Texas Fire

by Gerry Bartlett

  Much worse was a head injury when a man had been hit by a length of chain. He’d gone to the hospital in a coma. It didn’t say the chain hadn’t been laid down right, but Megan remembered how she’d seen it arranged on the rig at Vince’s site. If handled properly, the chain never should have hit anyone in the head. She was relieved to see in a follow-up that the man had recovered but was still on disability. The company had covered his hospital bills, of course, but she wondered if he’d ever get back to work. The doctor’s report mentioned possible brain damage. She set that paper aside, too.

  She made notes on the tablet computer Rowdy had given her to use. Soon she had a long list that convinced her this site was dangerous. Broken bones, falls, even a few chemical burns that made her shudder. Clearly there needed to be a serious overhaul in the practices here. Seemingly preventable accidents were not only endangering the workforce, but they were costing the company money. It didn’t take reading that enormous safety book to figure that out.

  The door flew open, and Rowdy stepped inside. “I have to see the geological surveys to be sure, but I think he needs to find a new place for disposal.” His face was grim when he strode over to the small refrigerator and pulled it open. “I need some water, it’s dusty out there.” He stared into the fridge, then turned to Megan. “You’re kidding me.” He gestured. “Did you look in here?”

  “Yes. I got a bottle of water earlier.” Megan knew what made him wrench open the outside door again and yell for the supervisor. Beer. A case of it chilling in the fridge. It was against company policy. That was just common sense, even if Rowdy hadn’t already mentioned the ban on alcohol on any well site.

  “Stephens! Get the hell in here!” Rowdy yelled it from the porch. He slammed the door as he came inside again. “I can’t believe it. What did you find in the accident reports?”

  Megan told him. “Maybe some of them could be attributed to drinking on the job, but there was no mention of that. What I’m sure of is that there are way too many things going wrong. At least compared to Vince’s operation. Just yesterday a man fell off the scaffolding and broke his leg. Cause of the accident was listed as railing failure. Why would a well-constructed railing on the platform fail?”

  Rowdy held out his hand and she placed the report in it. “A railing shouldn’t fail. Not if you took the time to build it properly. Shit. Now I’ve got to inspect all the platforms to see if they’re built to safety standards.”

  “In the meantime, we’ve got another man on disability.” Megan jumped when the office door flew open.

  “What the fuck, Baker? I don’t appreciate being yelled at like that in front of my crew.” The super was obviously ready for a showdown. “The concrete truck is late, and we’re waiting to set up the Christmas tree on rig number four. I don’t have time for your inspection shit right now.”

  “My inspection shit is what’s going to decide whether you keep your job or not, Stephens, so I suggest you think twice before you go off on me.” Rowdy didn’t wait for Clint to respond to that before he opened the refrigerator. “And I want to know what the fuck a case of beer is doing on this job site?”

  “Oh, that.” Stephens actually laughed. “Is that what’s got your panties in a wad? Hell, Conrad Calhoun himself told me about a little tradition he had when he finished a well, back in his early days.” He winked at Megan. “Your daddy was a real fine man, Ms. Calhoun, a true old-school oilman. Came up when it was every man for himself. He said he had to work hard to keep good men on his crew between jobs. So when it came time to bring in a well and put on the tree, he threw a little party. Beer for everyone.”

  “What do you mean ‘the tree’? You said there was a Christmas tree?” Megan came out from behind Clint’s desk, where she’d been working. “It’s September.”

  “Not an actual tree, Megan. It’s what they call the apparatus they put on top of the platform when the oil starts to flow. It pumps the oil to the pipeline. It’s got a string of lights on it that gives it the nickname ‘Christmas tree’. It’s been called that for decades.” Rowdy handed her the accident report. “That means number four is about done. At least that’s good news.” He shook his head. “But I can’t believe Conrad encouraged you to give the crew beer here, on the job, to celebrate.”

