Redemption Mountain (8 page)

“Wow, that seems like a lot for this place,” Natty said. “What did Bud say?”

“He told them the farm weren't for sale at any price, which the men couldn't seem to understand. But Bud said he weren't going to discuss it. So we give 'em some lemonade and corn bread out on the porch there and sent them on their way. They wasn't too happy about it, I suspect, from the way they moped off. They was lawyers from Charleston—good-looking men with nice suits.”

With the children finally in the car, having said their goodbyes, Natty started to back the Honda onto Mountain Road. Normally she wouldn't have thought of looking out for other cars on the road, but something made her stop, and not an instant too soon. The white Dodge pickups, going much too fast on the narrow road, raced by. The side windows of the trucks were tinted black, but through the windshield of the second truck she glimpsed three men in white hard hats. As she watched the trucks roar down the mountain road, Natty suddenly realized that everything Bud said was true. The hard hats were going to destroy Redemption Mountain and everything on it.

*   *   *

D
RIVING UP THE
gravel road into Oakes Hollow, Natty could tell that something was going on. It wasn't unusual to see the residents of Oakes Hollow shooting the breeze and drinking beer, especially on a hot summer evening, but there were too many.

Natty didn't see Buck anywhere.
Had something happened to him?
He'd been gone for three days, working for a crew that ran an illegal timber operation up in Monroe County. Every so often, when he needed some cash, Buck would go off for a few days and cut trees for the timber pirates. It was dangerous work, but he'd get paid two hundred dollars for a twelve-hour day, all the beer he could drink afterward, and a tent to sleep in. Buck was strong and he knew what he was doing, but Natty worried about him getting hurt or arrested, and now she feared that something must have happened.

Her panic subsided when she saw Buck's truck parked just beyond Roy Hogan's. On the deck outside their trailer, Buck lay on his back, unmoving, one foot on the top step, his other leg hanging down almost to the gravel. One hand clutched a can of beer. He was wearing denim overalls and a long-sleeved white T-shirt, both filthy with dirt and tree sap.

The parking area around the trailers was crowded, so Natty pulled the Honda off to the right of the driveway and walked the few yards up to join the group. “Hey, Buck! How'd it go?” Buck didn't move. She helped herself to a beer out of the cooler and asked, “So, what's going on here, somebody die or something?”

Sally lifted Cat up for a hug and lowered her back to the ground. “As a matter of fact, Nat, somebody did die. That guy Hugo Paxton—you know, the power-plant boss?”

Natty knew Paxton well enough from the Roadhouse, but she wasn't friendly with him, and she didn't like the way the fat man always found a way to rub against her. “'Course I know who he is.” She took a swig of beer, relieved that it wasn't somebody in the family or a local person. “What happened to him?”

Roy Hogan took up the story. “Last night, Hugo has a big T-bone at the Roadhouse, then goes into Fat Cats, all fired up and ready for action. He gets himself a lap dance from that big girl, Doreen. You know, the one with the huge melons?”

“I'll have to take your word for that, Roy,” Natty responded.

“So, Paxton's shuckin' and jivin' and really getting into it, and he's got a fistful of twenties ready to fly, when,
boom,
he hits the floor like he fell out of a damn airplane. Dead as a mackerel. Heart attack, it looked like. Ransom jumped down there and pounded his chest and blew some air into him for a while, but he's so fat, nothing's going to work on him.”

“You should have had Sally do the mouth-to-mouth part,” Natty said, with a wink to her sister-in-law. “He sure was hot for Sal.”

Buck sat up slowly and tossed his empty beer can toward a box next to the stairs. He hadn't shaved in several days, and his black goatee was a little longer than usual. At the front and top of his head, his hair shot up like short porcupine quills. At the sides, it was longer and slicked straight back. Black wraparound sunglasses covered his eyes. As always, whenever Buck did anything, he commanded attention.

“I'm glad you all think this is so damn funny,” he said, “after all the time I spent with that fat asshole. Drinking with him. Introducing him to my buddies. Making him feel like maybe he wasn't a complete fucking dork, just so's he'll put in the good word for me at the power plant.” Buck stood up and pulled his T-shirt off over his muscular chest and shoulders. Tossing it down on the deck, he slowly, achingly, shuffled toward the door of the trailer. “Now they'll send some new asshole down here, and he don't know me from Jack-shit-outta-luck, and I get fucked again.” The metal screen door slammed behind him.

