A Casualty of Indifference

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DAVID SELBY

David Selby was born and educated in West Virginia. A veteran of stage, screen, and television, including such popular series as “Dark Shadows” and “Falcon Crest,” the actor and award winning author’s last novel, Promises of Love, won awards at the Paris and Hollywood Book Festivals and an award in the International Reader’s Favorite Book Awards. In 1989, he was honored as a distinguished alumnus of West Virginia University and was given the first Life Achievement Award from the West Virginia University College of Creative Arts. He received the distinguished West Virginian Award from the state in 2002.

In 2004, he received an honorary doctorate from West Virginia University.

He and his wife fund a guest artist series at West Virginia University, and he has made many guest appearances around the state.

David is a member of the Cleveland Playhouse Hall of Fame, and in May 1992, he received the Distinguished Alumnus Award from the College of Communications and Fine Arts at Southern Illinois University, where he had earlier earned a PhD. In 1999 he received the Millennium Recognition Award from the Shakespeare Theatre in Washington, DC. He lives with his family in California. For more information, visit DavidSelby.com.

A CASUALTY OF INDIFFERENCE

Mary Ellen Heater’s grandfather discovers a body while searching for cans and bottles at the local garbage dump. On closer inspection, he recognizes the body as his oldest granddaughter, Mary Ellen’s sister. It appeared to him that she had been shot twice in the head at close range. The grandfather’s discovery leaves the family shattered. Against her father’s wishes, a devastated Mary Ellen, determined to solve her sister’s murder, convinces her older brother to persuade the local kingpin of a known ‘drugs for guns’ place called “Deadend,” where her brother works, to hire her. She does not inform her brother why she wants the job, other than needing money. She does not mention her determination to gain information that will help solve her sister’s murder. Mary Ellen puts her promising singing aspirations on hold and with her grandfather’s help, she sets out on her quest to avenge her sister’s murder...which will have ramifications for the whole community.

DAVID SELBY

David Selby

Publisher Page

an imprint of Headline Books, Inc.

Terra Alta, WV

A Casualty of Indifference

by David Selby copyright Š2019 David Selby All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents, except where noted otherwise, are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any other resemblance to actual people, places or events is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any other form or for any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage system, without written permission from Publisher Page.

To order additional copies of this book or for book publishing information, or to contact the author: Headline Books, Inc. P.O. Box 52 Terra Alta, WV 26764 www.HeadlineBooks.com Tel: 304-789-3001 Email: mybook@headlinebooks.com Publisher Page is an imprint of Headline Books ISBN 13: 9781946664662

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019937114

P R I N T E D I N T H E U N I T E D S TAT E S O F A M E R I C A

To all those who have been on the front lines facing the many problems that have confronted West Virginians and others in our country.

Give us courage, gaiety, and the quiet mind.

Spare us to our friends, soften us to our enemies.

Bless us, if it may be, in all our innocent endeavors.

If it may not, give us the strength to encounter That which is to come, that we be brave in peril, Constant in tribulation, temperate in wrath, And in all changes of fortune and down to the gates of death, Loyal and loving to one another. —Robert Louis Stevenson

1 It appeared to him the skull had been crushed. He assumed the half-buried body had just been dumped in the entrance of the old abandoned mineshaft that locals used as a garbage pit. The mineshaft looked as though it could cave any time. The Captain bent over his oak-hewed cane, his head bent so far down into his chest that from behind he looked like the headless horseman.

Many thought he was ‘weird,’ withdrawn, eccentric, creepy, a cold wind, whenever they would see him walking the roads in his dark duster. He never acknowledged people’s stares, didn’t talk much to anyone. Many knew him by sight, if not by name, because he had hiked every hollow and mountain in southern West Virginia, and his loping gait was easily recognizable. Locals admired his discipline. Rain, snow or sleet, the Captain did his thing, not wishing to be disturbed. Some laughed that he was as spooky as some outsiders felt southern West Virginia to be – rugged, untamed, wild but not too wonderful - something dreaded, like the dense, deep mountain woods on a moonless midnight. His face, the lines deep, was tense. His hands were gnarled with arthritis. He carefully planted each foot and slowly bent further down to get a closer look at the victim’s buried face resting in the damp, coal dust, garbage-infested ground. He carefully brushed away the dirt and garbage and turned the face toward him, gently moving the matted hair aside. He made out what looked to be a woman’s mangled face. It appeared she had been shot twice in the head. The Captain suddenly realized it was his granddaughter’s face he was staring at. He dropped to his knees and pulled her lifeless body to his chest.

The Captain, winded, panting hard with tears and a little dizzy, held his granddaughter tight for the longest time. He 5

finally gathered the strength to lift her body. He felt an ache in the pit of his gut. Perhaps it was the fear of the unknown... or worse - the known. His granddaughter was dead. He was reaching for something he could not put his hands on or his mind around, trying to understand something that perhaps was not understandable, at least not to him at this horrible moment.

His weekly hike up the mountain was a time to meditate, to ask forgiveness for being weak, for not having done enough...to question - what is right, what is love, what do we owe each other.

On reaching the top of the mountain, he would always feel at ease, at peace, centered. The mountain was his psychiatrist. As he walked back down the mountain, he would have some sense of who he was. The troubles he had, the fears, the obstacles, would seem to dissipate after a stay on the top of a mountain. It was a rhapsody for the soul. Now, holding onto his granddaughter’s lifeless body, he could only bury his head and cry, and yell...no, he screamed across the cloud-covered hollows to the mountains beyond - to God above! He cried, “God, God. Why?” The Captain had always been strong, and when he wasn’t, he pretended he was. He kept up a strong front. His emotional filter was broken.

But no one was there to see. It helped to cry, he thought. You had to be strong, practical, and productive to live in the mountains of southern West Virginia. You learned early on that you could not be vulnerable. He kept things inside. If you feel that you, like some West Virginians do, are an outsider, one who is somehow deficient, you know you can never give up. “Come on, please God.” The Captain’s kind was what America needed. Like many mountaineers, the Captain sometimes found it hard to be convinced that who he was and what he had to offer was what the country needed. “Me?” He found it hard to be fragile, to be weak.

That’s not allowed! Mountaineers are rugged if nothing else. But now here was a reality, an unpleasant truth, he could not face.

His granddaughter was dead.

His tear-filled eyes took in the morning mist with the thick fog rising off the Tug Fork River below and settling into the valleys of the southern Appalachian Mountains. The Captain rued the wishful thinking that the mountains would once again soar over the savage raping of their beautiful peaks. That was no more possible than the dream that coal was coming back. He had survived longer than many of his dearly beloved mountains, but now... “Why?” He never imagined he would live longer than 6

his granddaughter. He staggered a few steps to an outcropping of rocks and slowly lowered himself to his knees, careful not to jostle her body. The current order of things was not the way it was supposed to be. His grandchildren were to have better lives.

“Damn, damn...oh, God.” A wood thrush momentarily diverted his attention from smoothing her hair from her still beautiful face, which had camouflaged the dents of her wrecked life, her isolation and loneliness, like the thick wondrous trees camouflaged the slurry ponds and abandoned mines and chemically laced water. He had prayed for his granddaughter not to give up. He knew she was on the verge of turning her life around from depression and addiction. His prayers had faced other challenges, but he found himself in a quandary, never more so than at this moment, when his latest prayer had left him doubting the power of prayer. He coughed a couple of times to clear the phlegm and wiped his weary eyes with the sleeve of the arm that wasn’t holding her head. He thought, looking down on her face if a kinder system had only seen the grace and loveliness of this young woman he called Precious.

The Captain knew that despite his granddaughter’s beauty, she had been, like so many, expendable. He was almost positive he knew her killer was close...one of their own, a terrible thought, one who knew no restraint in enriching his power while the rest put their heads in the sand, refusing to deal with reality. Indifference killed his granddaughter. Here on the mountain, holding Trudy’s cold body, the Captain vented his anger, frustrations, with shouts to ‘Almighty God.’ No one could hear his tearful tirades. A short time before, all was right with his world, as right as it was ever going to be. His granddaughter had told him she was going to be fine. “More than fine,” she had said.

Through his tears, he suddenly remembered the world had first come to his home over a year or so ago. The knock at the door was tentative at first. Despite living far up hollow, a deadend hollow to beat all hollows, there was a slow then determined knock at his door. He opened the door enough to see a welldressed man.

“Is Trudy Heater here?” the suited man asked.