  “Well, believe it. You ask any of the old-timers around here who worked for him and there are a couple. They’ll tell you. He inspired loyalty. Gestures like that helped. It also motivates the guys to work fast.” Clint spit into a nasty-looking cup Megan had noticed he kept behind his desk. “And, relax, it’s only a case. Split among the crew, that’s not nearly enough to even give the guys a buzz. The men on that rig will get the rest of the day off, too, once we’re sure the tree is on good and everything’s running like it should.” Clint pulled his phone out of his pocket and frowned down at it. “Now, if you’re through, I’m calling the concrete people to see what the hell’s the holdup on my delivery. We need that shipment.”

  “Go ahead, make your call.” Rowdy shut the refrigerator. “Beer on the job. I’d never have allowed it.” He walked over to look through the reports Megan had sorted into piles.

  “These the most serious?” He picked up the smallest stack and read through them. “Damn, I sure hope so.”

  “Yes. The others are minor injuries.” She glanced at Clint, who was cursing and looked ready to throw down his phone. “What is it, Clint?”

  “Would you believe those damn protesters have blocked the road into the site and won’t let the truck through?” He stormed out of the office. “Sharon Fuckin’ Wallace. I swear, someday I’ll make her sorry she ever crossed my path.”

  “Wait, what’s he going to do?” Megan ran outside after Clint, Rowdy on her heels. “Clint, stop!” She saw him with one foot on the running board, about to climb into his truck.

  He turned and glared at her. “I’m going down there and help that truck get through. I need that concrete. Without it, my job is at a standstill. My men are standing around with their thumbs up their asses waiting, and it’s costing us money. As a Calhoun, I’d think you’d be on board with doing whatever it takes to get this job rolling.” He jumped into the driver’s seat.

  Megan ran to keep him from closing his door. “No, wait. Stay here. We’ll go.” Megan glanced at Rowdy. “I didn’t tell you this before, Clint, but I was sent here to handle the problems with the protesters. So, I’ll go down to talk to them. I’m pretty sure I can get them out of the road peaceably. How were you going to make them move?”

  “Drive right at ’em, of course. Tree huggers aren’t willing to die for the damn environment. Not unless they’re crazy, and these folks don’t seem to be. They’ll move and the concrete truck will come on through.” He jingled his keys. “Why do you think talking to them will work? These people love to talk. So they’ll jibber jabber. But when all is said and done, they’ll still just stand or sit in the road and sing ‘Kumbaya’ or some such shit like they’re at a rally for the spotted owl or white buffalo.”

  “Clearly you’ve had your fill of them.” Megan tried to show some sympathy. “I get it. They’ve really been a nuisance, haven’t they?”

  “Damn right they have.” Clint hopped out of the truck to spit in the dirt.

  Megan looked away from the tobacco stain on the ground. One of the environmentalists would have cringed.

  “You should see the abuse my truck has taken.” He pointed to pockmarks on his bumper. “Bullet holes. I’m lucky I wasn’t in the truck at the time. And this is my third windshield. I’m not getting another one until I can’t see through this one at all anymore.” He pointed at a spiderweb crack on the passenger side. “Second set of tires, too. I have to pay my landlady extra so I can park in her garage and lock the truck in at night.” He leaned against the fender. “Of course it’s billed to the company, all of it. So maybe I shouldn’t get so worked up about it.”

  “Still, I can see that it’s stressful. So let me deal with these protesters. And you can go wa
it for your concrete on the rig.” Megan put her hands on her hips. “I also suggest you make sure no one gets hurt while you’re doing it. It might be a good idea to check the railings, too. I read the report on that accident last week. Not a good mark on your record.”

  “My record?” Clint’s face turned red. “You’re blaming me for a hand’s carelessness?”

  “Maybe the man who built the railing was careless, but it’s your responsibility to make sure he did the job right. Or am I mistaken, Rowdy?” Megan turned to him. He’d stayed back, watching her and letting her deal with Clint. She appreciated it.

  “No, Megan’s absolutely right. Take care of your site, Stephens. You’ve had too many accidents here. That could be grounds for dismissal right there.” He walked to his truck. “Ready to go, Megan?”