Sally broke the silence that followed. “How's your mama, Nat?”

Natty immediately thought about the Redemption Mountain problem but decided to leave it alone for now. This wouldn't be the most sympathetic audience to enlist in a crusade against a mountaintop-removal mining project. Maybe the whole thing would just go away. She didn't need any more friction in her relationship with Buck.

“Mama's fine, Sal,” Natty answered. “We had a real nice visit. It was beautiful up on Redemption Mountain, really beautiful.”

 

CHAPTER 6

 

T
he July heat shimmered across the yard in waves. It hadn't rained in weeks, and a dusty haze hung in the air. Not the best day to be working on the stumps, Charlie Burden concluded. He sat down to rest on the edge of the hole he'd excavated around the remains of a large maple. At one time the project was to be Ellen's tennis court, but as their involvement with the country club became more extensive, her desire for a tennis court at home waned. Now it was just a good physical workout that Charlie could return to with no set timetable.

He wiped the sweat from his face with his balled-up T-shirt and looked down the hill toward the house. It was a comfortable house, a wonderful home. From a practical standpoint, it was too big now for only Ellen and him but not nearly as large as the one Ellen had her eye on.

She came out the back door, a cordless phone in one hand, and in the other a tall glass of ice water. She made her way up the grassy slope. “It's Scottie. He's in his car somewhere.” Ellen smiled at Charlie as she handed him the phone and the glass.

“Thanks. Anything important?” he asked, gesturing to the phone.

“Something about business—you know Scottie.” Ellen sat on a nearby stump to eavesdrop while Charlie spoke to their son.

“Hi, Scott, how are you?”

“I'm driving up to Nahant to look at some investment property on the water. You may want to get into this; I'll let you know.” Scott was speaking quickly, as always. Charlie could picture his son speeding up Route 128 in the Porsche Carrera, the top down, his laptop open on the passenger seat. “Dad, real quick. What's Duncan up to, do you know? Lots of buzz yesterday. OntAmex in another big tender. Word is it's CES.”

Charlie disliked it when his son treated him like another one of his many sources. Scott had squeezed him before for information about OntAmex, which under Duncan McCord's stewardship had been a very active and aggressive force in the world of global acquisitions. Hundreds of millions of dollars could be made on the knowledge of OntAmex's intentions. And Scott, Charlie continually had to remind himself, was not just some hack stockbroker looking for a hot tip. He was a stock analyst for a huge mutual fund manager, a frontline player in international investments.

Charlie couldn't confirm that OntAmex was going after Continental Electric Systems, but it was probably true. He recalled Duncan talking about CES two years ago. And now it fit the profile for an OntAmex takeover like a glove. Charlie changed the subject.

“Yes, Scott, I'm fine. How are you? Your mother wants to know when you're getting married.” Ellen flashed Charlie a quick smile.

“Sorry, Dad, but I've got a call holding I have to take. Listen, just tell me if it's CES, okay? Can you do that?”

Charlie could see that his son was beyond making small talk on this call. “No, Scott, I can't confirm that. I haven't talked to Duncan in over a month.”

“Okay, Dad. That's all right.” Scott was unable to hide the irritation in his voice. They'd been over this ground before. “Say bye to Mom for me. I'll let you know about this Nahant property. We may want to get you out of pharmaceuticals for a while and into this.”

“Okay, let me know what you want to do. I'll see you.” Charlie and his son clicked off at the same time.

If Scott wanted to sell some stocks and buy real estate, it was fine with Charlie. His son had complete control of Charlie's investment portfolio. In only a few years, Scott had transformed Charlie's investments from a conservative collection of venerable blue chips and bonds into a diversified portfolio with a value of nearly $4 million. In the last year alone, Scott had increased Charlie's holdings by 25 percent.

