by Patrick Lee
Harbold clipped the two papers together, stood up, and extended his hand. Mikhail stood up but didn’t shake Harbold’s hand. “If I sign, how will I know it’s a deal?”
“You’ll be contacted by the realtor at Main Street Realty in about two weeks. From there, you work directly with him.”
Mikhail nodded his head. He showed Harbold to the door, smiled at his daughter, and walked into the bathroom. He knelt at the toilet, lifted up the toilet seat, and vomited his pancake and eggs breakfast.
Early the next morning, George Maletta knocked on Mikhail’s back door. He stood holding a full cup of coffee and a thermos. Katya opened the door and welcomed him inside. “Mornin’, George. See you got some of your famous coffee there.”
“Would you like a cup, Kat?”
She retrieved a cup from the counter near the sink, “You bet. Dad’s coffee isn’t very good. Don’t tell him that though.”
“Where is he anyway?”
The bathroom door opened and Mikhail walked out. His hair stood up from the rough toweling he gave it after the shower. He stopped as he entered the kitchen, “Hello, George.”
“Mornin’, Mik. I guess that van outside and the visit you had yesterday from Harbold means you’re gettin’ ready to move.”
The moment he dreaded for weeks arrived. Mikhail sat down at the table. “Ya, George. We’re movin’.”
He opened his thermos and poured Mikhail a cup of coffee and refilled his own. Without looking up, he asked in his gruff voice, “Did you sell out to the Company?”
Katya stood up, “I need to check on Anna. It’s about time for her to get up. I’ll be right back.”
Mikhail took a long drink of coffee, “I told him I’d think on it.”
“When’ll you move then?”
“I imagine it’ll take about a week to load up and give away everything else.”
George tapped his fingers on the side of his mug. “Lots of people are upset with ya. But then you already know that, I suppose.”
Mikhail recalled times where George and Mikhail’s dad sat in the same kitchen and talked about baseball, mining, World War I, the McQueen Club, and how lucky they were to live in McQueen. “I don’t want it that way, George. But I don’t blame nobody. Someday they’ll understand why I’m doin’ it. I’d never move if that open-pit—”
“Bullshit! You’d move anyway. You ain’t like the rest of us. We plan to fight em’ to the end. Nobody understands your move now and never will! We’ll never see you or your family again. But—”
Mikhail moved his chair away from the table. His voice started to break, “I need to do what’s best for my family. Everybody else’ll do what’s best for themselves. My dad taught me that.”
The chair he sat on slid away from the table. He waved his finger at Mikhail, “Don’t never bring your father in on this argument. He’d hear nothin’ about what you’re doin’. You can bet your sweet ass he’d never cut and run.”
“George! We’re both losing our tempers here. I’m takin’ a walk.”
“That’s it! Walk away! You’re gettin’ good at it.”
Katya walked into the kitchen after she watched her dad slam the front door. “Is everything alright, George?”
He shook his head, picked up his thermos and cup, and went out the back door.
In the Club Café in Hungry Horse, David ate dinner with Ted Hughes. Outside of work, it was the first time they saw each other since their Labor Day trip around Glacier Park. Hughes now had his new instructions and set up a meeting with David, himself, and the lead FBI agent in the Butte Federal Office.
After they finished their chocolate cake dessert, Hughes approached the subject, “Dave, I got something important to talk to you about. Real important.” He praised himself for his selection of a quiet table in the corner near the kitchen away from the rest of the customers.
David wiped the corner of his mouth with the green paper napkin, “What, what’d ya mean?”
“I want you to meet somebody.”
With a nervous laugh, David responded, “Who? Is she a beautiful blonde?”
Hughes moved a little closer. “You need to trust me on this one, Dave. It’s for your own protection.”
He contorted his face and formed a question, “Who do I need protection from?”
The waitress came by with more coffee. Hughes waved her off and then answered, “Let’s leave it at that, okay. He wants to meet you at your trailer next Thursday after work. “Again, trust me Dave.”