  “Yes, indeed. I’ll handle this situation and be back before you know it.” She stepped back when a stream of tobacco juice almost hit her boot. “And by the way, Clint? I report everything I see and do here to Calhoun Headquarters. If you aren’t cooperative, then Rowdy’s right. We can call in a supervisor who will be easier to work with.” She nodded toward the oil rigs. “And who takes better care of his crew.” She left Clint sputtering to walk around Rowdy’s truck and get in.

  “That was impressive. You’ve got me scared for my job and I’m your boss.” Rowdy started the engine. “I just hope you can follow through on that promise to handle the protesters.”

  “Watch me.” Megan was determined to show confidence, even if she wasn’t totally feeling it. She’d done lots of research in the hours since she’d been handed this assignment. It was good news that yet another well was about to be completed. That meant less noise right away. Sharing that with Dr. Wallace and her cohorts should help. She also had a few other tricks up her sleeve. She pulled out her phone as she shivered and reached for the heater vents. They were at a high altitude and fall had arrived. She wasn’t ready to pull out her heavy coat, but her jean jacket wasn’t quite enough. She needed layers. Her fingers were clumsy as she put in the phone number that fortunately had been easy to memorize.

  “Who are you calling?” Rowdy made the turn onto the road that led to the job site.

  “Listen and find out.” Megan waited for the operator to answer.

  “Reeves County Sheriff’s Office.”

  “Yes, I want to report an incident on a county road.” She read the number off the sign they passed. “There’s an obstruction blocking the road and it’s a real hazard. I’m afraid someone’s going to get hurt if a patrol car doesn’t get here right away.”

  “Any idea exactly where on that county road the obstruction is located, ma’am?” The operator seemed to be taking her seriously. “That’s a long track that crosses into Pecos County. It might not be in our jurisdiction.”

  “It’s a few miles west of that place where they’re drilling those oil wells. On Sharon Wallace’s land. You know the place I’m talking about? Isn’t that in your county?” Megan knew it was. Part of her research.

  “Yes, it is. I’m dispatching a patrol car now. Please stay on the line so I can take down your information.”

  Megan hung up instead, because she could see that there were people strung across the gravel right-of-way ahead. Rowdy slowed the truck, then came to a stop well back from the group that stood arm in arm so the big concrete truck couldn’t get through. They’d made a chain the truck driver was clearly not willing to break. The people weren’t singing “Kumbaya,” but they were obviously excited and talking to each other. The truck’s mixing drum rotated, churning the concrete to keep it ready to pour. The driver and his helper stood beside the truck, one of them smoking a cigarette while the other was on the phone.

  “Now what?” Rowdy watched the scene, obviously letting her call the shots here.

  “Turn the truck around so I can stand in the back, in the bed. I want to be above them when I talk. Like I’m on a stage. I haven’t done a lot of public speaking, but I know I want them to see me.” Megan cleared her throat. She should have brought a bottle of water with her. It was dusty, and the wind had kicked up. If only this were as simple as standing on a stage in front of her pals at a fund-raiser for animal rights. That was a friendly crowd with open pocketbooks. She could feel animosity rolling off of this crowd already, and she hadn’t even stepped out of the truck yet.

  She took a steadying breath and held on to the door handle, ready to jump out. She was going to handle this and show these people that a Calhoun was willing to listen to their complaints. But she wasn’t stupid, either. She’d gone into this year hoping to make her father proud. Now that she knew he’d been deceitful and had robbed people, her focus had to change. It was important to her to prove that the next generation of Calhouns would always deal fairly with the public. Too bad “fairly” in the oil business usually cost a lot of money.

  Rowdy maneuvered the truck until he’d backed it close to the people. The protesters had gone quiet and were all staring now. When Megan and Rowdy hopped out of the truck and he helped her climb up onto the tailgate, the whispering started. Of course, the men they’d met in the RV park recognized them.

  Megan held out her hands and everyone shut up and stared. “Hi, I’m Megan Calhoun.”

  There were gasps, then a woman stepped out from the line and faced her. “And I’m Dr. Sharon Wallace. Really. You’re a Calhoun?”

  “Yes, my father was Conrad Calhoun.”

