by Dave Daren
The flashlight flickered for a moment before steadying, but the beam of light didn’t reveal anything interesting. I walked slowly along the track, checking the empty carts as I went and flashing the beam into any crack and crevice that I could find. When I reached the spot where I had the microphone, I peered inside but the bug was gone. I stuck my hand in and felt around, but only found dirt and lumps of coal.
I went a little further inside, but I had to admit that it was unlikely that Crenshaw, the Sheriff, and anyone else who had been using this spot as a meeting place would have ventured much deeper into the darkness. I reminded myself of Bam’s warning the first time I came here and started back towards the sliver of sunlight. I still moved slowly, though this time I played the light beneath the carts and other equipment.
Near an old pump, I spotted a bit of metal and plastic that looked out of place. It was a small, square shape, tucked between the pump and a set of lanterns but definitely not part of the equipment. I leaned in closer and hoped there weren’t any creepy crawlies hiding nearby as I tried to get a better look at whatever it was.
“Well, well,” I whispered as I recognized the shape of an old voice recorder.
It was an interesting bit of technology that had been briefly popular before cell phones took over the world. Digital ones, like the one I was staring out, had the advantage over their predecessors of not requiring a cassette tape, though they didn’t have much memory so recordings were usually short. The only person I had ever seen use one was a professor I had in undergrad who liked to record his lectures for posterity.
I eased the recorder from its spot, then checked the controls. It was set for voice activation, so I quickly switched it off to preserve whatever the last recording had been. The big question then was who had left this recording device behind and when? I was certain it hadn’t been there when I had found the microphone, so someone else had wanted to make a recording of what was said in the tunnel.
It probably wasn’t Crenshaw, I decided, since he had access to the best technology there was in his fight on domestic terrorism. One of the locals was more likely, and I tried to decide who the best candidates were. As I pondered that point, I dusted off the device and I felt something scratched into the bottom edge of the recorder.
I turned it over and grinned. I recognized the technique and figured this had probably been with the owner for quite some time. I’d used the same tagging process myself in high school and college, since guys were too cool to put labels on things. Instead, I had resorted to scratching my name into the bottom of my possessions, like a Nintendo game console and my favorite mug, often with mixed results.
Deputy Watkins, it seemed, had resorted to the same manly technique. And what, I wondered, had he decided was important enough to bring his recorder to the mine and hide it?
Chapter 17
I was all set to play the recorder and learn what Watkins was up to, but I heard the tumble of rocks as someone approached the mine entrance and then a second flashlight lit up the tunnel.
“Mr. Morgan, you still in there?” Carl called out.
“I am,” I said as I slipped the recorder into my waistband. “I’m just about done.”
“Mr. Bluefeld and the EPA man are on the way back,” Carl replied. “I can see them climbing the hill.”
“Great,” I said as I started towards the guard. “Maybe Dr. Xi can give me a ride back into town.”
“Did your truck get painted, too?” the guard asked.
I was close enough now to see his face without the aid of the flashlight. He stood just outside the entrance, his delivery style uniform in slight disarray, but with the first sign of humor I’d ever seen on his face.
“I wish,” I replied as I drew even. “At least then I’d know where it was.”
“You mean it was stolen?” the guard asked in disbelief.
“It was,” I replied. “But I let the Sheriff know and I expect he’ll be able to recover it soon. It’s not like you can outrun anyone in that truck.”
Except a bio-diesel VW minibus, I thought.
“Whoo,” Carl said with a shake of the head that left his few strands of blonde hair standing on end. “I can’t even remember the last time a car was stolen around here.”
He ran his thumb over the butt of his gun as he tried to come up with an answer, and I wondered if he pictured himself in a chase scene with the thief that ended with Carl pulling his gun and shooting the bad guy.
“All sorts of strange things going on these days,” I replied.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Carl replied.
We stepped away from the cave as Xi and Bam strode into sight. Both men had mud on their boots, and a hint of sulfur surrounded them as they drew closer. Xi’s expression was serene, as if he’d just gone for a pleasant stroll in the garden after a delicious dinner, while Bam looked like he was ready to punch something or someone.
“Were you able to collect the samples you needed?” I asked.
“It went quite well,” Xi replied as he patted the case.
“Do you need anything right now?” Bam asked in a grudging tone.
“No, no,” Xi assured him. “I just wanted to take a first look at these. The team will arrive tomorrow to begin a more thorough examination.”
“Tomorrow,” Bam muttered as he looked at me. “That’s our deadline.”
“It is,” I acknowledged. “Which means I have some work to do.”
Xi raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t say anything. No doubt he was used to people threatening to shut down EPA inspections, usually with the help of an attorney. And in most cases, the court sided with the EPA. But I knew better than to go through the courts. If the deal was going to be done, then I had a few phone calls to make, and with any luck, Watkins’ recording would be just what I needed to bring an end to the EPA’s investigation.
“Dr. Xi,” I said. “Would you mind dropping me off on your way back to town?”
“I’m happy to do so,” the Asian man agreed.
“Let me know if you come up with anything,” Bam sniped.