The increased value of his investments seemed obscene to Charlie. To be able to make that much money without benefit of any constructive labor or even a creative idea worried him.
Should it be that easy? Is there a payback coming down the road?
And, most troubling to him,
Is somebody else paying the tab so I can live on easy street?
The economics at work in the creation of his wealth puzzled Charlie. He couldn't help thinking about his old friend Cecil, who he knew was smarter than he was, had about as much education, but had always struggled financially.
Was it just that Cecil was black, and fat, and unlucky? Or was it only because Charlie had gotten a hockey scholarship to Michigan and happened to play on the same line as Duncan McCord? If not, couldn't he very easily be Cecil's neighbor in North Haven? Maybe that wouldn't be so bad
.

“Scott just called to say hi and that he loves his mother very much,” Charlie joked, as he put the phone down. Ellen smiled but stayed seated. Something was on her mind.

“Charlie, we need to talk.” Ellen sounded forceful but not confrontational.

Over the years, Charlie had come to hate hearing those words. It always meant that Ellen was serious about something and wanted Charlie to know it before the conversation started. “Actually, there are two things I want to talk about. First is the house. Martha's pressing me about Dowling Farms. Said there's some new interest, and she wants us to get it, of course.”

“I'm sure she does,” Charlie answered, trying to sound more matter-of–fact than sarcastic.

“And if we're going to move, we need to list our house very soon. It's already the middle of summer. Martha thinks it would sell quickly if we priced it properly.”

Priced it properly. Thanks very much, Martha
. A smile flickered across Charlie's face.
Typical real estate agent. A quick commission beats a big commission every time.

“What's the second thing you wanted to talk about?” Charlie asked, wondering if there was a more personal issue on Ellen's agenda.

“It's nothing, a minor thing.” Ellen paused before going on. “Jennifer needs a new car. I want to surprise her when she comes out on Labor Day weekend.”

So these were Ellen's pressing issues—buying a house and buying a car.
Charlie was both relieved and disappointed that his wife didn't have any weightier concerns on her mind. “Jen doesn't
need
a new car,” Charlie said. “Her Camry is fine; it's only eight years old. Those things last forever.”
Plus, in less than a year she'll be graduating from one of the finest MBA programs in the world and marrying a
dentist
.
For two people in their twenties, their income will be in the stratosphere, so let them buy their own damn cars.
“But if you have your heart set on spoiling your children long after the job's been so well done, by all means go ahead. But don't get too exotic, okay? What did you have in mind?”

Ellen smiled at Charlie's pretense of giving in reluctantly on the car before taking up the more important issue of the house. “Oh, I think a Saab would be fine. She'd like that. Charlie, let's talk about the house. It's something that I really want
us
to—” She was interrupted by the shrill buzzing of the cordless phone on the ground next to Charlie.

“Saved by the bell.” Charlie gave Ellen a mischievous smile.

Lucien Mackey's baritone voice was louder than most men's. “Listen, Charlie, OntAmex is coming to town tonight. Jack Torkelson called me this morning. They'll be in tomorrow and there are some important issues we need to address. They're making a play for Continental, and we've also got some problems in West Virginia. They seem to be related. Torkelson was a little vague, but he's bringing in the whole crew plus some lawyers from West Virginia. It's a different bunch now that your friend Duncan and Red Landon are above all this.”

“So it's true. They're going after Continental. Scott called me a few minutes ago, looking for confirmation.”

“Tough to keep one that big under wraps. Official word will be out in London in a few hours. Doesn't affect us much, but Torkelson's got some issues we need to prepare for.”

“That's fine, Lucien; I'll be in early.”

“And I think I may have some good news for you, Charlie, about that change you're looking to make. Getting into the field again. And OntAmex will approve, too. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

Charlie was elated and excited, but at the same time he was puzzled by Lucien's remarks.
What would OntAmex have to do with China?
It wasn't an OntAmex project. Going to the Far East would mean that Charlie would be leaving the OntAmex account. Is that what they were approving? Charlie didn't get along well with Jack Torkelson, OntAmex's director of U.S. operations, or with his staff, and he was embarrassed that Torkelson had called Lucien directly to set up a meeting with Dietrich Delahunt & Mackey. But this wasn't the first time that Torkelson had gone around him, sending a message that he didn't approve of Duncan McCord's handpicked OntAmex account manager. Even so, Lucien and Torkelson knew that, of the three of them, only Charlie had the number to Duncan's personal cellphone and his private email address.