Redemption Mountain

by FitzGerald, Gerry

  “Hell, state champions four years in a row is what that team’d be!” said Gabe proudly. “Go up there and kick the crap out of them teams from Charleston and Morgantown!” They both laughed, enjoying the idea of playing together on what would assuredly be a powerhouse high school soccer team.

  The loud blare of the school-bus horn startled them. “Gotta go,” said Emma again. “Thanks, Gabe, for helping me today.”

  “That’s okay,” he said. He held out his fist to her. Emma smiled nervously as she brought her left fist up slowly and pressed her knuckles into Gabe’s. The feel of the boy’s cool skin against her own sent a shiver up her arm.

  “I’ll see you, Emma,” Gabe said, taking a step back. “Can’t wait for next year.”

  On the bus, Emma surprised Natty by squeezing in next to her in the front seat, her aches and pains replaced by a giddy excitement. As the bus pulled out of the parking lot, Emma leaned forward to watch Gabe jogging down the street.

  * * *

  CHARLIE WALKED BACK across the soccer field to where Hank stood leaning against the Chrysler.

  “Feel better?” Hank asked.

  Charlie avoided Hank’s eyes. “Feel like shit.” He gestured toward the car. “C’mon, I need a drink.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Moody’s Roadhouse sat a few feet off the dusty shoulder of South County Road. Bigger than it looked from the outside, the tavern was actually three buildings that came together in an L-shape: an old clapboard house at the corner; a long shedlike structure that housed the restaurant and bar; and, around the corner on the unpaved side street, a smaller, flat-roofed house, topped by a neon sign that blinked out FAT CATS, underlined with smaller letters promising ADULT ENTERTAINMENT. The gravel parking lot was already half full, mostly with pickups, when Hank and Charlie arrived.

  Inside, Charlie recognized a few faces, but Hank knew everyone. Charlie ordered a pitcher and two Jim Beams. After a couple of rounds, they ordered sandwiches, before the kitchen closed. They could hear a bluegrass band warming up in the large room off the bar. While they ate, they watched the people passing through the bar. Charlie recognized Natty’s sister-in-law, Sally, who appeared to be a regular, chatting with everyone she saw. Charlie saw Eve Brewster, too. Their appearance quickened Charlie’s pulse, in anticipation of the chance that perhaps Natty had changed her mind and would come out after all.

  “Gonna go drain the monster,” Hank announced, rising painfully. There were two choices for the men’s room, he informed Charlie—a small one upstairs, or a larger one out behind Fat Cats, accessible by a long wooden deck out the back door of the bar. Hank, like most of the men, would use the john at Fat Cats. “Easier than climbin’ the stairs. Might sneak a little peek at the main stage while I’m over there,” Hank said with a wink.

  Charlie nodded. Fat Cats—where Hugo Paxton had his fatal heart attack. He’d have to go over later and check out the talent. Charlie smiled to himself. He could see why the Roadhouse was a favorite spot of Hugo’s. A steady stream of women in tight jeans, bare midriffs, and too much makeup made their way to the crowded room where the band was now in full swing.

  Then, across the room on the other side of the bar, Charlie saw the man with the pencil-thin mustache, from the soccer game. He stared back at Charlie with a menacing scowl, a toothpick dancing nervously between his puffy lips. The bartender placed three longneck Budweisers on the bar in front of him. Charlie turned away, trying to recall where he’d seen him before. When he looked back, the man was gone.

  “Hey, Charlie. Looking for someone?” Eve asked playfully, as she eased herself into Hank’s chair.

  “Hi, Eve. How are you?” Charlie smiled.

  “I’m okay, Charlie,” she said with a weary smile. She looked around the Roadhouse. “Don’t come here much anymore. Used to come a lot, in my younger days.”

  “Interesting place,” said Charlie, looking back toward the bar.

  “Only reason I came tonight was that Natty said she and Sal were comin’ out.”

  “Me, too.” Charlie watched Eve closely for a reaction. She stared at him with tired eyes, then reached for a cigarette. Charlie noticed Hank seated at another table, engaged in conversation with an older couple. “You know, Eve,” said Charlie, “up until about a month ago, I thought we were pretty good friends. Then I think you got the wrong idea about something.” Eve smiled briefly and shrugged her shoulders. “But, Eve, you have to believe me when I tell you there’s nothing going on with me and Natty. We’re just friends. That’s all it is, and that’s all it’s going to be.”