  “You could have told us that yesterday.” Amos, along with his brother, Art, was front and center.

  Several rocks sailed toward the truck where she was standing. Thank God they fell harmlessly to the ground next to them. Rowdy leaped up on the bed next to her.

  “The next person who picks up a rock will be choking on it.” He glared at the protesters. “You don’t believe me? Try it.” He had the tough-guy attitude down, and his size matched even the largest of the men standing in the road. They heard a couple of rocks drop and Rowdy nodded.

  Megan straightened her spine, determined not to let them see how those flying rocks had scared her. “I’m here to see if I can address your concerns about the drilling on your land, Dr. Wallace.” She didn’t bother to smile. The animosity radiating from the woman told her it would be wasted. Sharon Wallace must have retired fairly early from her teaching career. She looked like she was still in her fifties with carefully styled blond hair, a trim figure, and pressed jeans with her cotton shirt and leather jacket. Her boots were dusty but high fashion. It made Megan wonder where she did her shopping.

  “I’m happy to see you got one thing right. It is my land. And you people are defiling it.” This got a round of boos from the people behind her. Catcalls ranged from “Polluters!” to “Bird killers!”

  Rowdy jumped down from the truck and advanced on a man who kept yelling and had even taken a step forward. “Let the lady speak, or I’ll shut your mouth for you.” That got the crowd quiet again.

  “There’s no need for violence. Or to have this conversation in the middle of a county thoroughfare.” As if on cue, Megan heard a siren in the distance.

  “You called the police?” Wallace looked behind her. They could all see the sheriff’s car kicking up dust as it bounced down the gravel road with its lights and siren going.

  “Of course. You’re impeding traffic and we have to have this concrete delivered right away so we can continue our work.” Megan saw the driver and his helper jump into their truck. “You’ll be happy to know that a fourth well is about done. That should abate some of the noise you’re so concerned about.”

  “Nothing Calhoun Petroleum does makes me happy.” She turned when the sheriff’s deputy strode up to her. “Calvin.”

  “Dr. Wallace, you and your crew are going to have to get out of the way. Let the traffic flow.” He was a man about the professor’s age and assessed the situation with a keen gaze. Nobody had moved yet. Obviously they were waiting for a signal from their leader. “Who made the call, if I may ask?”


  With Rowdy’s help, Megan hopped down from the truck’s tailgate and extended her hand. “I did, Officer. Megan Calhoun. Sorry I hung up, but we came upon the scene, and I guess I got flustered at the sight of so many people blocking the road.”

  “Deputy Calvin Rydell.” He shook her hand. “Ms. Calhoun. This is a surprise. So the company sent one of the owners here.” He turned to Dr. Wallace. “Now, Sharon, this is good news. Stand down and see what comes of this.” He turned back to Megan. “Are you here to talk? Help make this situation better?”

  “Of course. I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clear enough, Dr. Wallace. I just got here. I’m assessing the situation now and hope to set up a meeting with you next week.” Megan still couldn’t smile when faced with such a stony reception. Sharon Wallace had hated her on sight, or at least she hated what Megan represented. “This is Roland Baker. He’s an experienced engineer with the firm. He will be personally inspecting every aspect of the operation and making sure things are done correctly and with the least impact on the environment.”

  “We’ve heard that before.” Wallace shook her head. “Words. Meaningless without action.”

  “Well, Dr. Wallace, I’m going to tell you one more time, then you’re not going to like my action.” The deputy shifted his gun belt. He wore a sand-colored uniform shirt, black trousers, and a shiny silver badge on his chest. He was fit and looked like he’d have been at home in the Old West with his wide-brimmed Stetson shading his eyes. He certainly seemed to mean what he said. “Get these folks out of the road right now, or I’m calling for a van and taking you all in to lock up for interfering with a public roadway. Do you understand?”

  Dr. Wallace nodded. “Okay, people. We’ve made our point for today. Meet back at my house for lunch.” She dug into her jacket pocket and handed Megan a business card. “Here are my numbers. I want that meeting sooner than next week.” She turned and headed down the road to where there were a number of trucks and SUVs parked on the shoulder.