It wasn’t clear if the comment was directed at me or at Xi, so we both nodded and retreated towards the Impala. Xi unlocked the car, and I slipped into the passenger seat while he placed everything in the trunk, including his muddy boots, before he took his position behind the wheel. I noticed Xi had his polished brown oxfords on again, and so the only sign that he had been wandering around the pits near a coal mine was the slight burnt odor that surrounded him.
The soothing music filled the car once again after Xi turned the key, and we backed out of the parking spot and turned towards the hill to the sounds of a piano solo. We crept down the steep hill to a more frantically paced song, but that didn’t inspire Xi to any speed. I found myself checking over my shoulder to see if Bam’s truck was about to run over us, but Bluefeld must have decided to stay and talk with Carl because the Toyota never appeared behind us.
At last, we reached the bottom and Xi carefully positioned the Impala between the ruts on the old road. I found myself trying to picture Xi maneuvering through DC traffic at the end of the day, and then decided he probably used the subway. I entertained myself by trying to remember where the EPA’s headquarters were located and what the closest lines were. After that, I tried to guess where Xi would live.
I almost sighed in relief when we finally pulled onto the main road and started towards Marion. I noticed the men gathered around the muscle car again and waved as we drove by at a considerably slower pace. One man waved back, though I could tell he wasn’t sure who he had exchanged waves with.
“Are you staying at the Folsom Inn?” I eventually asked just to say something.
“I am,” Xi agreed. “Though I understand they only serve breakfast at the moment. I suspect I’ll be spending most of my meals at the diner unless there’s another restaurant in town.”
I thought about that for a moment, and then realized I hadn’t seen any other restaurants though the
re had to be at least one more somewhere.
“I haven’t found any,” I replied. “But I’ve been pretty busy. I could ask, see if Belle or the Sheriff has someplace they could recommend.”
Xi nodded and returned to his own musings. We were close to the town by then, and I saw the cars were starting to gather at Babes! Babes! Babes! There was a decent sized number of vehicles at the Gas-n-Go as well and even the Emporium seemed to have some business. I directed Xi to the narrow road up the hill, which he attacked in his usual slow style, but he let out a little gasp as we rolled into the neighborhood at the top, and he leaned forward over the steering wheel as if he could get a better look.
“These are quite lovely,” he said as we took a long rest at the stop sign. “Probably built by the wealthier families during the mine’s heyday.”
“I didn’t ask,” I admitted as I studied the homes again.
“You’d be amazed at the hidden gems you can find in these towns,” he sighed. “People expect it to be trailer parks and convenience stores, and they don’t realize that towns like this are so much more.”
“Did you grow up in a small town?” I asked as Xi eased forward.
“Not as small as this,” Xi replied. “Though I barely saw much more than my neighborhood when I was a youngster. My parents weren’t sure they could trust anyone who wasn’t Chinese when they first moved to the U.S.”
“But they came anyway?” I laughed.
Xi also laughed as I pointed him towards the road that led to Belle’s office. I had no idea if she was back yet, but I hoped I might at least be able to get inside and listen to the recorder even if she wasn’t there.
“They had cousins here,” Xi finally said. “And they promised that life was much better here. So my parents came, and moved into an area that was filled with Chinese immigrants. It was years before they ventured out of their safety zone for the first time. To go to Disney World, if you can believe it.”
“Well, obviously they survived that encounter with the rest of America,” I replied.
“Couldn’t get enough of it after that,” Xi chuckled. “We must have had hamburgers every night for dinner for a month after that.”
“I would have loved that when I was a kid,” I replied. “Heck, I’d be happy to do it now if I didn’t have to worry about staying healthy.”
“The curse of becoming an adult,” Xi agreed as I pointed towards Belle’s parking lot.
The Suzuki was parked in the lot, and the office door was partially open. Xi pulled into a spot at the same precise distance from Belle’s car and gave me a pleasant nod as I thanked him for the ride. I watched him as he backed slowly out of the lot, then made his way back to the old homes. I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if he took a scenic ride around the neighborhood before he returned to the inn and the work that waited for him.
“How many cars do you have?” Belle asked as she peered around the door jamb.
“That’s Dr. Xi’s car,” I replied. “And I have a lot to fill you in on.”
“Apparently,” Belle agreed as she opened the door wide enough for me to slip inside.
I nearly tripped over a vacuum cleaner as I did and Belle quickly pushed it out of the way.
“Sorry,” she apologized. “I spilled some pretzel bits when I dropped the bag and I was trying to clean them up.”
She closed and locked the door behind me, then led me back into the office. Our corkboard was still up, and I noticed that several more Post-It notes had been added, along with a few pictures of some of the main characters.
“All right, fill me in,” Belle said as she sat down in one of the armchairs.
I placed the redweld with the documents on the table, then pulled the recorder from my waistband and set it on top of the folder. Belle stared at the little pile for a moment, then gave me a quizzical look over the rim of her glasses.
“The redweld has the documents stolen from Hup’s office,” I explained. “I’ve taken a quick look and it looks like everything is there, but I need to make sure. The recorder I just found, out at the mine. Seems Bam’s property was the spot of choice for secret meetings.”