  A smile spread across Eve’s face. “You and Natty. That’s what you think this is about?”

  “Well, I know you’ve seen us running together a couple of times, and—”

  “And you’ve been going to her soccer games and become the best friend her son’s ever had. And, of course, you let her drive your car around for a week, when hers was tore up.” Eve shook her head and laughed. “Shit, Charlie, everyone in Red Bone’s seen the sparks flyin’ between you two since you landed here. Then you get up there at the planning-board meeting when Natty’s at the podium, and you’re telling everyone how you’re going to build us a brand-new library, but you’re lookin’ right at Natty, and your eyes are locked like two kids at the junior prom. All we needed was some violin music.”

  Charlie was taken by surprise. “But, Eve, there’s nothing going on,” he protested. “That’s what I’m telling you. We’re just—”

  “Charlie.” Eve cut him off. She smiled, and her eyes were as soft as her voice. “Let me tell you something. There isn’t a woman in McDowell County, including myself, who isn’t hoping and praying that you’ll fall mad in love with that girl and take her and her two kids away from here.”

  It took Charlie several seconds to grasp what Eve had said. “But what about your brother?” he finally asked.

  Eve leaned back in her seat. “Buck’s an asshole. He’s my brother and I love him, but he ain’t never deserved one second of that girl’s companionship, let alone the mindless adoration she’s had for him for the last twenty years.” Eve took a long drag on her cigarette and shook her head. “Don’t worry ’bout Buck. He’s too dumb to know how lucky he is. Natty goes, he just finds some big-titted hillbilly girl, and he’s happy as a clam.” Eve looked at her watch. “Never given them kids any fathering, anyway,” she added bitterly.

  Charlie was starting to feel the effects of too many Jim Beams and a long day. He needed to use the men’s room, but he needed to get things straight with Eve. “Okay, Eve,” he said, “if it’s not about Natty, then what is it?”

  Eve exhaled a cloud of smoke. “It’s the coal, Charlie. The surface mine on Redemption Mountain.” She leaned forward again in earnest. “Don’t you see, Charlie? The men have suffered too many years trying to make a living around here. Going from one meaningless low-pay job to the next, or more likely no job at all. After a while it beats you down, and you start to lose your self-respect, your sense of humor, any ambition you ever had.” She took a long drag on her cigarette, turned her head, and blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling before facing Charlie again. “There’s a sadness comes over a place. You see it here, Charlie, I know you do. Hell, all you got to do is look around at the men in this room.” Eve gazed around her.

  Charlie glanced briefly toward the bar for the man with the toothpick. He didn’t have to examine the crowd to know what Eve was talking about. He’d felt it since he first came to West Virginia—the quiet resignation, along with the latent anger the men seemed to share. The inability to hold your eye for long.

  “That mine is like a miracle,” said Eve, “a huge power plant and a big mine coming here, with local men getting preference for the jobs. That’s about all any of these fellas ever wanted out of life. Now they got a chance.” She snuffed out her cigarette while Charlie waited for her to continue. “And you’re trying to stop the mine on Redemption Mountain,” she said quietly. “Don’t ask me how I know that,
but I know it’s true.”

  Charlie looked around at the people in the bar as he wondered how he could explain it to Eve. She wouldn’t understand anything about the deck being stacked in favor of the big corporations, or how the state and federal bureaucracies were in the pockets of the multinationals, their lobbyists, and lawyers. How Charlie was sick of being on the wrong side for so many years. She wouldn’t understand how it felt to be a professional lackey—a man who’d become successful far beyond his talents and promoted to a social class he never belonged in. Nor would she understand his empathy for Bud and Alice DeWitt and their mountainside farm, symbols in the struggle that felt like his last chance at redemption.

  Charlie smiled. “It’s complicated, Eve, but the DeWitts don’t deserve to lose their farm, and the environment doesn’t deserve to be wounded by another mountaintop-removal mine. That’s about as simple as I can make it.”

