“But you can’t tell by lookin at ’em, can you? They might get dust on their coveralls sittin up on a dragline, but not a bit of coal dirt on them.”
Art said, “Those boys were United Mine Workers at one time, like everybody else.”
“You’re union, M-T won’t hire you.”
“Leave ’em alone. They have to care for their families.”
They were approaching M-T Mining’s Looney Ridge site. Art said, “They dump the rocks and waste over the side and call it ‘holler fill.’ ”
He slowed down to crawl past a company sign nailed to a tree. It said:
NO TRESPASSING
NO HUNTING
NO FISHING
NO FOUR-WHEELERS
NO SIGHTSEEING
NO NOTHING
Raylan said, “ ‘Violators will be prosecuted,’ but nothing about investigating maybe a homicide, so we’re okay.”
They were in the trees now heading up to the work site.
“Tomorrow’s the meeting M-T’s putting on in Cumberland,” Art said. “Everybody welcome to air their beefs with the mine company.”
“No jobs,” Raylan said, “and coal dust settling on everything you own.”
“They’ll answer complaints,” Art said, “and describe how they’ll restore and dress up the bald ridges.”
“I hear,” Raylan said, “they’re puttin in a golf course. All the laid-off miners can play a round of golf, since they’re not doing nothin. The laid-offs and the working miners will yell at each other a while and that’s the meeting.”he e puttin
“You’re bound to see some of that,” Art said, “but this meeting-whether anybody knows it or not-is gonna be about Black Mountain. M-T’s sneakin up on it.”
“They won’t get it,” Raylan said.
“They haven’t yet, but they’re patient.”
“How high is it, four thousand and something?”
“Four thousand a hundred and forty-five feet above sea level.”
“How about top to bottom.”
“About twenty-five hundred.”
Raylan said, “They won’t stand for it being scalped down. It’s full of nature, animals, deer, ATV trails… You know the tree huggers’ll get up in arms.”
“You’re talkin about people motivated by their emotions,” Art said. “We’ll see how they fare against a coal company lawyer.”
“This woman the company’s sending?”
“Carol Conlan,” Art said.
“Five bucks she’s a ballbuster.”
“Her dad was a West Virginia miner. I’m told she grew up in coal camps and went on to Columbia for her law degree.”
It didn’t make sense to Raylan.
“Her dad’s a miner, what’s she doing workin for the company?”
“Ask her,” Art said. “You’re Ms. Conlan’s security while she’s here. You’ll be in the limo with her, maybe driving. But you don’t say a word less she speaks to you. Otherwise keep your coal-miner-lovin mouth shut.”
“You’re givin me this,” Raylan said, “cause I went after the nurse on my own. Didn’t have time to call for backup.”
Art was shaking his head.
“Carol Conlan asked for you by name, and got a judge to request the chief deputy to okay it, as a favor. This lady can have state troopers, any amount of protection she wants, and she chose you, Raylan. Tell me why she’d do that?”
“She’s a vice president of a coal mine company, I guess she can have anything she wants.”
“But why you?”
“I don’t know.”
They followed a sweep of road that climbed across the side of the slope to the top of Looney Ridge. Art pointed to a bulldozer.
“The one Boyd used to dump the rock on Otis. Boyd said it must’ve taken a bad hop and hit his house.”
“An act of God,” Raylan said.
“That’s what Boyd called it. He did, an act of God, ‘Since man can never tell what the Lord has in mind for us.’ He said the company’s agreed to pay the wife for her loss.”
“Her husband or the house?” Raylan said.
They came in view of the office trailer, none of the broken windows replaced.
Art said, “Look who’s coming out, with a broom.”
Boyd Crowder in a white shirt and maroon tie-the M-T colors on their signs-and wearing new chinos.
Raylan stepped out of the car.
“Boyd, what they got you doing, cleanin up?”
“I find myself,” Boyd said, “when I least expect always in the winner’s circle. I’m on Carol Conlan’s staff, helping her out while she’s gettin ready for the meeting.”
“That’s why you’re driving the limo?”
“I’m not above takin the wheel,” Boyd said, “she’s got some scudder in the backseat, cuttin him down without ever raisin her voice. Raylan, when you’re always right, you don’t have to talk loud.”
“You get along with her?”
“We discuss different aspects of life as they apply to surface mining… the kind of complaints the company gets. She wants to know about any new ones she hasn’t heard.”
“Ask her,” Raylan said, “why she told you to shoot Otis Culpepper.”
Boyd looked tired shaking his head. “Man, heed tired you always get on me, don’t you? The old man was firing his scattergun before I got off a round.”
Raylan was showing a faint grin.
“You saved Carol’s life?”
“She says I did.”
“Where was she when Otis fired at her?”
“As I recall, by the trailer, havin come out the door.”
“He shoot up the trailer?”
Boyd said, “Hey, come on. All I know is he didn’t hit Ms. Conlan. All this on account of the old man’s fishpond, the pond dead, Otis claims, from all that gob the mine poured into the streams. I said, ‘Otis, don’t fish get old and die, like everybody else?’ He wouldn’t listen to me.”
“Carol here yet?”
“She’s stayin at a home in Woodland Hills, one this fella has a piece of the company owns and lets her use. Casper Mott, you remember him?”
“Little guy,” Raylan said, “living on top of a mountain.”
“M-T bought it off him. He held out, said he was puttin in a bridle path and rent out horses. M-T wanted his mountain so bad they gave him stock in the company. Casper turned from nature boy to coal company showboat and got rich. He likes Ms. Conlan, so he’ll be at the get-together.”
Raylan said, “You know when I go to work?”
“In the mornin,” Boyd said. “I pick you up and then get Ms. Conlan. She wants to talk to you, make sure you’re what she wants.”
Art stepped up while they were talking, Boyd giving him a nod, then saying to Raylan, “Got your boss watchin out for you; good,” and looked at Art again. “See he don’t shoot Ms. Conlan, now he’s got a feel for shootin women.”
