Raylan_ A Novel - Elmore Leonard [36]
“You want,” Otis said, “I’ll disagree on what you done to my pond, my home. How do you like being disagreed with?”
Carol began with a pleasant tone saying, “In a couple of days I’m coming back to put on a big open meeting and hear from both sides, friends of coal and complainers.” Carol changed her tone to a whine, pretending to rub her finger over a flat surface as she said, “They’s soot all over my organ I play at Sunday worship.” Herself again, Carol said, “You know that old coal song? ‘We have to dig the coal from wherever mother nature puts it.’ That’s what coal mining is all about.”
“It don’t mention the mess,” Otis said, “strip-minin makes of your home. You ever live in coal country you know that.”
“I was born and raised in Wise, West Virginia,” Carol said, “till I went away to law school.”
“Was any soot on you,” Otis said, “it’s gone now. My wife’s never been belowground, but she’s dyin of black lung, sleepin next to me forty-seven years breathin my snores.”
“That’s sweet,” Carol said, “but I think you have revenge in your mean old heart, you say the company destroyed your home—”
“And his fish pond,” Boyd said.
“Blames the company,” Carol said, “for his wife coming to the end of a miserable life.” She said to him, “Otis, you’re here to pay us back, aren’t you? Looking at me thinking I’m the goddamn company. All you have to do is raise the shotgun.”
Otis stared at Carol, his face working into a frown. He said, “The hell you doin to me?”
“I’ll show you,” Carol said, put the phone to her face and said, “Brian . . . where are you?” She said, “Call the Harlan County sheriff. Tell him there’s been a shooting up on Looney Ridge.” She turned to Otis. “Some old man with a shotgun’s gone crazy. That’s it and hang up.”
“I ain’t crazy,” Otis said, “you are,” but didn’t sound sure of himself, saying again, “The hell you doin to me?”
She was close to Boyd as he finally reached behind him for the Glock, fitting his hand to the grip.
Carol said, “What are you waiting for? Will you please shoot him?”
Boyd turned his head, raising his hands in kind of a helpless gesture, saying, “I don’t see the need, he can’t hurt us none.”
Carol took a step and yanked the Glock out of Boyd’s pants, shoved him out of the way, extending the Glock in one hand and shot Otis twice in the chest.
Boyd looked from the old man lying on the ground to Carol, now telling him in her calm voice to get Otis’s shotgun and fire it from where he was standing. He heard her say, “I’ll tell the sheriff’s guys Otis opened up and you stepped in front of me to save my life.”
Boyd said, “I did?”
“You shot him, didn’t you?” Carol said, handing Boyd the Glock.
“Wait now,” Boyd said, “I don’t have a license to pack this weapon.”
“It’s registered to the company in my name,” Carol said, “but what do I know about firearms? I was afraid of Otis and gave it to you while we were in the office.”
“I want to be clear about this,” Boyd said. “You let me have the gun and I shot Otis when he opened up on us.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Carol said. “You’re my hero.”
Chapter Sixteen
They were in Art’s SUV driving out to the M-T Mining work site, “Where Boyd Crowder shot and killed Otis Culpepper,” Art said. “According to the police report maybe saving the life of this company woman by his action.”
“Or maybe shootin Otis,” Raylan said, “cause he felt like it.”
They were coming into Lynch.
“At one time,” Raylan said, “there ten thousand people living here. Population’s down to eight hundred, not much deep mining now. Towns change as the style of mining changes. M-T’s blasting away at the ridgeline, stripping the sides in layers down to what they dump over the side, the forest squattin below. I remember my buddies leaving high school, marrying a girl they knew all their life and going down in the mines. The boy can’t wait to have this little girl in bed with him every night, a cutie till she loses her teeth. Wears herself out raising kids while he’s out drinkin if he ain’t down a mine. He gets a hunk of shale fall on him, he’s laid up and can