“Okay. Will you be there too?”
He waved his hand, “Oh ya. I’ll be there too.”
As it had done for the past ten years, the siren in the McQueen Firehall sounded the noon signal. The workers in the nearby Leonard Mine opened their lunch buckets by the sound of the siren. Some of the older men automatically matched the siren against their worn pocket watches as they sat down to eat their lunches. Kids raced home from playing in order to get their peanut butter and jam lunch.
Mikhail walked back into the living room of his house. Anna slowly turned in her chair at the kitchen table. She greeted him with a big smile as she set her glass of milk down in front of her. Her smile momentarily chased away the heavy burden of his angry words with George.
“Did ya save any food for me, Anna?”
“Yes, Papa. Mom made two big sandwiches for you.” He washed his hands in the kitchen sink before he sat down next to her. “You have big hands, Papa.”
“Big hands to eat big sandwiches.” She smiled again and took a drink of milk. A milk moustache topped her lip as she carefully returned the glass. Mikhail laughed and said, “When did ya grow a moustache?”
“I don’t have a moustache, Papa.” He reached behind him and picked up a hand mirror from the counter near the sink. Anna giggled as she saw her image in the mirror. “Oh that’s milk, Silly.” She handed him the glass of milk. “Your turn, Papa. Make a moustache.” He looked around to make sure that no one else was watching. Slowly he brought the glass up to his mouth and created a huge white moustache. Anna clapped her hands together and laughed.
The happy noise in the kitchen brought Katya out from her bedroom. She hauled a load of freshly folded clothes with her. “What in the world is goin’ on out here?”
Mikhail wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve but not before his daughter enjoyed the white moustache too. What a change of mood from his early morning visit with George Maletta.
“I can’t leave you two alone for a minute without you gettin’ into some kind of trouble.” Anna laughed again and then secured her oxygen mask to help her breathing. Mikhail picked up one of his salami sandwiches and took a bite.
After lunch, Anna laid down in her bedroom for her required afternoon nap. She got stronger each day, and the naps revitalized her strength. Her walking improved with the use of a walker, but the effort sapped her energy. Each walk got a little longer, and she stopped less frequently.
In the kitchen, Katya and Mikhail sat at the table and listed the household items that would make the trip to Columbia Falls, which items went to the dump, and which items went to the Salvation Army or neighbors. “I think we can get new furniture in Columbia Falls. I got enough put away to pay for what we need to get started. Our stuff here is pretty old anyways.”
“What about the beds and dressers and those things?”
“Same thing. We’ll replace em’.”
Katya sipped on her black tea, “How about the dishes, pots and pans, and kitchen stuff?”
“I think we pack all that and take it with us.”
The black wall telephone rang and interrupted them. Katya listened and then handed the phone to her father. “Hello.”
“Hello, Mik. This is Jim Bugni. A few of us would like to try and talk you out’ a movin’. Can you come down to the McQueen Club later today?”
Mikhail paused before answering, “Ya, I’ll see yous at 2:30.” He hung up the telephone and looked across the table at his daughter. “I’m goin’ to v
isit with my friends at the McQueen Club. I’m sure it’ll be more of what we had with George this mornin’.”
“Oh Daddy, I’m so sorry you have to go through this. We can still get out of it if you want.”
His face contorted into a scowl, “Don’t you wanna go to Columbia Falls?”
“All I want is for us to be together. I was just tryin’ to take the easy way.”
“There ain’t no easy way! We jump in with both feet. Only way I know how.” He took a deep breath. “Sorry, Katya. I’m just nervous about—”
“It’ll be for the best. I’ll work on the list some more, and tomorrow we can start gettin’ ready to move.” She got up and walked over and hugged him. “We’ll do it together, Daddy.”
Mikhail checked out the cars parked outside of the McQueen Club. Four of the cars belonged to long-time friends and neighbors. He didn’t recognize the new two-toned beige Desoto. After he sucked in some fresh air, he stood as tall as he could and walked in. Five older men and one well-dressed man in his late twenties sat at a table drinking coffee. He nodded to each one of them and headed for the only vacant wooden seat. Jim Bugni smiled and said, “Want some coffee, Mik?”
