Terry Brooks - Running With The Demon

Derry's expression did not change. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Heard you were planning an accident, maybe." Old Bob ignored him, did not look at him. "Something to persuade the MidCon people they ought to work a little harder at settling this strike."

"Man, the things you hear." Derry tossed the beer can into a metal trash bin and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. He was smiling, being cool. "You planning on coming out for the fireworks, Robert? Celebrating our independence?"

Old Bob stopped now, faced him, eyes hard. "Listen to me. If I know about it, others know about it, too. You're not being very smart, son."

Derry Howe's smile froze, disappeared. "Maybe certain people ought to mind their own business."

Old Bob nodded. "I'll assume you're not talking about me, because we've both got the same business interests where MidCon is concerned."

There was a long pause as Derry studied him. He had misread the comment. "You saying you want in on this?"

"No."

"Then what are you saying?"

Old Bob sighed. "I'm saying that maybe you ought to think this through a little further before you act on it. I'm saying it doesn't sound like a very good idea. If you do something to the company, something that gets people hurt, it might rebound on you. You might get hurt, too."

Derry Howe sneered. "I ain't afraid of taking a chance. Not like Mel and the rest of you, sitting around talking all day while your lives go right down the toilet. I said it before, I'll say it again. This ain't going to get settled unless we do something to help it along. The company's just going to wait us out. They're starting up the fourteen–inch–hell, already started it up, I expect. They'll have it up and running Tuesday morning, bright and early. They're bringing in scabs and company men to run it. Some of the strikers are talking about going back, giving in because they're scared. You know how it goes. When that happens, we're done, Robert Roosevelt Freemark. And you know it."

"Maybe. But blowing things up isn't the answer either."

Derry pulled a face. "Who said anything about blowing something up? Did I say anything like that? That what you heard?"

"You were a demolitions man in Vietnam. I can put two and two together."

Howe laughed. "Yeah? Well, your addition stinks. That explosives stuff is an ancient history. I barely remember any of that. Time marches on, right?"

Old Bob nodded, patient the way you were with a child. "So it wouldn't be your fault if there was an accident, would it?"

"Not hardly."

"An accident that would make MidCon look like a bunch of clowns, trying to reopen the mill without the union?"

"Sort of like kids playing with matches in a pile of fireworks?"

"Like that."

Derry nodded thoughtfully. "You know, Robert, the thing about fireworks is that they're touchy, unpredictable. Sometimes they don't behave like you think they should. That's how all those accidents happen, people getting their hands blown off and such. They play with explosives they aren't trained to handle. They take foolish chances."

Old Bob shook his head. "We're not talking about fireworks here. We're talking about MidCon and people getting killed!"

Deny Howe's eyes were bright and hard. "You got that right."

Old Bob looked off into the trees, into the cool shade. "I don't like what I'm hearing."

"Then don't listen." Derry smiled disdainfully. "Do yourself a favor, Robert. Sit this one out. It ain't right for you anyway. You or Mel or any of the others. You had your day. Time to step aside. Stay home on the Fourth. Watch a movie or something. Keep away from the fireworks–all of them."

He paused, and a dark, wild look came into his eyes. "It's • settled with me, Robert Roosevelt. I know what I'm about. I'm going to put an end to this strike. I'm going to give MidCon a Fourth of July to remember, and when it's over they won't be able to get to the bargaining table quick enough. That's the way it's going to be, and there ain't nothing they can do about it." He ran his fingers through his short–cropped hair, a quick, dismissive movement. "Or you either. You stay out of my way. Be better for you if you did."

He gave Old Bob a wink and walked back to his friends.

Robert Freemark stood watching after him angrily for a moment, then turned away. He moved back through the crowds toward Evelyn, his anger turning to disappointment. He supposed he hadn't really expected to change Derry Howe's mind. He supposed he hadn't really expected to accomplish much of anything. Maybe he was hoping it would turn out Mel Riorden was mistaken, that Derry wasn't really planning something foolish. Whatever the case, his failure to achieve anything left him feeling empty and disgruntled. He should have made a stronger argument, been more persuasive. He should have found a way to get through.

He worked his way back to Evelyn, burdened by both the weight of the July heat and his anger. Somewhere deep inside, where he hid the things he didn't want other people to see, he felt a darkness rise up and begin to take shape. Something bad was going to happen. Maybe Derry intended to damage the machinery at the mill. Maybe he intended to put a serious dent in the company's pocketbook or its image. But for some reason Old Bob felt like it might be even worse than that. He felt it might be catastrophic.

He moved up to Mel and Carol Riorden, Al Garcia, Penny Williamson, and Evelyn, smiling easily, comfortably to hide his concerns. They were still talking about the new grandbaby. Mel gave him a questioning look. He frowned and shook his head slowly. He could see the disappointment in his friend's face.

Evelyn took him by the arm and pulled him away. "Come with me," she directed, steering him through the crowd. "I have a little business of my own to take care of."

He let himself be led back toward the horseshoe tournament, back toward Derry Howe. Old Bob glanced quickly at her, thinking, No, it can't be about Derry, can it? Evelyn did not return the glance, her gaze directed forward, intense and immutable. He had seen that look before, and he knew that whatever she had set herself to do, she would not be dissuaded. He kept his mouth shut.

The crowd observing the horseshoe contest parted before them. Evelyn veered left, taking Old Bob with her, striding down the line of spectators toward the participants at the far end.

"Just stand next to me, Robert," she said quietly. "You don't have to say anything. I'll do the talking."

She released his arm and stepped in front of him, taking the lead. He caught sight of George Paulsen staring at them from among the competitors, but Evelyn seemed oblivious of him. She moved, instead, toward Enid Scott, who was standing with her youngest, Bennett, to one side.

Enid saw Evelyn coming and turned to face her, surprise reflecting in her pale, tired eyes. She was dressed in matching shorts and halter top that had fit better when she was twenty pounds lighter. She brushed back a few loose strands of her lank, tousled hair and dragged out an uncertain smile.

"Hello, Mrs. Freemark," she greeted, her voice breaking slightly as she caught the look in Evelyn's dark eyes.

Evelyn came to a stop directly before her. "Enid, I'll come right to the point," she said softly. They were alone except for Bennett and Old Bob; no one else could hear what was being said. "I know you've had some rough times, and that raising five children all alone is no picnic. I think you've done better than a lot of women would have in your circumstances, and I admire you for it. You've kept your family together the best you could. You've got five children you can be proud of."

"Thank you," Enid stammered, surprised.

"I'm not finished. The flip side of this particular coin is that you've made a whole bunch of decisions in your life that testify to the distinct possibility that you have the common sense of a woodchuck. Sooner or later, some of those decisions are. going to come back to haunt you. Your choice in men, for example, is abominable. You've got five fatherless children as proof of that, and I don't see much improvement of late. Your frequent visits to the bars and nightspots of this community suggest that alcohol is becoming a problem for you. And it is no shame to be unemployed and on welfare, but it is a shame not to want to do anything about it!"