“Who wants to know?” asked the Captain.

The suit flashed his card. “Agent Wayne Anderson, FBI.” The Captain took a long look at the man.

7

“Are you lost?”

“Her mother said I might find her here.”

“She only overnights when she’s not getting on at home, but she’s not here now,” smiled the Captain.

“My wife knows her mother,” said the agent. “They are both teachers at the high school. She told my wife that she thought her daughter would like to talk to me,” said Agent Anderson. “I thought maybe she would talk to the some of the high school students about the dangers of drugs. I think they might listen to her rather than someone like me.”

“Afraid I can’t help you.”

“I’ll try again. Sorry to bother you.”

There was a quiet homage to the dead amid a soft rustling of the last remaining leaves that were, like the Captain, holding on. He contemplated, wondering if he should bury his granddaughter on the mountain and let the poor soul rest. But he was wise enough to know we learn by going where we have to go, to not give up, even through unchartered waters. The Captain remembered the suited man who came to his door that morning and knew what he had to do.

He carefully laid his granddaughter’s body on the ground and pulled a burlap bag from his coat pocket, one he used to collect litter on the mountain. He gently pulled the bag over his granddaughter’s body, again bending to kiss her cheek before covering her face – a lost soul whose cries were not heard or were, perhaps, simply ignored. He lamented that Trudy had been trashed, discarded, like the land where she had spent her life.

That told the Captain something about the time he was living in and about his fellow man. He hesitated a moment, sucked in a deep breath, his fingers arthritic with little round marble knuckles. He could still grasp his walking stick, and he needed no stents to keep his ticker going. Using his cane for support, he lifted the burlap bag-enclosed body and carried it the remainder of his way. His eyes were straight ahead, knowing there was no satisfactory answer. But that would change, he promised himself.

That afternoon the weather had turned cool, dark, and dank.

He drove, with the covered body of his granddaughter in the bed of his pick-up, to Agent Wayne Anderson’s F.B.I. Office in Beckley. Agent Anderson greeted him warmly.

“Captain Heater. It’s been awhile.”

“Wasn’t sure, when I called, if you would remember me.”

8

“I sure do. I was looking for your granddaughter then.”

“Yes, well, I have brought her to you.”

The Captain walked back to the bed of his pickup and pulled back the blanket that covered his granddaughter’s body, resting on his sleeping bag. He motioned for Anderson to have a look.

Anderson did.

“My granddaughter,” said the Captain. “The girl you came looking for.”

“I’m sorry,” said Agent Anderson after a long moment.

“Where did you find her?”

“Near the foot of the mountain, not far from where I live. She was half-buried at the entrance of a mineshaft full of garbage.”

“How long ago?”

“This morning.”

“I see,” said Agent Anderson.”

“I was trying to decide if I was going to let her parents and sister see her body...as you can see, the back of her head’s practically blown off. I decided not. Better they remember her beautiful face. I came here because I had no choice. The locals would scratch their heads and fill out a meaningless report. That would be it. The FBI hasn’t done much better in these parts.”

Agent Anderson nodded. “I’ll have to send the body to the lab.”

“You’ll let me know the results?”

“Of course. I’ll also need to have photographs of where you found her.”

“I didn’t see anything there. People dump their trash.”

“Captain, I’m sorry I never got to see your granddaughter.”

“Yes. She was in drug rehab at the time. I didn’t tell you,” said the Captain.

“I understand.”

“She told me she was better. She said she had a wonderful job. She seemed happy. Trudy was a good girl, popular, like her younger sister. Hadn’t given up on having a better future.

Now that future is gone. Drugs, Agent Anderson, directly or indirectly, robbed me of my granddaughter. Trudy sacrificed everything for drugs, I think, every meaningful relationship in the obsession for... what? Another high? Is that what they say? I don’t pretend to understand this world. But these dealers, drug companies, whatever, are killers, murderers is what they are.

Trudy’s supplier, I wager, was and is pullin’ in several thousand a 9

month selling pills and guns, whatever. She was involved with a couple of movers and shakers in Charleston. I had wanted her to come in and talk with you. She was afraid, I think.”

“We’re getting closer to indicting some people. It’s possible your granddaughter knew too much. Just speculation.”

“Doesn’t matter. She’s gone.”

10

2 Except for his expanding stomach, Dewey Long was a walking advertisement for “clothes make the man,” an unusual sight in the southern mountains. He was seated in a cushiony leather chair with one leg up on a salvaged metal table in a grimy office of one of his used-car lots. He unbuttoned his sport coat to give his ever-expanding girth, which matched his ego, some extra room as he studied the checkerboard, weighing the pros and cons of his next move as intently as he would weigh the advantages and disadvantages of a more honest life, or at least a less corrupt life than the one he was leading as the major, drug and pills for guns dealer in the southern Appalachians - a life where he didn’t have to keep looking over his shoulder. But Dewey was placated by the notion that he knew all the answers. Dewey’s “special favor man,” when he needed a big favor, was Charley Wise, and wise Charley was. Not a compassionate man, Charley. He was a savvy Charleston power broker, part PR man and part big time state lobbyist who had an almost likable no-apology take on “what’s in it for me.”

“You sure you want to make that move?” Charley asked Dewey. Dewey leaned over the checkerboard, his fat belly pressed under the table’s edge, so the table actually sat on his belly. He smiled at Charley, like the cat about to devour the mouse.

“I’m always sure,” said Dewey.

“Yes,” smiled Charley, “never an anxious moment.”

Dewey was more of a client of Charley’s than a friend. Dewey was in debt to Charley for having bailed him out of a couple embarrassing situations – the pregnant mistress who had been paid off to keep her out-of-state abortion quiet. Then there was Dewey’s recent well-publicized nasty divorce, where Dewey 11

was charged with wiretapping his wife’s phone and bugging her house.

“She testified you tried to run her down with one of your used cars.”

“So what? A new one would have been a waste of money. My detective spotted her cavorting with the damn judge in the back seat of her SUV. And this was a couple of months after she had won big in our divorce settlement, coincidently, with the same judge who ruled generously in her favor.”

“We all read about it. You had to be restrained and dragged out of the courtroom, all the while screaming, ‘you pig! My wife is a pig!’”

“The bitch pig was wearing a big smile.”

“You lost your well-mannered cool, Dewey.”

After the divorce settlement, Dewey pleaded poverty. But it was hard to feel sorry for Dewey. His used car lots spread throughout southern Appalachia like dandelions. His car collection included a couple of MG’s, a Hummer that was all decked out aka military, and several antique trucks. He also had a plane stored at Yeager Airport in Charleston. The court had ordered the plane be sold with half the money going to Dewey’s ex.

“She’s the ex-wife from Hell,” said Dewey. “She walked away with half of everything I own.”

“Excuse me, Dewey, if I don’t expect to see you homeless.”

“She got the Country Club Drive house and immediately changed the locks.”

“I believe you went in and removed the living room furniture.”

“She also walked away with a generous share of my cash - a good chunk of which had been stashed high up in the eave of the garage. Somehow she knew where it was.”

“Dewey, you sound a bit terrified by the prospect of not being sure of your next move.” Charley looked down at the checkerboard and made a move that had Dewey cornered, though Dewey didn’t realize it. “Didn’t I tell you, Dewey, about making sure you had a soft place to land?”

“A fair portion of my ill-gotten gains is undeclared and hidden overseas.”

“Spoken like a true and ardent anti-tax, anti-government man. You paid a price for your ex to keep her mouth shut about your business. Silence can be expensive. Killing her would have 12

been cheaper,” said Charley.

“I tried,” said Dewey. “Couldn’t get anyone to do it, especially since she’s now rumored to be the girlfriend of Sheriff Goodson.

Hate that tin-badge son-of-a-bitch.”

Truth was, Dewey hated most people. Charley had not been surprised when Dewey showed up at his Charleston office in need of a favor. He had always found Dewey to be rather entertaining.

Prior to the divorce, Dewey had put road kill in his ex’s mailbox and sent her banana muffins, her favorite, sprinkled on top with rat poison and bits of the court order that had ordered him to keep away from her. Then there had been the tax problem Dewey had with the IRS. He had neglected to pay over a half-million in taxes and fees for government land he was using for his cattle to graze on where drug agents found a sizable crop of thriving marijuana plants. Dewey also had, a few years before, stiffed his employees for a million by withholding payroll taxes for himself. Then there was the cocaine conviction. But Charley told authorities Dewey would help with their drug investigation. He told Dewey to sell cocaine to a couple of business associates in a set-up. It worked. The business associates were convicted. It also didn’t hurt that the former business associates were competitors of Charley’s in the PR and lobbying game.