“Ya.”
The younger man stood and introduced himself, “Mr. Anzich, you might not remember me, but I’m Frank Micholotti. I used to deliver papers to your house as a kid. My dad is that old geezer sitting over there.” The rest of the men laughed, and some of the tension snapped from the room.
Mikhail firmly shook his hand and forced a weak smile. “Sure I remember you, Frankie. It’s been a long time. Where you livin’ now a days?”
The younger man released Mikhail’s hand and took a step back, “I moved back to Butte this summer after I finished medical school. I opened up a new clinic up on West Broadway. My wife and I and baby live in my in-laws’ old house. They moved to Nevada and gave us the family home.”
“Your dad told me you become a doctor. Good for you, Frankie. Butte can use good doctors.” He nodded his head and slowly took his seat. Jim Bugni set the coffee cup down in front of Mikhail and took his own seat across the table.
Mikhail envisioned a meeting something like this for months. The time to face the music arrived. He set his coffee cup back down after a sip of the freshly made coffee.
His neighbor George Maletta sat with his arms folded and his eyes glued to the table. It was obvious George filled in the rest of the men about their argument from the morning. Jim Bugni spoke first, “Mik, we’re all old friends here. How about tellin’ us about your plan to sell your place and move to Columbia Falls?”
Mikhail felt the perspiration drip down the sides of his body below his armpits. The task at hand outweighed any of his visualizations. His mouth went dry. He took another drink of coffee. Talking wasn’t his strong suit. “Relax, Mikhail, relax. Take your time; you’ve practiced it a thousand times.”
“I need to move my family to Columbia Falls. There’s a good job waitin’ for me there. Should last for ten or fifteen years. I put money down on a new house. My daughter and granddaughter will live with me. After my son gets back from the Navy, he might join us. I need to sell my house to pay for—”
George Maletta interrupted him, “You got that here, too! You don’t need to go to no goddamn Columbia Falls.”
Bugni stepped in, “Come on, George. Take it easy. Let’s hear him out.”
After a deep breath and some needed self-talk, Mikhail continued, “If I sell my house now, I can pay for my house outright. Then I can put money away for my granddaughter to go to college like young Frankie over there.”
The older Micholotti cleared his throat and spoke in a low-tone husky voice, “Did you already sell to the Company?”
George Maletta pushed his chair closer to the table and leaned toward Mikhail, “Of course he sold out. He don’t give a shit about us no more.” His red face and neck stood out beneath his silver hair. His whole body shook as he waved his finger at Mikhail.
Again Bugni attempted to calm down Maletta, “Jesus, George. Let him answer the questions. Maybe this is too much for you to handle. You look like you’re gonna have a stroke.”
“Ya, well maybe it’s too much for me. I’m not goin’ sit here and listen to his bullshit!” He pushed his chair away from the table and left.
Bugni brought the focus back to Mikhail, “Go ahead and finish Mik. Mitch asked you if you already sold to the Company.”
Sweat soaked his back and his stomach flipped over. He gulped and gathered himself, “Not yet. I got the papers. Harbold’s comin’ back tomorrow.”
Bugni shook his head, “How can you leave us here Mik? If we stick together, the Company can’t buy us out. We need to stay solid. Besides, that open-pit might be just talk anyways. Even if it went through, it would be years before it ever reached McQueen.”
Mikhail lost composure. He stood up and raised his voice, “It’s comin’, Jimmy! No stoppin’ it! Meaderville, McQueen, East Butte, Dublin Gulch, Anaconda Road are all goin’. I can’t wait to see what’s gonna happen. Maybe it’ll be fifteen years. Maybe ten. Nobody knows. I hate to leave McQueen. But I gotta look out for my own. Now and down the road.”
Frank Micholotti stood up and buttoned his tweed sport coat, “Mr. Anzich, would you sell your house to me?”
