Stuart Woods - Heat

“Yessir, I sure do. I promise you, I’ll do a good job.”

Muller stood up. “That’s good enough for me, Jesse. Harley’s down showing your replacement the ropes; when he’s done, he’ll take you up the line and get you started.”

Jesse shook the man’s hand and went back to the plant floor. His replacement was stoking the hopper with a truckload of scrap timber, under the watchful eye of Harley Waters. Poor bastard, Jesse thought.

Harley waved him to follow, and Jesse bade a sweet goodbye to the hopper. He followed Harley through a door into another room of the plant, and the noise subsided a bit. Harley led him up a ladder to a glass booth ten feet above the production line. He slapped a worker on the back. “Take a break, Bob.” Harley took over operation of the machinery. “Okay, Jesse, I’m going to run a few sheets, and you follow me as I work the controls.

Jesse became aware that somebody was watching him from below. He looked down and saw Phil Partain dumping a bin of wood chips onto a conveyer belt that led to the press. Partain was spending more time watching him than doing his work.

Jesse watched Harley Waters operate the machinery for a while, then took over himself, operating under Harley’s sharp eye. It was pleasant to be doing something that took some skill and coordination; he hadn’t liked being a laborer. By the time the noon whistle blew, chipboard was emerging smoothly from the press, under Jesse’s operation.

“Go get your lunch,” Harley said. “I’ll stay on with you the rest of the day, and then I think you’ll have it down pat. I’ve got a new job for the man you replaced.”

Jesse went back to the locker room, retrieved his lunch and walked out back of the plant. It was a clear, chilly autumn day and the aspens were a bright gold on the mountains behind the factory. Jesse sat down under a tree, ate his sandwiches and drank his soft drink. After that, he rested his head against the tree and dozed.

He was awakened suddenly as someone sharply kicked the soles of his shoes. He opened his eyes and looked up to find Phil Partain standing over him.

“Get on your feet, Barron,” Partain said.

“What do you want, Phil?” Jesse asked laconically.

“I want to kick your ass,” Partain replied, then kicked Jesse’s feet again.

Jesse guessed it was time. He got slowly to his feet. “Phil, I gave you some real good advice the last time we talked. Remember that?”

“You keep your fucking advice to yourself, you bastard,” Partain said, circling Jesse to his right. “I was in line to operate that machine, but I guess you’ve been sucking Harley’s cock real regular.”

“Phil, Phil,” Jesse said wearily, “I’m going to have to ask you to shut your mouth.”

“Shit,” Partain said, “you’re going to be sucking my cock in just a minute.” He feinted with his right, then came around with a left hook. Jesse stepped back, and the punch grazed his cheek. He stepped into Partain and planted a short left in the man’s considerable gut.

Partain grunted, but he kept coming. That gut had been pretty solid, Jesse thought. He ducked under Partain’s right and landed a stiff punch in the ribs. Partain still kept coming, and now he had a knife in his right hand.

I wonder, Jesse thought, how Phil feels about the sight of his own blood? As Partain swung the knife, Jesse stepped inside the swing and struck the man’s wrist hard with the edge of his hand, then he knocked back Partain’s head with a pair of left jabs, and the bigger man’s nose started to bleed.

Partain wiped his face with his sleeve and looked at it. “You goddamned son of a bitch!” he roared.

Jesse kept his guard up. The sight of his own blood apparently made Partain steaming mad. Jesse dodged as the man rushed him and landed a hard right to a kidney as he passed. Partain went down on one knee with a cry of pain, and Jesse punched him in the side of the neck. Partain hit the ground, rolled over and got to his feet again.

Jesse began to use everything he had learned in the yard at Atlanta, kicking a shin, punching under the heart and landing teeth-rattling punches to the jaw. Partain landed a few shots, mostly on Jesse’s arms and shoulders. He seemed unaccustomed to fighting somebody who knew how to fight back.

Jesse wore the big man down, hurting him, but leaving him on his feet until he seemed ready to go down. Finally, he doubled Partain over with a left to the solar plexus, then straightened him up with an uppercut. Partain’s knees buckled, and he went backward like a felled tree.

There were some shouts, and Jesse looked up to find that a small crowd of workers had gathered. The whistle blew, and Jesse walked back to the plant, leaving Partain where he lay. Nobody, he noticed, went to the man’s aid.

Partain didn’t come back to work after lunch, and the following morning, he was replaced by a new man. Jesse heard later that Herman Muller had fired Phil Partain.

Jesse sat on the hood of his truck, which was parked in deep woods outside St. Clair, and talked to Kip Fuller on the scrambled cellular phone.

“I’m moving up in the world,” Jesse said. “Making nine bucks an hour, now, and I expect to get raised to ten any day.” He told Kip about the promotion.

“Glad to hear it, Jess.”

“Not everybody is as happy as you are about my advancement,” Jesse replied. “Fellow called Partain took exception.”

“And what did you do about it?” Kip asked, sounding worried.

“I hit him until he got over it,” Jesse replied.

“Listen, Jess, I know you’re good at that sort of thing, but it can only draw attention to you. I hope you stayed away from anything they taught us at Quantico.”

“I did that; I wasn’t anxious to look like a federal cop in a fight.”

“Good.”

“I think it was a setup.”

“Oh, shit.”

“It’s natural that they’d be very wary. I think they wanted to see how I’d react.”

“So you reacted by beating the shit out of the guy?”

“Not at first; I let him push me some, first. From the reaction of my coworkers at the plant, I gather he wasn’t the most popular guy around.”

“So you won a few admirers?”

“Maybe.”

“Has there been any reaction from the opposition since this happened?”

“Not so far; it’s been a couple of weeks, so I wonder if they’re going to react at all.”

“I hope you’re not going to make a habit of this, Jess.”

“Depends on whether they make a habit of it.”

“You getting any ideas about where Coldwater is getting his money?”

“I gather the church has a piece of a few businesses around town. He’s apparently tried to hustle Herman Muller into selling out, but so far, Herman is standing pat. I hope he goes on doing that; it’s hard not to root for the guy.”

“No evidence of big money behind Coldwater, though?”

“Nope. It’s hard to see how any big money could get generated around here. It’s not a big place, and Muller’s business has got to be the important earner in town. So far, I can’t see that Coldwater is spending any big money, either.”

“Let’s not make that judgment, yet,” Kip said. “You haven’t really had a chance to look around, have you?”

“I’ve deliberately not done any looking around, just traveling where my life here leads me. Snooping could get me burnt.”

“I’m glad you see it that way; I don’t want you burnt.”

“That’s sweet of you, Kip; I know Dan feels that way, too.”

Kip laughed. “You always did have a sense of humor, Jess.”

“Well, I’d better get back to town. I’m supposed to be running an errand for Jenny, and I shouldn’t be gone too long.”