Some people jokingly speculated as to how Dewey made so much money from his used car lots. Mountain people were practical, and many bought used cars rather than new. It was all Charley’s doing. Slicker than ice he was. Charley had convinced Dewey to run a television ad campaign with himself as the pitchman. He had Dewey dress up as a city slicker with an evil mustache that he twirled while waxing on to the television camera, “Would you buy a used car from this man?” Charley early on had zeroed in on the fact that Dewey had an elevated view of himself. “God,” Charley called him. At the time, Dewey could have sold God a used car. Dewey was bombastic but funnily so, and it was hard to hear anyone else’s opinion, especially on gun control, but his passion for cars and his knack of having a way with people, Charley felt, would make for good television ads. Dewey created a larger-than-life personality, where truth be damned, where embellishments ruled, like a sick child-like warlord. Everything was “brilliant,” fantastic,” “phenomenal.”

Dewey simply played himself. He loved the attention television brought him. He gloried in it. But after the divorce, he was feeling 13

financially pressured - an exaggeration to say the least. There were still plenty of spoils to go around.

Used car lots had a lot of traffic, and Charley, at first, had teasingly floated the idea to Dewey that used car lots could be a good delivery system for drugs. Dewey laughed, but he didn’t need the hint. He had been using the Avis system for several years. He had even convinced a like-minded nursery wholesaler to let him pack guns and drugs in the bottom of plant containers, targeted for delivery to nurseries up and down the east coast.

Dewey was very smart and innovative and proud of it. Only he had the key to the secret room of knowledge.

When Charley decided to expand his business, feeling that legalized weed was just a matter of time in the state, he invested in a start-up headed by one Henry Mann, a local African-American high school history teacher, who had once been Charley’s driver and the man who had first come up with the idea of Deadend, a mountain retreat where customers could kick back, and relax with a joint or two. However, a year or so later, Charley decided that a black high school history teacher was not the way he wanted to go.

“Why the change?” Dewey had asked.

“To be honest, my money people would not support a black-owned business. I assumed ownership under a dummy corporation and then installed Henry Mann as manager. That worked for a time, but my grander plans would have been in conflict with a manager who is black with a conscience and is a well-respected history teacher at the high school.”

At the time, Charley, always thinking, suspected that Dewey’s reputation would not suffer being the owner, on paper, of Deadend. No one would be surprised. Charley knew Dewey did whatever it took to win, no matter the game and with a ‘fuck you’ nod to the law. Charley had an idea for Dewey that would help bail him out of his little imagined financial setback.

“How is your ex?” asked Charley, knowing full well that the ex was one of the few who had never been fooled or put off by Dewey’s brashness. When she filed for divorce, Charley rightly suspected that she knew where the bodies were buried, literally.

“How is she? She’s rich, that’s how she is.”

“She saved your ass back when she said you were with her at the time your associate was silenced.”

14

“And so I was,” said Dewey.

“Well, silence is golden. I’m just saying, according to the newspaper, she had your back with an alibi.”

“Anything’s possible,” said Dewey with a smirk.

“All you need is money.”

“All she needed.”

“A lot of it. Yes?” “Yeah. So what’s new? This place is not on your radar,” said Dewey, nodding his head.

“You claim you’re not as flush as you were before the divorce?”

“It’s true. Christ, I’m lucky to have the clothes on my back.”

“Funny man, you are. Doubt you’ll be filing for unemployment anytime soon, what with all your off-shore accounts.” Charley smiled his PR best. He knew he held the cards. Dewey’s addiction to acclaim, power, and pretty women had left him with no choice.

“Why are you here?” asked Dewey, contemplating a checker move.

“I like checkers,” said Charley. “But I do have a proposition for you.”

“I’m listening,” replied Dewey.

“I need a front man for that club I told you about. It’s a half hour up the mountain from Last Chance...a legit club, but if you feel like running astray, doing a little business on the side,” Charley grinned, “all you need do is put a camera at the bottom of each end of the mountain and you’ll have a half-hour warning of any law officer.” Charley gave a little laugh as if he were joking.

But he knew all he had to do was plant the idea and give Dewey time to chew on it.

Dewey was blatantly obvious in his ‘above it all’ attitude concerning the law. He liked to brag about never paying taxes.

Charley couched Deadend as an opportunity for Dewey to score big, to help his cash flow. Dewey had gotten used to a certain standard of living that only the richest West Virginians enjoyed.

Though relatively few were in the top brackets, Dewey’s used car lots along with his extracurricular activities had, prior to his divorce, put him up there with the elite.

“I figure since your divorce, my offering comes at a good time. You need quick money, cash. Right?”

“Can always use money. What have you got in mind?

“You have to be in the game. That’s the fun. What else will 15

you do, Dewey? Become a health care or social assistance worker who pays less than Walmart?”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead at Walmart, not in my life. They got a stranglehold on this fucking state,” replied Dewey with all the disdain he could muster, which was considerable. “There isn’t a single Costco in the state, not one! I have to drive to Cincinnati!

Country’s going to pot.”

“Let’s hope,” laughed Charley. “You’re shopping at Costco now?”

“I told you! People today can’t even afford a used car. Why? There used to be a dozen or so working coal mines on my way to my office. Now, I’m lucky to pass one.”

“I believe you’ve had a pretty lucrative sideline - from Atlantic City to Miami,” said Charley.

“You’re right...Had. The heat’s been turned up. Boy Scout sheriff and FBI homeboy trying to earn do-good badges.”

“So what’s your choice? Go legit? What else? Move up north with the Marcellus shale folks and the pot of gold called natural gas, or go to the eastern panhandle - the once new bedroom community of DC - plenty of money there with your ambassadors and other DC celebrities - good cocaine - heroin market. Down here, Dewey, you’re stuck. Western coal is the new golden child.

So, it’s better to push the envelope. Agreed?”

“Depends on what’s in it for me?”

“A way to recoup from your divorce and have some fun,” said Charley with a sly grin. “Listen, we could hit the jackpot. You’ve got to adapt. It’s what you make of it, Dewey.” With that, Charley smiled again. “You’ll be your own man, like always. Remember how you started with one used car lot? One commercial? Well, in time we can have clubs all over the state. This business could expand, fairly quickly, too.”

“Yeah, but the Internet is the store, Charley, even in southern Appalachia.”

“E-bay for drugs?”

“Oh, Charley, please, I’m taking your advice – legit it is.”

“And if I believe that...” Charley laughed. “That’s how we go, bricks and mortar are just for show,” Charley sang. “We’ll take options on property up and down the Ohio. When legal pot comes, we’ll be ready. You and me, pal. We will be the sole distributor down here, up and down the Ohio, along with the eastern panhandle, the whole state.”

16

“The whole east coast,” added Dewey. “But legal weed was voted down. The feds got to the politicians and, as you know, my hatred for politicians runs deep.”

“Let bygones be bygones, Dewey. It’s just a matter of time,” assured Charley. “We’re working on it.”

“Politicians are afraid that medical marijuana will lead to other uses,” laughed Dewey. “Forget it.”

“That’s the idea, other products. I see little difference in having a beer or a couple of shots of whiskey and a joint,” said Charley. “Don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable or that they’re doing anything wrong if they smoke a little weed. It will take time here, I know. We just have to be patient. Medical marijuana has been passed into law. Unfortunately, it prohibits marijuana in its natural, flower form. Still, it will be a win-win. West Virginia can get $45 million in taxes and save $17 million currently spent on enforcement. Weed can have a positive impact on the opioidbased painkiller and heroin epidemic by offering another, lessaddictive alternative to people.” They both knew the pressure was on to aggressively prosecute drug abuse. Prescription pill abuse had long been a problem, thanks to people like Dewey.

The deadly heroin overdoses led the nation by far.

“So weed is the answer. Pills have a bad rep now,” said Charley.

“So bad that the small and quiet weed growers are generally left alone, and the state’s Federal court does not welcome weed possession cases. Public opinion about weed is changing.”