The room went silent. The men looked back and forth at each other. Mikhail sat back down in his undersized chair, “You’d buy my house, Frankie?”
The dark, good looking young man smiled as he spoke, “My wife and I’ve always loved your house. We’ve driven and walked by a dozen times since we got back in July. We’ve driven through your alley. You’ve taken such great care of your house.”
Mikhail nervously tapped the table with his fingers, “Do you want to live in McQueen?”
“We love McQueen. We want our kids to go to Holy Savior School. We want them to play baseball on the Eastern Little League Field. We want them to go watch McQueen play in the Copper League at Clark Park. Our kids need to play on Sunflower Hill. And finally we want our kids to grow up next to their grandparents and become McQueen kids. Just like all of us got to do. We’re family here. We take care of each other. Even if it’s only for ten or fifteen years.” Tears slowly rolled down his cheeks as he cast a look toward his father. “We have someone who wants to buy our house up on Excelsior right now. It’ll bring more than you’ll need to buy your house up in Columbia Falls.”
His large knuckles rubbed the tears and snot from his nose and cheeks. Mikhail Anzich felt small compared to the young man who just brought tears to a salty group of men. He stood up, extended his hand to Frank Micholotti, and said, “I’d sell my house to you, Frankie. To hell with the Company.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
His birthday rolled in unannounced and passed without any celebration. September 21st went down as just another day in September for David Sednick. Quick memories of birthdays past flashed before him. His mother used to make his favorite dinner and birthday cake. Just three years earlier, his wife Kat surprised him with a babysitter and plans to go out for the night.
David set his dirty work clothes on the floor in his bathroom. He stepped into the tub, slid down into the hot water that he drew for himself, and closed his eyes. Time for me to soak and relax. It was time to clean up, go have a couple of drinks at the Dew Drop, and meet Ted Hughes back at his trailer at six. His mind wandered back to his conversation with Hughes at the Club Café. Ted’s serious words and face appeared in David’s mind. “I want you to meet someone. Trust me.”
David continued to soak and think. “What’s with all the mystery? For my own protection? What the hell’s he talkin’ about?” He checked his alarm clock and figured he had an hour and a half before meeting Ted. “I’ll feel better after talking to Jackie. She’s my kind of woman. Sexy, listens to me, and she likes to drink. She doesn’t pressure me. Never wants anything from me. She only wants to have fun.”
At the Glacier Inn in Columbia Falls, Ted Hughes sat in th
e easy chair in Agent Moore’s motel room. He proudly briefed his partner of his progress with David Sednick. “I think he’ll roll today if we do it right. The tough part will be for me to break the news that I work for the Bureau.”
“You’re right there, Ted. I thought about that on the drive up from Butte. Sednick most likely will spook after he sees you in that suit. We might have to block the door so he doesn’t try and run.”
Hughes ran his hand back and forth through his short crew cut and adjusted his black horned-rim glasses, “I think I’ll tell him that his life’s in danger and that we’re his only chance to stay alive. I don’t think we have to go into too much detail about the past murders or that.”
Moore adjusted the papers carefully placed on the round table. He moved the table lamp closer to see the papers. “What’s the best way to get him talking about his large bank account? How do we get him to talk about the man in charge? We need to find that out if we’re going to find out who killed the other two walking bosses. I’m pretty sure the head man hired the men killed.”
Ted Hughes unfolded the bank statements and copies of Sednick’s income tax forms from the previous three years, “We might just as well show him the copies of his bank statements and income tax forms. He’ll have to explain that somehow. Might be a good place to start. That should shake him up some.”
Moore stood up and looked out the window. The top of Columbia Mountain showed some sign of light snow from the night before. Still looking out the window he spoke, “It might be too much too fast. We don’t want to lose him.”
“Maybe you’re right. But we can’t waste too much time. Hungry Horse Dam will be finished in a couple of weeks. Something tells me we need to get it done in the next couple of days.”
