The Stone Harvest - Chapter Two
The outskirts of Rathdrum, Idaho. - A view across the road from where the story begins.
Buy it on Amazon!
In anticipation of the upcoming release of my first novel, and perhaps with a hint of shameless self-promotion, I’m trying something new. I’ve already released the first four chapters of the book, The Stone Harvest, as a preview on Amazon, and as a follow-up, I’d like to share each of those four chapters with a bit of commentary on my personal attachment to them.
Go read Chapter One and its commentary!
This book began as a way for me to parse through the memories of my past life as a soldier and police officer to divide fact from fiction. My time in those fields provided me plenty of opportunities to see and experience the bad things that humans do to each other. Writing it was at times a tough journey as I had to wade through all that mental filth but I don’t regret it for an instant.
So many of my fellow Vets live the remainder of their lives never knowing or acknowledging how much their past experiences have affected them and their personal lives. Me, well, it took me several years and several failed relationships for me to figure out that PTSD had taken a toll on the quality of my life.
The Stone Harvest has been my way of bringing light and sunshine to the dark past. After the chapter below, I’ll share my thoughts and a bit of the history that I brought into that chapter.
Dan
Chapter Three
Tracy Goodson knew what she wanted out of life. Unfortunately, none of those things existed in this county so she did the best she could with what she had. Again, unfortunately, what she had was just enough to get her in trouble; poor parents, good looks, bad choices in men, and a strong will.
She was 24, a stunner, living in her mother's trailer in a trailer park in Athol, and dating a married coworker from the Upriver Paper Mill. Her youth and looks gave her a shot at life, but the trailer and Mill doomed her to a life far less than she ever imagined. Her fella, Barry Gillum, was fun enough company but she knew well enough that it wasn't true love. Yet she hoped ...
She had worked at the Upriver for going on two years now, mostly up in the office. Barry was a floor foreman that kept track of the logs coming in and the pulp going out. She had seen him at work often, and at a couple of the bars in the area, so it was easy to strike up a conversation with the cute but obviously not a bright man. The physical relationship followed closely, but the emotional one didn't. A relationship of convenience and fun. Barry was married, looking for unentangled fun, and had no desire to be any deeper into this than for sex and companionship.
Lately, there'd been much strife between the two because of the things she had learned about the Mill while going about her duties in the office. She had access to the company's reports regarding their discharge into the local waterways. She had seen the raw data, and she had seen the second, falsified reports that are sent to the EPA. If Upriver were putting as much filth into the rivers as she thought, the results would be a disaster, a sure shutdown by the EPA.
Her concern wasn't for the finned, furred, and feathered friends in the area. She was thinking that having copies of the real and false reports would be a bargaining chip for a payoff to keep her mouth shut. She had an instinct for this sort of self-serving act, but sadly, not enough wits or determination to pull it off on her own.
Before the end of their shift at 1630, Tracy found Barry and told him about her rough plan. She told him about the amount of filth being put into the river and about the falsified reports. He knew about all of that because he was a party to the creation of those false reports. He knew precisely how toxic their wastewater was. He suggested that they meet later at The Snoot, a shitty tavern tucked in the woods between the Spirit Lake and Blanchard. Talking about this kind of dirty business while at work just filled him with dread.
"Fine!", she told him outside in the yard, "You just meet me there. I'll show you the copies, and we can figure out how to handle this. This is our way outta here. We don't need much. Just enough for a start somewhere new. You can divorce that cow of a wife, leave her that shitty trailer, and we can get the fuck out of here."
"Gum Drop, you don't want to do this.", Barry feebly protested. "Mallard isn't gonna let that happen. You know full well that he can be a bit touchy about these things and he'll do what he needs to do to stay outta trouble. This is a bad idea, and it's not gonna end well!"
"You be there at 8! Am I the only one in this relationship with a set of balls?", she said. It came out as a half whisper, half hiss, the way that mothers talk to their children in public right before the child gets a whooping if they don't behave. She turned and walked away without waiting for a response.
Barry Gillum stood stunned for a minute. She was right. He didn't have the balls for this sort of thing. Plus, he knew that crossing the owner, Gerald Mallard would always be a horrible idea. On top of all that, he really didn't want to run away with this gal. Sure, Gillum hated his wife, and she hated him, but leave on a moment's notice like this. He was just banging this girl for a little fun. He may have developed some soft feelings for her, but in her desire to escape and start a new life, her dreams and emotions had gone and developed a fantasy and plan of action all their own.
He was stunned. After Tracy walked away, he stood in place for a solid three minutes thinking about how to handle this mess. As usual, in cases like this, he had no idea what to do except to talk to Cha about it. "That ol' fucker will know what to do.", he thought.