Dewey knew the federal attorney for southern West Virginia was going after the pill abusers, but heroin overdosing had taken some of the pressure off. “One thing persuasive for legislators,” Charley told Dewey, “is the tax money generated, after regulation costs, could be used to set up substance abuse programs and drug prevention programs in the schools. Think about it. That’s good PR for the politicians. If there’s money left over, they can build a veterans’ home in your area, Dewey. You’ll be a hero, a star. Whatever, I would advise not getting married again or make sure you have a prenup. But I don’t want any monkey business, Dewey. Guns for drugs could upset the apple cart.”

“Every place has its thief and druggie, Charlie...hey, the government bailed out the banks, you can put me back on top.”

“Fair enough. The mountaintop club is the first one.”

“Prototype,” said Dewey.

17

“Yes, and it has to be right. I’ve already got a lawyer involved.

We’re going to file for distribution rights all through the state.

Got to do it before Starbucks does.”

“Get them before they get you?”

“You got it, Dewey. No mercy for the enemy. We’ll locate the dispensaries in strategic spots where legal marijuana can be enjoyed.”

“If it’s ever legal. You know that good people don’t smoke weed.”

“Sure! Relax, my friend, it will be. It will be up to each state to decide. They’re not going to take away any freedoms that are already in place. That’s a big fight. Trust me. It helps to have friends on the inside. Our man’s in the White House.”

Dewey assumed Charley knew what he was talking about.

Dewey appreciated Charley’s contacts, his sources of money. He appreciated Charley’s lobbying the state legislature, so he didn’t mention the fact that three of Charley’s clients in an adjacent county, including a sheriff and county commissioner, had recently been convicted of election fraud and sentenced to prison. But no one in the state knew better where the bodies were buried than Charley. Dewey knew Charley was well insulated. Impunity was the word that came to mind with regard to certain politicians and others who, like himself, played loose with the law. Dewey grew up amidst the seedier side of southern West Virginia and had long seemed well insulated with layers of friends, like Charley, with political and economic power - not unlike the time-honored Sicilian mafia.

Rising prosperity in northern West Virginia had not trickled down to the southern portion of the state. Many shops had been boarded up. And while the people of southern West Virginia were wary of outsiders, they still could be very warm and welcoming with offers of food and drink. They didn’t appreciate the ‘woe is me attitude’ of some writers. But they also didn’t appreciate having their noses rubbed in the squalor, as they felt happened when Obama put a dagger through coal’s heart. People tended to know, or at least think they knew, what their neighbors were up to, and if there were some hanky-panky at Deadend, it wouldn’t take long for people to know.

“You know, Dewey,” said Charley, “the price of doing business in southern Appalachia is dealing with some dishonorable characters, present company excepted. It helps to know who 18

they are. Certain families still have power and money. There is nepotism and corruption, like in Greece. It’s part of their history and ours. People feel abandoned, subservient when the power’s in the hands of a few... but we are the system. After the pizza place closure and your marriage falling apart, you’re going to have to re-insulate yourself with a man like me. I don’t have any big solutions, no ‘almost heavens.’ But I can keep you going, keep you out of the devil’s kitchen. In short, Dewey, my offer is too good to pass up.”

“I like the way you talk, Charley.”

“We want weed to be legal. The politicians, some of them, can make things difficult. Would they stand up for us if we get in trouble? Not on your life. Take your ex.”

“Please.”

“As I recall, she ruled the school board with an iron fist and gave jobs to most of her relatives. She also had, years before, ironically, given Henry Mann his teaching job – thinking that hiring an African-American would take the sting off her putting so many relatives on the county payroll. She’s the demonic despot of the hills, even more tyrannical than you. Is she smarter?”

“I taught her everything she knows.”

“You did a good job. The last governor dared not visit her hills without a bevy of state troopers at his side. Hell, being a public office holder is a license to steal – sheriffs, mayors, even dogcatchers. It’s the few bad apples that paint all the good people.

But what do you do? Wink at it - that’s what we do. I sleep better, trust me.”

“Wink at it, huh.” Dewey laughed, thinking Charley was a little casual with his ‘nothing to worry about.’ It sounded like the slick PR man that he was. “You haven’t been an angel, Charley.”

“I’ve told a few fibs in my time, and you’re no saint by any means, Dewey. So I’ll keep my eyes open because you might be, I dare say, tempted to bend the law.” Charley said that without a smile. It was a warning.

“Me? Whatever gave you that idea,” said Dewey and chuckled.

“Besides Deadend is out in nowhere land... a private club, right?

The sheriff won’t touch it as long as I don’t flaunt it in his face, and everyone keeps his mouth shut. You really think legal marijuana has a chance in this state?”

“According to my contacts, the war on marijuana is like the war on poverty - it will never end. Eventually, weed will be legal.

19

The state will propose a limit on possession, and they want to have,” Charley laughed as he said, “Compassion Centers.’”

“Legalized marijuana will help alleviate a lot of problems,” said Dewey, “even in West Virginia there is income inequality.”

“Is there now?” Charley laughed.

“That’s why you’re so good, Charley. You have no compassion center. You know where the money is so you can be the first to hit up the few who have it.”

“I try,” said Charley. He looked at Dewey for a moment. “It’s a shame about Trudy Heater.”

“If you say so,” said Dewey after a moment.

“What do you know about what happened?”

“Nothing. Can’t say I’ll miss her. Certainly won’t miss the newspaper hounds sniffing around.”

“What did you expect, Dewey?” Dewey didn’t say anything.

“It’s the newsman’s job to sniff out the truth. Trudy was smart and pretty and could charm the tightest tightwad. She was a big help to me, especially with certain buyers who neglected their payments.” Charley smiled.

“Like you, Charley, I have no compassion center.”

“I’ll remember that. Trudy was a good woman. She had cleaned up her act. If you hear of anything, you let me know.”

Dewey was silent.

Charley decided to drop the subject. “We want to be the distributor of all the products that might develop. My legislature man will draw up a resolution hailing the number of illnesses medical marijuana can treat.”

“Including cancer and epilepsy?”

“Yes, along with alcoholism and a slew of others.”

“Pain. Weed helps pain. I know that for a fact,” said Dewey.

“Social Security is on the horizon for us. Not all bad news – unless they cut it.” With that, Charley laughed. “The state needs money. Community gardens and farmer’s markets are nice, but they won’t help the bottom line. Natural gas is in the driver’s seat now. It’s holding the gun. The governor knows a majority of people support legal marijuana in West Virginia. We have to wait and see what the feds will do.”

“Why? Colorado and Washington didn’t wait. 20 states have legal medical weed.”

“We have to control access,” said Charley. “They don’t want to create more problems. Have more kids turning on, getting high.”

20

“That hasn’t been the case in the states that have legal weed!

Use has pretty much been the same and dropped in some cases,” said Dewey. “Plus they drink less beer.”

“I’m impressed. You’ve done your homework. Maybe weed and alcohol complement each other,” said Charley.

“You think?”

“The state would like to make some money on this if it comes to pass, which I’m sure it will. We just have to be patient.

Depending on how dispensaries are run, some make money, some don’t. Fees will cover the costs so taxpayers won’t have to.

It’s a win-win for us, Dewey, if we play our cards right. Not the way you play checkers.”

“I love checkers,” said Dewey.

“But you have a tendency to be overly optimistic, cocky. You take chances because you’re too greedy and suddenly you find all your kings in a vulnerable position to be jumped. At those times, your wife, now ex, delighted watching you go down in a blaze of expletive glory.” With that Charley jumped Dewey’s king and had his one remaining king cornered. Neither man was smiling.

21

3 Years before, right after 9-11, Agent Wayne Anderson was reassigned to New York. Like most agents, he had felt a responsibility in not having stopped the terrorists, but also felt the Bureau was under-funded. For a dozen years, he loved the action in New York, but grew tired and decided he was ready to move on. There was a new challenge in southern Appalachia. Anderson and his wife, Elizabeth, were natives of southern Appalachia.

“We can help,” Elizabeth said. “We both know there are challenges, but we also know there are a lot of good things being overlooked because of all the abuses of power, not to mention the deflating issue of the stereotyped hillbilly. I know the state ranks near the bottom in terms of higher education, but I just heard about a young man who is helping generate work and training opportunities in southern West Virginia. We can help him fight the battle for a better place because they want it. It’s a beautiful land. And there’s a little coffee shop that’s better than Starbucks.”

“Are you running for office? We move back, that means their struggle’s going to be our struggle,” said Anderson.

“You wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“I wouldn’t? Being first in the country for overdose deaths’ is not a billboard sign to welcome people.”