  Eve stared at him for a few seconds before flashing a smile. “Okay, Charlie,” she said, looking at her watch. “I don’t understand, but you’re a good man. And I hear it’s a done deal, anyway. Going to court in a few weeks, and they’ll be taking the farm by eminent domain.” She gathered up her cigarettes and lighter. “Union’s already taking the names of men want to work on the mine.” She held out a hand to Charlie. “So, still friends?”

  Charlie took her hand. “Friends, Eve, whatever happens.”

  Eve left, and Charlie got up from the hard wooden chair. His body ached, his bladder was ready to burst, and his eyes were having trouble focusing. It would be good to settle into the big, cushy seat of the Chrysler for the ride back to Red Bone. He stopped next to the booth where Hank was now seated with three elderly men, all at least as old as Hank. Charlie noticed they were all drinking coffee. “I’m just going out back for a second, Hank, then I’ll be ready to go.”

  Charlie made his way through the bar to a windowless wooden door, held closed by an antique thumb-latch handle. The door slammed behind him with the familiar crack that he’d been hearing all evening.

  The night air was cooler than he’d expected, with the scent of autumn that reminded him of Halloween. The rear of the Roadhouse was in darkness, save for a spotlight on the back wall of Fat Cats. Pointed toward him, the spotlight served less to illuminate the wooden deck than to blind Charlie as he tried to find his way through the darkness.

  A door opened under the spotlight, and two figures emerged. Charlie watched as the two men made their way around the corner of Fat Cats and pulled open the rear door of the bar. Loud voices and shrill catcalls escaped through the opening, along with the familiar strains of “The Hustle.” The door closed, leaving the building in darkness, but now Charlie had his bearings. While he couldn’t see the wooden walkway just a few feet in front of him, he knew where he needed to go. His left hand found a wooden railing. He passed the corner of the kitchen and felt the gravel of the parking lot under his feet.

  Suddenly there was a flash of light in front of him. It was a lighter, held by a man seated on the railing twenty feet ahead. The man’s head was down as he lit his cigarette. In the darkness, the flame cast a wide circle of illumination. Grateful for the light, Charlie took a few more steps, then the man turned toward him. The Zippo was extinguished with a sharp clank, but the instant of illumination was enough for Charlie to recognize the thin mustache and the puffy lips of the man from the soccer game.

  Charlie stopped in his tracks. This didn’t feel right. Then it came to him, along with the realization of the trouble he was in. The morning of the raid on Redemption Mountain. The man had been standing next to the white sheriff’s cruiser in a police uniform—Deputy Sheriff Wayne Lester. No, this wasn’t a good situation, Charlie told himself, as he tightened up both fists.

  Then the spotlight disappeared, and Charlie’s face felt as if it had exploded. As the world spun around him, he saw a hundred spotlights, on his hands and knees at first, then on his knees and one shoulder, as he tried to determine which way was up. He could taste the blood as he fought for balance, the top of his head pushing at the ground. Then he felt a powerful jolt across the middle of his back, and the pain came in waves, the lights growing dimmer as they circled away from him.

  Charlie fought for consciousness. He pushed himself up on all fours and spit out a mouthful of blood, grimacing from the excruciating pain. There was a hot breath next to his ear. “Remember this feeling, boy. This’s what it feels like when a big-shot New Yorker comes down here and fucks with the wrong guy.” The voice took a step back on the gravel. “And here’s one for your nigger pal.”

  The foot came through the darkness up into Charlie’s stomach. He had to swallow repeatedly to keep from vomiting. But in spite of the pain, or perhaps because of it, Charlie regained his consciousness, and his head was clear enough to understand the seriousness of his situation.

  Charlie saw the coach’s black soccer cleats, but when he reached out to grab a foot, his arm just pawed the air.

  “All right, boys, get him on his feet. Let’s mess up his face a little.”

  Two new sets of shoes shuffled across the gravel. Rough hands grabbed hold of his arms and pulled him up. Charlie knew that, if they pulled him to his feet, he’d be defenseless. But when he tried to fight off the hands, his back felt like it was on fire. Unable to resist, he went slack against the arms that held him up for the beating to come.