Charlie "Cha" Baker hadn't gotten his hands dirty at the Mill in several years. Back in the day, he had been a Bleacher, one of the crazy fuckers responsible for imbuing the milled pulp with a nasty variety of chemicals to make it useable down the road in the paper mills. Cha started at a timber yard up north on Highway 2 near Bonners Ferry at 16 and had been in the industry ever since. He wasn't afraid of hard work but was always smart enough to find a shortcut if it worked out well enough. Over the years, he wasn't too shy to push out a competitor or supervisor to get a promotion or a raise if the opportunity presented itself. Over those same years, he had gone through three wives and three children to whom he never paid much attention. Cha was not what one would call loveable.
Barry entered the same admin building as Tracy had but through the entrance that was inside the Mill. Cha's office was down the hallway from Mallard's. The boss always wanted to keep Cha within yelling distance if there was ever a problem to be solved. That's what Cha was now, a problem solver. Production problems? Cha could deal with it. Labor shortage? Cha could fill every role at Upriver that needed filling, either by himself or one of the many men he knew in the area that always needed work. A manager gets caught with cocaine or a hooker? Cha found a way to smooth it over with the Deputies or Troopers. Money or blackmail always worked.
This time it wasn't the boss that came to him with a problem. It was that dumbshit Baker. When he entered, Cha was in his usual spot, on the couch in the corner of the office next to the coffee pot. The office was an interior one and didn't have any windows. The paneling was the same fake wood that had been there since the factory was built in 1968 and the furniture didn't seem much newer. Though his cave was nowhere close to stylish, Cha was such a fastidious cleaner that the bleach and vinegar mixture that he used to clean the place had almost, almost worked to cover the smell of decade's worth of cigarette smoke.
Cha had been ordered by his doctor to stop smoking several years back, and though he was never one to take advice from anyone, Cha had coughed up enough blood and lung the previous months to think long and hard on that piece of wisdom. Between the menthol cigarettes and the chemicals at the factory, Cha figured he'd listen this time. He stopped smoking, cold turkey, years back and has never thought twice about lighting up again.
The office was sparse. The heavily worn tan carpet held an old metal desk near the far wall accompanied by a matching metal filing cabinet to the right. On the desk, a computer sat unused; a painful reminder that times were changing, times that Cha didn't want. In the corner to the left of the door stood the old teak and leather sofa, chair, and table that had sat in that space for nearly 40 years. This was where Cha held court. In all the times Gillum had been in the office, he couldn't recall a single time that he'd seem Cha at the desk. This was where business was done, next to the table with the coffee pot.
"We have a problem!" Gillum blurted. He had given a courtesy knock but still half barged into the office. Cha was sitting in his corner, waiting like a spider waits for a fly. Cha always seemed to know when something was about to happen. Maybe, Gillum thought, the old fucker just always WANTED things to happen, so he always stayed primed for action. He told his story as best he could, and Cha just listened, eyes soft but the wheels in his head turning.
"OK. I got this", Cha spat.
"You gonna tell the boss? This is gonna be a mess.", Gillum whined.
Cha took a moment, leaned forward, and stared back hard at the kid. "I got this. What time are you supposed to meet? 8? Pick me up at my place at 6:45. Don't say a word about this to anyone. Keep the meeting as planned and play nice. I got this. I got this."
Barry had known Cha long enough to see when an emotion poked out of him. Cha always had a cool demeanor, especially when in Vampire mode or whatever you wanna call it when he was just sitting in his barely lit office. It was no different when he was telling his story about Tracy, but near the end, when Cha had to make a decision, Gillum noticed an extra flicker in the eyes, an excitement. Was it stress or worry about the blackmail? No, he'd seen Cha stressed before and it didn't look like this. Cha seemed to be looking forward to this, excited about it.
The ride from Westwood to Blanchard was an unexciting one. This late in Fall, before the snow began in earnest, all the seasonal residents had departed, and no one was playing tourist in these northern backwoods. The sun had already set, and the close mountain range to the west blocked any of the slivers of the setting sun from lighting up the woods here. The headlights of Gillum's truck were the only thing bringing light to State Highway 41.
Cha sat noticeably silent, and Gillum knew better than to ask any questions when the old man was in this state. He wanted to know what was going to happen but was too worried about pissing him off. He knew that he was partially responsible for this mess, so it was best to keep as quiet as much as possible.
The Snoot was tucked away from the highway and barely visible behind the natural hedge of alder saplings, Hawthorne, and ninebark. Were it not for the few lights on inside the place, it could be easily missed by passers-by in the dark.
"Park in the back.", Cha said calmly. There were two other trucks in the front lot but only one in the back, larger lot, probably Rob's, the bartender.
"Park there!" he said as he pointed to a space in the gravel that was darker than the rest of the area. When they stopped, Cha said, "Give me your phone and go in and wait for her. Tell Rob that you're waiting for Tracy. Watch TV, drink a few beers, keep your mouth shut about anything else. Your phone will be here in your seat when you come back.