“You’re an activist at heart, my dear. We can help - we can have an impact, help make it an exciting place for people to live and work. They don’t have to leave.”

“You sound pretty passionate.”

“I am. I think West Virginia will draw its children back home, like us. Also draw people from across the country, people who have never been there. It’s a place with real possibilities.”

22

“Wow! Guess you’ll be running for governor,” said Anderson.

“You don’t know what you’d be getting into. Those mountains were sold cheaply to outsiders long ago. The social structure collapsed. Let me tell you something, my dear. Police reports out of the southern West Virginia F.B.I. Office rivals New York City’s when it comes to crime - shootings, assaults, kidnappings, robberies, you name it. Buying a gun in ‘Almost Heaven, West Virginia’ is a whole lot easier than buying a gun in New York City.

There’s no shortage of gun buying opportunities. Guns are sold at stores, flea markets, pawnshops, or out of the back of pickup trucks. Dealers go there and buy guns on the cheap and then resell them, doubling or tripling their money. A five-hundreddollar gun from West Virginia can fetch $2,000 in Mexico. Heard enough? Oh, and don’t mention gun control, Governor.”

“That would bring the NRA out in force, I suppose,” said Elizabeth, smiling.

“You better believe it. Of course, if everyone is armed, there will be no crime, no killings. Hunger will vanish. We’ll all be rich.

And poverty, Governor, that’s another big problem and one of the reasons for the massive prescription drug abuse. I just read a report where a young couple, desperate, went into the crawl space of the girl’s grandfather’s house and cut open the sewer line to retrieve painkiller patches the grandfather had flushed down the toilet.”

“And I bet, Agent Anderson, you have unending statistics to back up why we should not move back.” Anderson laughed and hugged his wife.

“We’re moving,” he said.

“I knew you’d agree. I just feel it’s our calling. We won’t get rich, but that’s not the point. We’re meant to go back. I’m a good teacher. I can help the children. And you will be Watt Earp with a heart. We’ll be the last line of defense. Like the mountains, teachers, and F.B.I. Agents can inspire awe. It’s hard to convince prospective teachers or agents to go to the deep corners of West Virginia, Virginia, Kentucky, and Tennessee. But for us, it’s our place. Let’s go home,” said Elizabeth.

“Finding a place to live will not be easy,” said Anderson.

“Oh, we’ll find a trailer on top of a mountain, isolated with no cell-phone service.”

They hugged again and quickly started packing, the mountains tugging at their hearts, their sense of identity.

23

*** Soon after moving back, Agent Anderson decided to locate to the Beckley FBI office rather than the relatively new and large FBI center in Charleston. Beckley was awash in crime including violent crime. A couple of years later at the F.B.I. Office in Beckley, Agent Anderson sat glumly at his desk looking at a photo of another casualty of the drug epidemic in West Virginia.

It was a high school photo of Trudy Heater. For such a pretty girl, he thought, there should have been other photos of her, more recent photos. But there were none he could find. Her family said she didn’t like to have her picture taken.

He laid the photo down on his desk next to a wild, wonderful West Virginia brochure. The brochure was a mailing from the state’s tourism department.

“Only that it was true,” said Anderson’s friend and DEA agent, Walt Berry, sitting opposite. He was referring to the tourism slogan, ‘wild and wonderful.’

“The image of the rugged, free and independent mountaineer,” said Maxine, their secretary, “has been shattered. “What can I say? More mountaineers use mood-altering drugs than any other state.”

The DEA agents were faced with a hard reality. There was an epidemic of heroin and prescription pill abuse. Drug gangs were bringing fatal doses of the painkiller fentanyl to areas in West Virginia for resale. Anderson teamed with other DEA agents from Kentucky and Ohio to try and slow down the illegal sales of pills and heroin. If they worked together, Anderson was convinced they could make a big dent in the illicit drug trade. He ordered the most sweeping FBI raid the Beckley area had ever seen. The word quickly spread that the FBI agents were no longer simply well-dressed gentlemen who had no discernible effect on crime in southern West Virginia. Still, there was work to be done.

People were being shut out with nothing to fall back on. They were being blamed for not having the moral fiber to stand up to temptations. Drugs were breaking up families and leading to early deaths. It was a plague upon the houses. The Beckley FBI office, with the help of a DEA undercover agent, had arrested two doctors who had put 2 million Oxy pills out for consumption. The 24

straw that broke the camel’s back of denial came after Anderson arrested a “gun-toting granny,” who had turned to narcotics and had thousands of dollars in hand from peddling the drugs while grandchildren were living in her home.

In the years Anderson and his wife had been away from southern West Virginia, things certainly had not changed for the better, and nothing brought that into sharper focus for Anderson than the Captain’s granddaughter’s murder. Anderson agreed with the Captain who felt that Trudy Heater’s murderer lived nearby. Anderson was more determined than ever to rid the area of pills and drugs.

“Marijuana grow farms are in the area, sophisticated operations close by where she was killed,” said Walt. “They’re pretty big commercial grow operations.”

“Don’t know where the money’s going,” said Maxine. “The folks around there are hard workers. Most of them have fulltime jobs. Why work if they’re big-time sellers. They don’t have to work.”

“I think those are outside operations,” said Anderson. “You agree, Walt?”

“Yes. Like the prescription pill mills where the money trail ends in Charleston.”

“Where it turns legit,” replied Anderson. “Where’s the money go then?” *** ‘Paradise’ was the nickname for Last Chance, a small town tucked in a hollow near the borders of Virginia, Kentucky, and Ohio. There was a one block Main Street with no street lamps or parking meters and few secrets. Since Trudy Heater’s murder, the place had closed up. No one wanted to talk to Anderson.

The sheriff ’s office sat next door to a closed up pizza shop, where weed had been among the favorite toppings. Not too far down the road sat the pharmacy that Sheriff Goodson, then magistrate, had helped Agent Anderson bust as a pill mill. When Anderson took over, one of the first things he did was subpoena the phone records of the pharmacy. Turned out, a number of bogus prescriptions had been called into the pharmacy from a pain clinic. Anderson knew the “pill mill” pharmacies, an old 25

boy network, turned a blind eye to the fact that many of the pills weren’t being used for medical purposes. The pharmacy, Anderson suspected, had a financial stake in keeping quiet the number of phony prescriptions it filled from the pain clinic.

Agent Anderson and the DEA agent were struggling to catch up with the pain clinic because there was not much of a paper trail. The phone rang and Maxine answered. She listened for a moment.

“It’s for you, Wayne.”

“Agent Anderson here.” He listened for a moment. “No trace of the owner? You think it was sold to subterfuge what was really going on? The old owner can’t be traced? All right. Thanks.”

Anderson hung up. “The money trail has ended in Charleston again.”

“It’s the same story in another county,” said Walt.

“Yeah.”

“Doesn’t make sense,” said Walt. “Why the bogus prescriptions?”

“Money.” Anderson shuffled through some papers. “Not enough hours in the day to write the number of prescriptions they were giving out. The drug distributor sent 3.4 million doses to one county,” said Anderson. He showed Walt the report.

“Jesus,” said Walt. “How many people in the county?”

Maxine checked.

“25,900,” she said. Walt did some quick figuring.

“That’s enough pills for 130 doses for each person. This is bigger than we thought.”

“Whatever the pain,” said Anderson, “there’s a pill. Just about everyone who came through the door walked away with the same remedy; a prescription for a month-long supply of small blue pills called ‘roxies.’ Narcotics were prescribed to individuals that weren’t examined. They wrote more prescriptions for controlled substances than several West Virginia hospitals did during the same period.”

“Where did the pain clinic come up with all the pills?”

“Good question, Walt,” said Anderson.

“What do you expect,” said Maxine. “You know that guns for drugs and pills is a flourishing business. This is the lab report from the autopsy on Trudy Heater’s body,” said Maxine as she handed Anderson the report. “You’ll find it interesting.”

26

Anderson opened the report and read it. “Interesting all right,” he finally said. “She showed a small trace of ‘roxies’ in her system.”

“I went back and checked the records of the pain clinic and Trudy’s name was there. That was a couple of years back. They kept good records,” said Maxine.

“Yeah. Autopsy report says there was heroin in her system, too.” Anderson opened another file. “Once the buyer went through a batch of pills, he or she needed more money to buy more pills. First visit was $450.00 and $150.00 every time after.

