday worship.” Herself again, Carol said, “You know that old coal song? ‘We have to dig the coal from wherever mother nature puts it.’ That’s what coal mining is all about.”
“It don’t mention the mess,” Otis said, “strip-minin makes of your home. You ever live in coal country you know that.”
“I was born and raised in Wise, West Virginia,” Carol said, “till I went away to law school.”
“Was any soot on you,” Otis said, “it’s gone now. My wife’s never been belowground, but she’s dyin of black lung, sleepin next to me forty-seven years breathin my snores.”
“That’s sweet,” Carol said, “but I think you have revenge in your mean old heart, you say the company destroyed your home-”
“And his fish pond,” Boyd said.
“Blames the company,” Carol said, “for his wife coming to the end of a miserable life.” She said to him, “Otis, you’re here to pay us back, aren’t you? Looking at me thinking I’m the goddamn company. All you have to do is raise the shotgun.”
Otis stared at Carol, his face working into a frown. He said, “The hell you doin to me?”
“I’ll show you,” Carol said, put the phone to her face and said, “Brian… where are you?” She said, “Call the Harlan County sheriff. Tell him there’s been a shooting up on Looney Ridge.” She turned to Otis. “Some old man with a shotgun’s gone crazy. That’s it and hang up.”
“I ain’t crazy,” Otis said, “you are,” but didn’t sound sure of himself, saying again, “The hell you doin to me?”
She was close to Boyd as he finally reached behind him for the Glock, fitting his hand to the grip.
Carol said, “What are you waiting for? Will you please shoot him?”
Boyd turned his head, raising his hands in kind of a helpless gesture, saying, “I don’t see the need, he can’t hurt us none.”
Carol took a step and yanked the Glock out of Boyd’s pants, shoved him out of the way, extending the Glock in one hand and shot Otis twice in the chest. t='loc
Boyd looked from the old man lying on the ground to Carol, now telling him in her calm voice to get Otis’s shotgun and fire it from where he was standing. He heard her say, “I’ll tell the sheriff’s guys Otis opened up and you stepped in front of me to save my life.”
Boyd said, “I did?”
“You shot him, didn’t you?” Carol said, handing Boyd the Glock.
“Wait now,” Boyd said, “I don’t have a license to pack this weapon.”
“It’s registered to the company in my name,” Carol said, “but what do I know about firearms? I was afraid of Otis and gave it to you while we were in the office.”
“I want to be clear about this,” Boyd said. “You let me have the gun and I shot Otis when he opened up on us.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Carol said. “You’re my hero.”
Chapter Sixteen
They were in Art’s SUV driving out to the M-T Mining work site, “Where Boyd Crowder shot and killed Otis Culpepper,” Art said. “According to the police report maybe saving the life of this company woman by his action.”
“Or maybe shootin Otis,” Raylan said, “cause he felt like it.”
They were coming into Lynch.
“At one time,” Raylan said, “there ten thousand people living here. Population’s down to eight hundred, not much deep mining now. Towns change as the style of mining changes. M-T’s blasting away at the ridgeline, stripping the sides in layers down to what they dump over the side, the forest squattin below. I remember my buddies leaving high school, marrying a girl they knew all their life and going down in the mines. The boy can’t wait to have this little girl in bed with him every night, a cutie till she loses her teeth. Wears herself out raising kids while he’s out drinkin if he ain’t down a mine. He gets a hunk of shale fall on him, he’s laid up and can’t work, so they fire him,” Raylan said. “Remember Tennessee Ernie Ford diggin number nine coal, gettin older and deeper in debt?”
“Owed his soul to the company store,” Art said. “That was the truth of coal mining. Get paid in scrip only good at their store.”
Raylan said, “You saw those boys came in the restaurant?”
“Miners, litun, h.”