Barry just sat stunned for a minute and stared blankly at Cha. The old man looked calm but still had an air of excitement and animation that he'd never seen before. "Give me your fucking phone and get out!" Cha said more forcefully.
With the phone in hand and the kid out of the way, Cha went to work. It was 7:40: early but who knew if Tracy was going to be prompt or not. With his heavy coat on, Cha slipped out of the cab, shutting the door with as little noise as possible and walked about 100 feet into the woods to the west of the lot, grabbed a seat on a downed log and pulled Gillum's Razr phone out.
HERE EARLY. PARK IN BACK. NEXT TO MY TRUCK.
Cha texted like Barry would, all caps and curt language. Cha rarely said much, but he appreciated the English language more than the kid did. He also knew that cell service was spotty between Spirit Lake and Blanchard so she may not even get the text for a bit.
Ten minutes. The woods were dark and quiet. A car came from the north, parked in the front lot and all was quiet again. More witnesses to see Gillum sitting alone. Good.
Ten more minutes. The Razr vibrated with a new text from Tracy.
"K," was all it said. Cha wanted to know her ETA but decided against pressing it further. No worries. He saw the headlights and outline of her car appear moments later as she came close to The Snoot. She did what he asked. She pulled into the lot and chose a spot near the truck. It wasn't as close as he had wanted, but it'll do. Before she had fully pulled into the lot, he had moved from his spot and had started towards her, his left hand in the pocket of his green, Army coat that he'd had forever.
He did his best to keep a tree between him and Tracy as she pulled her car the last few feet into her spot, and when he got to the edge of the clearing, he waited. He was behind a big Douglass Fir about twenty feet from the car and to its 9 o'clock. Inside the car, it looked like she was fixing her make-up before seeing Barry. For the final time if he could do this right, Cha though.
She finished her fussing and opened her door. Cha moved. He moved towards her in an arch that brought him just behind her as she put one foot out of the vehicle. When he was ten feet away, Cha brought his left hand out of the pocket of his coat and pointed a Taser pistol, his newest toy, at the exposed flesh around her neck. He fired as she turned around and both of the electrodes stuck into her, one on her left cheek and the other into the soft skin of her throat. She didn't have any chance to react. When the electricity started to flow, her body froze, unable to make any movement at all. Cha kept the trigger pulled for a few more seconds just to ensure the power of the shock was complete, but when he released the flow of energy, she slumped to the ground.
Moving with a quickness, he pulled the electrodes out and quickly wound the fifteen-foot wires around the gun shoving the whole thing in his pocket again. He pulled out a pair of zip cuffs and secured Tracy's hands behind her, opened the rear door, grabbed her slight frame and tossed it in the backseat with the strength and ardor of a younger, stronger man.
He grabbed her car keys from the gravel where she had dropped them after the initial attack, then went over to Gillum's truck, opened the driver's door as quietly as possible, and set the kid's phone onto the seat. He shut the door as quietly as he had opened it and after a final look around, folded his large frame into her comparatively small car, and slowly exited the lot. He took a right turn onto Highway 41 and got lost in the dark, Idaho night.
The back side of The Snoot didn't have any windows, nor did the south side from which Tracy entered the lot, so the odds were good that no one saw her car as it arrived. The chances were equally good that they didn't see Cha driving it away a few minutes later. Inside the bar, 'Hold on Loosely' by .38 Special was playing on the jukebox while Gillum worked on his third Kokanee, waiting for a girl who would never come.
Chief Sanchez is an amalgamation of a few of the super remarkable female leaders I had or knew when I was in the military.
The popular notion of being a “soldier” is the guy who is kicking in doors or jumping out of planes to hit the DZ. Yes, that’s true, but sometimes a soldier drops into a hot zone to transport supplies to the combat folks, or to set up a field mess station or EPW (Enemy Prisoner of War) collection site. Sometimes they stay in the rear, making sure that all the beans and bullets head to the right place. And sometimes they patrol the streets back at the heavily-populated military bases and stand shoulder to shoulder with you when the bad shit happens.
The women that I had in mind when I wrote Chief Sanchez were exceptional soldiers. Not great female soldiers, just great soldiers. They had a mission and performed it with grace, muscle, will, and some ass-chewing along the way.
I needed a character in the book that understood Warren and his pained mindset, someone that had walked a similar path but came out with different mental results. PTSD can be like that, two people can experience similar things but walk away with dissimilar effect. I don’t overplay Warren’s psychological trauma in the book. Most of his interactions with the good people of Westwood seem entirely reasonable, and they may be, but Warren has his own internal dialogue about them. Sanchez needed to be there not just as a partner in this adventure but sometimes as a translator for the reader, or at least as a sympathetic ear.
Thank you again, for reading along.