And you had to go at least once a month. Trudy’s grandfather told me she had been trying to stop. He thought she had stopped.

Looks like she went off the deep end.”

“We’ve seized nearly $500,000 from bank accounts,” said Walt.

“Unbelievable,” said Maxine, shaking her head. “From down here?”

“Yep,” said Walt. “I think that’s just the tip of the iceberg.” He did some quick computing. “The two-year total, carefully noted here, was close to 5 million.”

“And God knows how much is hidden,” said Anderson. “They were seeing up to 400 patients a day.”

“And no one caught on till now,” asked Maxine “It’s a tight community. No one’s coming forward to tell us about Trudy Heater. That was why I wanted to interview her, hoping if I caught her at the right time, she would cooperate.”

“These doctors are monsters,” said Maxine.

“Yes, they are,” replied Anderson. “But there are bigger monsters out there running the show. Someone supplied the pain clinic with pills.”

“The drug companies,” said Walt.

“Not so much,” said Anderson. We have maintained steady contact with them, and they report to us any unusual pill amounts ordered by rogue doctors and pill mills.”

“I know people here want things to be better,” said Maxine. “I think a good job has been done educating about drug overdoses.”

“Yes,” replied Anderson. “But we have a huge fight on our hands. Corruption has been the status quo here and across the state line in Kentucky and Ohio. I’m afraid Sheriff Goodson has the attitude that it can’t happen here, meaning a devastating tragedy. But too many people are dying right now! It’s why I 27

wanted our office involved. You’re right, Maxine, I know people are trying. People are making their voices heard. Most of the people affected by the drugs are the same people affected with the flooding, the chemical spills, and, of course, the politics. But when you’re up against a rock and a hard place, the pain clinic was there. We close one, and another opens in the next county.”

Anderson shrugged his shoulders.

“When it comes to justice and health-care, it matters where you live,” said Maxine.

“We can cut one, or two heads off the monster, but we can’t kill the beast,” said Walt.

“Corruption is our problem to deal with,” said Anderson.

“And we will. Understand?” Walt and Maxine agreed. “Our immediate challenge is finding Trudy Heater’s killer.”

28

4 Trudy Heater’s younger sister, Mary Ellen, was numb. She didn’t think words alone could convey what she felt. She could not believe Trudy was gone. She remembered Trudy watching a whirly-gig spin in their mother’s garden. That was Trudy, spinning, going fast. Mary Ellen’s stomach churned of loneliness.

The quiet at times was overwhelming. She had loved talking to her older sister. They would talk for hours. There was so much to say, and no way to say it all. Mary Ellen, in trying to piece together the puzzle of Trudy’s murder, had found Trudy’s diary.

In reading it, she discovered Trudy didn’t want a funeral.

Dear Lord, we thank you for the bountiful harvest that is to come. I don’t trip acid every day. It is bad, the pills. Honest, God. Not exactly character building but neither is living here. There is plenty of blame to go around, but I don’t blame anyone. Just tired hearing about lonely, desperate people in double-wides. Holding hands at the welfare office, seeing kids in clothes that don’t fit. Tired of looking at fat people. It all makes me feel old. I shouldn’t be so depressed. I just can’t see a future. Don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me. I just turn up my car radio and drive like a bat out of hell. Screw the neighbors. Ended up at Dewey’s one night because he had drugs on demand at the drive-through-window there. So funny. Spent a lot of time at his house getting high. Then one night I came home and found my brother Desperado nearly dead, a syringe still sticking in his arm.

He miscalculated the dose. I want to do something with my life, something good. Tonight I tried. I told Charley 29

all I knew. I want it to stop. He says it will. If something happens to me, I don’t want any funeral. Oh God, can’t think of anything worse. Just want my ashes scattered to the wind. I love people, have good friends, life is all right.

Forgive me, God, but that’s the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Amen.

Why, Mary Ellen wondered, would Trudy think about a funeral unless she knew her life was in danger. Her diary gave no clue except that she wanted to get away. And who was the Charley she was working for? Trudy once mentioned that the police had never really looked for Dewey. If they had, Trudy wrote, he would be in a “ball and chain.”

Mary Ellen remembered the last talk she and Trudy had. It was one of the infrequent times when Trudy and Mary Ellen spent time with their brother, Desperado.

“I can imagine having to keep your life a secret,” Trudy had told Mary Ellen, who just had received a call from her boyfriend, Eddy, informing her that he was gay. She had been upset that he had never told her before.

“Your life is secret?” Mary Ellen had asked Trudy and smiled weakly. “I’m contemplating leaving the country.”

“Hell, everyone but you knew Eddy was gay,” said Desperado.

“Thank you, Brother, for reminding me.”

“Eddy’s gay,” said Trudy. “So what? It’s not the end of the world. Eddy won’t have to hide out and pretend he’s somebody else. I wouldn’t wish that on anybody. You can remember the good things about Eddy, the great times you two had together.

You can think about the secrets you both shared.”

“He never shared his biggest secret,” said Mary Ellen.

“It’s very painful to be forced into lying about your life,” said Trudy, “to keep pretending nothing is wrong. You’re trying to do the right thing, but still, you make the wrong decision. It’s hard to do on your own. People are not all bad and not all good. I know it’s painful for you, Mary Ellen, but I think Eddy has made the right decision. I know you felt he was the first boy you had any chemistry with and you think the roof has caved, and life as you knew it is over. But it’s not. Your life is just beginning.”

“I can’t believe you never had a hint,” said Desperado.

“Not until he sent me a two-word text, “I’m gay.” I laughed and texted him back. ‘What are you talking about, you’re gay?

30

Call me!’ He did. ‘I’m attracted to boys,’ he said, ‘and there are a lot of ‘hot guys’ here at Liberty.’ ‘Hot guys,’ I said. ‘Hot guys?’ He told me there was a guy in his psych class who had a David-like statue body. ‘What do you mean hot,’ I asked him. I thought he was joking.”

“But he wasn’t,” said Trudy.

“No.” “Oh, Sis, I’m so sorry.”

“Might as well have told me the moon is blue! Gay? Jesus. He said he had been afraid to tell me. ‘You’re telling me there’s no Santa Claus.’ I cried, then bawled... finally I hung up. I told him I never wanted to speak to him again. Never.”

“Made Eddy feel great, I bet,” said Trudy.

“I know,” said Mary Ellen, ruefully.

“When was this?”

“Five days ago! I told him he’d get over it.”

“Being gay?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think being gay is a fad,” said Trudy.

“He said it has nothing to do with me.”

“Maybe he is scared, honey, to admit he is gay.”

“He said not even his mother knows.”

“I believe it. Listen to me. There’s always another boyfriend, Sis. And don’t ever depend on a man, ever, period.”

“I resent that,” said a glum Desperado. He was still mourning the death of Glenn Frey of the Eagles. Desperado’s given name was Kevin, but when he heard the Eagles song “Desperado,” he decided to take it as his nickname. Soon that was all anyone called him. The name seemed apropos, though no one knew how accurate a description it was of Kevin. Desperado had tried to be a good older brother to Trudy and Mary Ellen. In grade school, they would wait patiently behind Desperado’s outstretched safety patrolman’s arms until the last coal truck lumbered by, and it was safe to cross what passed for a road. God forbid you ever met a loaded coal truck coming your way because the so-called road wasn’t wide enough for you both so you had to pull off into the ditch or risked getting creamed because coal trucks ruled the roads.

Desperado’s world had become a troubled one. The sun had set.

31

“Men,” Trudy had told Mary Ellen with disdain in her voice, “We women have been deceiving ourselves. We can’t see through the fog and mist of our own brainwashed opinions and see things as they really are. The prototype of the loyal, independent, selfreliant mountaineer is a myth. I bet Eddy feels relieved that his secret is out. Wish all my secrets were out, but God forbid all my secrets were out. Right, Brother?”

“Just shut up,” said Desperado.

“What secrets,” Mary Ellen asked, excitedly.

“My secrets,” replied Trudy.

“You hear things, you know,” said Mary Ellen, who always had her ear to the ground.

Mary Ellen remembered laughing with her sister at their brother. She replayed the conversation between Trudy and their brother.

“My secrets could cause quite a commotion in this town,” said Trudy. “The sheriff will sniff out your secrets, Desperado.”

“He’d like to sniff them up,” Desperado said. “Keep a lid on, you hear?”

“I told you, Brother, the gravy days are over. I know so much,” said Trudy. “Sometimes it just overflows.”