“How original,” Belle remarked.
“The expensive bug wasn’t there any more,” I replied. “I’m assuming Crenshaw retrieved it before he decided to make his escape in my truck.”
Belle snickered but quickly buried it when I frowned.
“If the Sheriff doesn’t get the truck back, then I’ll have to pay for it,” I pointed out.
“I know,” she said apologetically. “I’m sorry. I just can’t imagine how far he can get in that old thing.”
“Well, since the Sheriff didn’t leap into his car to give chase, I’d say pretty far,” I huffed.
“Don’t worry,” she said sympathetically. “I’ll be happy to represent you.”
“Gee, thanks,” I sniffed.
She patted my hand and gave me a smile, but when I didn’t return it with one of my own, she sighed and sat back in the chair.
“Something tells me that there’s been another delay in signing the deal,” she remarked.
“The man who dropped me off is Dr. Xi,” I said. “He’s from the EPA.”
“The EPA?” she asked. “What does the EPA have to do with, well, anything that’s happened?”
“Nothing,” I replied. “But someone told them to investigate the mine as a potential Superfund site and to do so immediately.”
“Oh, no,” she murmured as she realized the ramifications. “Who would even have that kind of authority?”
“Xi says he doesn’t know who sent the orders,” I replied. “And I think he’s telling the truth. My guess is someone in New York has decided that Crenshaw failed and has decided this was the next best thing.”
“Is that why Crenshaw ran?” she asked. “Because the EPA’s arrival might expose whatever else was going on?”
“Maybe,” I replied. “Although it’s not like the EPA is going to be reviewing the books.”
“No,” she agreed. “But since so much of what was going on seems to be centered around the mine, they would probably have dragged some of it into the light.”
“I find it amazing that the FBI went to all that trouble to get Crenshaw into place and would then risk exposing him by sending the EPA here,” I mused.
“It may be a case of the right hand not knowing what the left hand was doing,” she replied. “The FBI guys are often just as secretive about what they’re doing within their own ranks as they are with outsiders. I doubt Crenshaw’s bosses bothered to tell the RICO guys what they were doing.”
“But someone in RICO must have found out,” I pointed out. “Or they wouldn’t have been able to tell Crenshaw to shut down the operation.”
“They’ve had months to work on this,” she replied. “Ever since the company signed the deal.”
“And once they learned that the FBI had an operative in the area, they must have muscled in on the operation,” I agreed. “Still, why expose him?”
“I doubt the RICO guys cared about that,” Belle replied as she patted at her bun. “Crenshaw’s operation wasn’t theirs after all. It was just a bit of convenience for them. I imagine there will be some heated arguments back in New York once the domestic terrorist group finds out what happened. Now, tell me about the recorder.”
I picked up the recorder and passed it to the other attorney. She handled it carefully as she examined it, and then I saw her eyebrows go up as she read the name scratched into the plastic cover.
“Deputy Watkins,” she exhaled slowly.
“I haven’t listened to it yet,” I replied. “And I’m pretty sure it wasn’t there the last time I went to the mine. My guess is Watkins was meeting whoever told him to grab Lila, and he decided he needed to make a recording for his own protection.”
“I wonder if he made any other recordings,” she mused.
“If he did, they’ve probably been destroyed unless he copied them over to a digital file som
ewhere or even a tape recorder,” I said.
“He would have kept them,” she insisted. “But I wonder where.”
“Let’s start with this one,” I suggested. “If it’s what I think it is, it might be enough to get the EPA out of the mine.”
Belle handed the recorder back to me, and I hit the play button. At first, there wasn’t anything but a sort of scraping sound, followed by what sounded like footsteps. Someone stomped their feet a couple of times, like they were trying to stay warm, and then something hard pinged off metal and the sound echoed for a few moments.
“Geez,” Watkins’ voice muttered. “Why’d ya call me out here?”
“I need you to do something,” Crenshaw responded and then coughed.
“Why don’t ya ask the Sheriff?” Watkins replied. He sounded whiney and unpleasant, and I wondered if he hated being a mere deputy. I remembered his reaction when Harris had sent him from the office during my visit, and I guessed he had his own plans for Folsom.
“Are you with me or with Harris?” Crenshaw demanded.
Watkins muttered something that I couldn’t quite hear, and I saw Belle shake her head as she wrinkled her nose.
“Look, I’m getting tired of this,” Crenshaw snapped. “I’ve told you before, you’ll have your shot at being Sheriff but there are a few things we need to take care of first.”
“What’s the big deal about this stupid mine anyway?” Watkins asked.
Crenshaw made a sound that was filled with frustration, and I could picture him gnashing his teeth.
“If the Febbos get this mine, then the FBI will start paying a lot more attention,” Crenshaw replied. “No one wants that.”
“The Sheriff doesn’t seem to care,” Watkins noted.
“Because he and Hup were too short-sighted and they don’t understand what will happen if this deal goes through,” Crenshaw said in exasperation. “But if we do this right, we can get rid of Shifty and set up our own operation.”