  Then he heard the sickening smack—a sound he knew well—of fist against flesh and bone. And then again, and once again in rapid succession, and feet shuffling quickly around in the gravel. Then the hands released him. Charlie turned his head in time to see the coach land heavily on the ground a few feet away, his cleats scraping slowly against the dirt. And he heard Wayne Lester speak for the first time. “Ain’t your fight, Buck. This boy’s got it comin’ to him.”

  “Three on one ain’t much of a fight, Wayne.” The deep voice was confident and strong. Charlie was immediately glad that the voice was on his side. “Plus a two-by-four.” Charlie heard the hollow sound of a piece of wood hitting the ground. “What’s the matter, Wayne, you forget your nightstick?”

  “That wasn’t me, Buck,” Wayne Lester pleaded. “I didn’t know he was going to use a board on him.”

  “Bullshit. Just your style, you and these little girls you hang out with. Beat it, Kyle, less you want to be next, after Lester and I settle an old score.”

  “Hold on, Buck,” said Lester. “We was doin’ you a favor. This guy’s been red hot after your wife since he got here. Been thick with Natty all over town, and pallin’ around with your kid.”

  “Fuck you, Lester.” Buck cocked his right arm.

  “It’s true, Buck,” said Kyle Loftus, taking a hesitant step toward the two men. “How do you think you got that loggin’ job with Garvey?”

  “That’s bullshit. What’s this guy want with Natty?”

  “Garvey told me himself,” said Loftus. “Said Burden called him up and told him to put you on.”

  “Why else you think Garvey’d give a loser like you a job?” Lester added, feeling bolder. “And he’s trying to kill the Redemption Mountain mine ’cause Natty’s been whispering in his ear.”

  “That ain’t true…” Buck sounded less sure of himself.

  “I was there, Buck. When they torched the field. Burden tipped ’em off. The lawyers in Charleston got his cellphone record for that morning. Shows Burden called the farm right after we headed up there.” Charlie groaned as he pushed himself to a sitting position. He tried to speak, but his mouth was full of blood.

  “Wake up, Buck, and see what’s going on,” said Kyle Loftus, as he bent over to pull the coach to his feet. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Two headlights lit the men from across the parking lot. As the Chrysler slid through the gravel, stopping just short of Charlie, Hank leaned on the horn. Buck took off up the ramp toward Fat Cats, while Wayne Lester went back into the bar. Kyle Loftus pulled the groggy coach through the dark parking lot to a brown
Cadillac.

  * * *

  THE CEILING FAN was turning in the wrong direction, Charlie was certain of that. Then he moved, not much more than a twitch, and the shooting pain in his back reminded him that he wasn’t in his apartment. Without moving his head, he could see the light-green curtains hanging from an aluminum halo around the bed. He was in a hospital bed. Charlie labored to lift his left arm and look at his watch, but it wasn’t on his wrist.

  “Almost two-thirty. ’Bout time you woke up. I was about to pull the sheet up over your head and call a priest.” Charlie turned to see Natty rise out of a metal folding chair. Next to her, the Pie Man jumped up to follow her to the side of the bed.

  “Hey, Pie Man. How’s my best bud?” Charlie held up his palm for a more-gentle-than-usual high-five. He held on to Pie’s hand as the boy stood next to the bed for a better view.

  Pie pointed a finger at Charlie’s face. “Charlie look like a raccoon.”

  Charlie grimaced as he laughed. “That’s what a broken nose does to you.” He reached over to feel the gauze bandage that covered the bridge of his nose. “Fourth time for me, or maybe the fifth—I can’t remember.”

  “Were you in a fight, Charlie?”

  “It wasn’t much of a fight,” he replied, trying to be vague for Pie’s sake.

  “Doctor says you’ll be all right,” said Natty. “Took X rays of your back. A gash and a deep bruise.”

  Charlie recalled the excruciating pain of the two-by-four as it dug into the flesh of his back. He reached down to feel the tight bandage around his torso.

  “’Course, you won’t be getting any modeling jobs,” said Natty.

  Charlie smiled. “Did he say when I could leave?”

  “Tomorrow. You have a concussion. Hank said he’ll pick you up. He left a little while ago. Been here all night and all morning.”

  The word concussion reminded Charlie of the incident at the soccer game. “How’s Emma?”