“You better watch your ass.”

“Dewey watches my ass all the time. Greedy son-of-a-bitch makes me feel dirty,” said Trudy. “He’s a sleaze-bag. He tries to make me feel shitty about being a woman. He hates women.

Don’t you be a greedy dick like Dewey,” she said.

“Dewey’s all right,” said Desperado.

“He’s going down,” Trudy had said in response.

“How do you know that?

“It’s simple. His ex is going to nail him to the cross.”

“You think the sheriff ’s banging Dewey’s ex?”

“She doesn’t tell me...everything,” said Trudy. “I know the judge is all over her like fly-paper. She laughs it off. She wears a very seductive fly-paper dress.”

“The judge is all over anything that wears a skirt.”

“Skirt? What’s that?” Trudy had laughed.

“I’m just making do,” said Desperado. “When you don’t have any money, you don’t have a lot of options!”

Mary Ellen knew Desperado had known early on that he wanted to escape their poverty. Money was the answer. He 32

bragged that he had been on his own since he was eighteen, the year he graduated high school and did not grant their father’s wish for him to attend college. ‘Don’t end up like your old man.’

Ironically, he had, Mary Ellen thought...like father, like son.

Desperado’s hopes for riches had never had any real basis, though he had no doubt he was destined to be rich. The intervening years gave no clue as to how he might accomplish wealth despite his numerous get rich schemes, which were mostly ill-conceived and dangerous. It seemed each progressive scheme got a little more desperate. Then he met Dewey, and Desperado’s world got a little brighter, or so he thought.

“You got a dollar in your pocket, you don’t mind a cloudy day. The mind’s a little clearer, and the stomach’s a little fuller!

Remember that, little sister.”

“I will,” said Mary Ellen. She would remember it all.

“And you, big sister, get off your high horse!”

“A dollar’s ‘bout what you got, brother,” said Trudy.

“And that’s all I’m gonna have if I follow your advice. That’s what’s sad. Dewey’s my way out. I tried to be straight, but I felt stupid. Stupid!”

“If you two are trying to depress me, it’s working,” said Mary Ellen.

“It’ll get very dark when Dewey finds out you’re moonlighting, Desperado,” said Trudy.

“Moonlighting? I take the table scraps.”

“Where’s Dewey right now?”

“I don’t know...sitting on the hill watching his soap operas probably.”

“Those table scraps add up. You better pray he doesn’t find out.”

“He won’t find out unless you don’t keep your mouth shut.

I’m warning you, Trudy.”

“What’s that saying; ‘Loose lips sink ships.’ Dewey wants me to leave.”

“He wouldn’t cry if you did.”

“Tell him to make nice, or I just might gab my head off to the F.B.I.” “You talk to the Feds, you’ll be over.”

“Dewey’s ex knows a lot. She’s got Dewey over a barrel, a money barrel.”

“She’s well taken care of to keep her mouth shut.”

33

“Sheriff Goodson? He knows some things.”

“You’d know about that, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, sure. Goodson’s a two-faced liar.”

“Is he lying about you putting guns under plants? I’m sure Dewey doesn’t intend to plant guns.”

“That’s bull.”

“If it wasn’t true, it would be funny.”

“Our dear sheriff is screwing Dewey’s wife,” said Desperado.

“Ex-wife,” said Trudy.

“Probably screwing my sister too.”

“In his dreams,” said Trudy.

“He’s tried to con some money out of Dewey,” said Desperado.

“What for?”

“Don’t know.”

“Maybe Dewey will pay me,” said Trudy. “Like he paid his ex.

What do they call it? Hush money.”

“You’ll get hushed all right,” replied Desperado.

“I could go on “Inside Edition” and tell all, right, Mary Ellen?”

“Yeah. Big news.”

“Hope you’ve made funeral arrangements,” said Desperado.

“Listen, I’ve got a chance to make some real money.”

“Like Dewey had you do with those used cars? Took a hammer to them, didn’t you? Then Dewey filed an insurance claim for vandalism.”

“Shut your mouth!” Desperado hissed. He picked up a book and threw it at Trudy. He missed.

“Maybe you can burn down another building for him.”

“Jesus! What’d I just say? Shut up!”

“This gun business scares me, Despo,” shouted Trudy. “The Feds want to talk to me. Mom’s heard things.”

“Have you told her?”

“About you? No. I told you, all anyone has to do is look at you! Mom’s heart is breaking.”

“What am I supposed to do, go on till I’m eatin’ slum?! I’m just trying to make ends meet!”

“By trading guns.”

“It’s guns or nothing! What do you want me to do? This place is in the toilet, ‘cause coal’s in the toilet, in case you don’t know it.”

34

“So’s Dewey, the white supremacist,” said Trudy. “And that’s where you’re going to be. The Columbus and Detroit boys - they play rough. They shoot, you say.”

“Their money spends,” said Desperado.

“Aunt Becky said you stole her food-stamps,” said Mary Ellen.

“You, too? Give me a break. I told her I’d pay her back! Fat bitch is responsible for half the obesity in this state. She steals everything that isn’t nailed down - stuff fallin’ out of her pockets.

Now she avoids me like I’m radioactive. What am I supposed to do, starve?”

“Find a new job,” said Mary Ellen.

“CVS and 7-11 aren’t my style. Good paying jobs are hard to come by. Maybe I’ll hit the lottery while I’m at it. You can’t take the rope of hope from a drowning man. Please. Spare me. Give me some time, you two. Right now, this is all the hope I got. I’ve done farming, done mechanical - if this is what I’m meant to do, I’ll do it.”

“Tradin’ guns for crack? Maybe the mayor can get you on with the county,” said Trudy.

“I got morals.”

“You can’t even spell ‘em.”

“You think so?”

“Spell ‘em.”

“I went to college.”

“You said you slept,” said Mary Ellen.

“Working for the county compromises our brother’s integrity,” said Trudy, sarcastically.

“The fag mayor’s eliminated all the freebies,” said Desperado.

“Gee, that’s a bummer. You’ll have to get a real job,” said Trudy.

“You should talk. Mayor’s pissing everyone off because he wants to get rid of all the ‘waste and ruin.’ We’re still a third world country in a country that prides itself on being the greatest. You see cheap housing? Jobs? Buses? Mom’s dad mined coal that helped make steel. Steel built this country, but who cares. I didn’t choose this place. I don’t choose to work here. But where do I go? China? You hate it here, Trudy, as much as I do. I don’t like hustling drugs. And when you and little orphan Annie here get on my ass, I feel even more of a failure, a bum whose next stop is the street! So leave me alone! Let me have this little bit of hope.

I’m not putting my hand out or wearing a sign that says, ‘need 35

help.’ A man’s gotta do what’s he’s gotta do. I’m working right now. Someone wants to have a good time, has a little habit – I’m here, a public service.”

“You ought to apply for a small business loan,” said Trudy.

“I’ve got the word out all over the county.”

“Yeah. You sure do.”

“Can’t sell it if nobody knows you got it.”

“There aren’t enough people in this whole county to eat all the pizzas you sell at Deadend. Dewey wished he sold as many used cars as he does pizza, I bet.”

“Get off my ass. It’s complicated.”

“It’s always been complicated here. Where do you sleep, what do you eat.”

“I just wanna live the simple life,” said Desperado.

“Oh, ‘I just wanna live the simple life,’ mocked Trudy. “You’re breakin’ my heart. I don’t fucking believe you!”

“So what do I do? I choose what I’m doing - better than hooking, Trudy. Probably better money too,” said, Desperado, as he slammed the door Mary Ellen wished that day had gone better, but it was like so many of the days then. She remembered trying to lighten things up.

“That was exciting - drugs, murder, and intrigue. Now if you tell me you’re both gay...” Mary Ellen had laughed almost hoping it was so.

“You would hit the trifecta,” Trudy had also laughed. “You’d be appreciated, little sister, up at Deadend,” said Trudy “I heard Deadend’s a hole, an old garage, where old men hang out,” said Mary Ellen.

“It’s old men mostly, during the week, talking big. They are powerless though, can’t make themselves heard - let alone understood. They have to figure it out for themselves, like all of us. They can’t blame Obama anymore.”

Like some of the regulars at Deadend knew, Trudy knew something had to be done. People had to re-engage, not just the lower class whites and blacks, but the one-time middle class that had been decimated and now, just perhaps, was on the verge, their dad had said, of picking up their hunting rifles and staging a military protest. Mary Ellen was convinced her sister had made up her mind to do ... something.

