Elmore Leonard - Raylan

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.”

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.”

“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.”