36

“No one, it seems, wants to mend the country’s differences,” Trudy had said.

“The country’s locked in an internal struggle that some, like dad, want to push to full-out war. It’s a blur of tears and aches. All the patrons of Deadend are desperate for miracles. All of us want to believe in God, but God doesn’t work here. On weekends, Deadend’s alive. The old men just watch. The place has good food, wine, weed, whatever - and used to have bands playing on TGIF’s. Henry Mann, our history teacher, was the one who fixed it up.”

“Mr. Mann?”

“Yes. He wanted to change things. Too bad he’s gone. He just disappeared. Dewey runs it now, turned it into a dump.

Desperado’s his gofer. The big competition’s the Gentlemen’s Club, which is just up the road from the Appalachian Bible College.” They had a good laugh.

“Appreciated,” said Mary Ellen. “Sounds good. My three years with Eddy were a big lie. Oh, my God.” “No. Not your lie,” Trudy had said.

“I think in some crazy way, it must be easier for Eddy than me. Eddy used me, but he had no choice. He said he felt bad.”

“You were in love.”

“Yes.” “There are lots of boys,” Trudy said.

“I don’t want a boy. Eddy was different.”

“Yeah, he was different.”

“Can you trust anyone after your life has been turned upside down by a lie?”

“You never suspected?”

“No! He played football!” Trudy had a good laugh. “He also taught me a lot about love, kindness.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“He’s had it rough living in a tin shed with a tarp for a roof.

Eddy’s dad, when he was drunk, would chase Eddy around with a meat cleaver.”

“That’s a good reason never to come home.”

“Yeah. My story’s a fairy tale, but it was my story,” said Mary Ellen. “I’ll have to make up a whole new story.”

37

“You will. You’re good at pretending. Your story with Eddy’s only a chapter, Sis. There’ll be many chapters in your story. Mom is right about The Voice competition. It would be a good chapter.”

The feeling came back to Mary Ellen when she had hugged her sister. As then, she cried.

“You wait and see. Mary Ellen, you’ve got a smile bright as the sun. You’ll be the best thing since sliced bread.”

Trudy had been excited for Mary Ellen to have the chance to get out of southern Appalachia. She, herself, had wanted to leave.

While she had managed to get out from under her father’s thumb, she had remained in southern Appalachia, much to her chagrin.

She had hoped that Desperado would stay in New York, where he had gone on a hope and Trudy’s dare. She had thought she would move there and stay with him. She had been disappointed when he returned to the hills. She couldn’t go on her own. For her, there would be no college or military, and a job at McDonald’s was not for her. Those jobs were hard to get anyway because there were too many people for so few jobs. She eventually moved to Charleston, the state capital, where she landed a secretarial job in the capitol building. With her looks and personality, she was popular among the mostly male politicians. It was at the capitol where she first met a charming man, she had told Mary Ellen, excitedly.

“Charley showed me the town and, in time, he provided me with introductions to some marijuana growers and buyers. These are not the Mom and Pop variety, Sis. These are big cash crops hidden in the mountains of good old southern West Virginia, eastern Kentucky, and southeastern Ohio. It’s huge. Charley said he needed a facilitator, in this case, ‘a good-looking woman with a discrete personality.’ I think some people I know,” Trudy told Mary Ellen, “probably think I’m pretty much of a loser because I moved back here, but I’m doing fine, thank you. But it’s not for you. Some days I wish this place would just blow away - blow it up - put it on the garbage pile. Drugs don’t do it. I’ve tried them all. Thought there wasn’t a pill, a drug I couldn’t handle. I was wrong. The hours got later, and certain things started happening.

Some days it was hard to get out of bed, nothing to do but get high. My self-worth, you hear me, is not at an all-time high.

I’ve stopped talking to people. Drugs offer no hope - trust me.

The best pill around is no escape. There’s not a pill in the world you can control. I thought I could. I was wrong. One pill and I 38

was addicted. All these years later I wake up, and I’m still here.

I’m lucky. I was just in high school when I ended up at Dewey’s because he had pills or weed on demand. Pills or heroin - doesn’t matter. Both get you high. When the pills ran out, I switched to heroin. It was cheaper and easy to get. Heroin took hold, and it won’t let go. It takes over, and nothing else matters. Prescription drugs became somewhat more scarce and costly. So heroin was the cheaper option.”

“Why didn’t you go back to the clinic?”

“I never got better there,” said Trudy. “I tried everything. You see all sorts there. One of my old teachers was there. Mom was shocked - like people pretend to be shocked when they hear about the next disaster to hit these hills. Don’t tell me again that heroin’s a tragedy and an on-going problem. Don’t feel sorry for this small, impoverished place. Nothing here. Don’t ask who lives here. ‘We’re a small community. Everybody’s family.’ That’s the one question you hear from everybody. Why me? I used to be Little Miss Innocent. I really was. Some people thought I’d spread my legs for a bag of crack.”

“Trudy, you didn’t.”

“Don’t be shocked, honey. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. People are desperate... no jobs, no anything, no reason to live, and no way to escape except to get high. But then my friend, Charley, hired me on. That’s why I moved back. To oversee his business.”

“Who’s Charley?”

“Not what you think. I don’t charge him.”

“You must like him.”

“I do. He thinks I’m smart and can help his business. He does all kinds of things. He says he’ll be sitting on a gold mine if things go right - meaning if weed is legalized. With the state running such a huge deficit, Charley thinks he has the votes. He has plans for medical marijuana dispensaries throughout the whole state! He’s also the behind-the-scenes lobbyist for the firm that’s looking to control not only the distribution of medical marijuana but also the growing of it. I had to promise him I’d stay clean. He put me with the Drug court. That makes you pay attention. I had to be responsible for what I was doing.”

“How old is he, Charley?”

“He’s not as old as Dad. He’s older than your Eddy. He’s fifteen or twenty years older, but he’s straight.”

39

“I would have gone with Eddy,” said Mary Ellen.

“Sometimes you have no choice who you love,” said Trudy.

“Like you have no choice where you live. What about The Voice competition?”

“What about it?”

“The Voice could be your ticket out of here.”

“I don’t want to escape, Trudy. And if I audition for The Voice, does it mean I’m a failure if I don’t win?”

“No!” “I think I’m afraid what will happen if I don’t win.”

“You’ll win,” Trudy had said.

“I have to pass this audition first.”

“You will,” assured Trudy. “It’s time for you to move on. You can do good, have a family. Be a good woman.”

“Whatever that is. I don’t know, Trudy. Something’s growing inside me, and it’s freaking me out! I once had a hallucination that was pretty scary. Maybe that’s what I’m having right now.

Maybe I wanted to stay here because I thought Eddy and me would make a home here.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Mary Ellen suddenly laughed when she remembered Trudy’s telling her they could send Eddy a box of road-kill. “Dewey’s ex told me he did that to her.”

“Is it legal?” Mary Ellen had asked, not sure if Trudy was serious or not.

“Yeah, you can kill and eat it as long as it’s not on a leash.

We can take the pick-up and go look for some squirrels.” Trudy looked at her sister for a moment and then burst out laughing.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” said Mary Ellen.

The family would honor Trudy’s wishes for no funeral. A memorial for her was scheduled instead.

40

5 After Trudy’s death, her father went into a spiral of depression.

He blamed himself for not being able to change things. He understood Trudy’s lapses and having to go back to rehab. The old saying, “the more things change, the more things stay the same,” seemed especially true, he lamented, especially the corruption he was acquainted with in the southern Appalachians. He had no understanding at all as to why someone would kill his daughter.

He railed that blood and poverty and Trudy’s killing were what the place had to market, what the media would report.

“All the Operation Poverty and Head Start programs were political band-aids. The best politician’s coal could buy left southern West Virginia behind the eight ball, leaving the chips to fall where they may. There is no band-aid for a senseless, brutal murder. That people treat people like dirt, that someone put a bullet in my daughter’s head and left her to die on the garbage pile, I find incomprehensible.”

He was concerned about what was happening to his community and wondered what the FBI was doing to help things. He had little faith they were doing anything. They must know something, he thought. So he paid Agent Anderson a visit.

“Trudy was a junior in high school when she went to Washington on a school trip. They went to the FBI Building. She was a sweet girl, had a wonderful sense of humor. Her smile lit up your heart.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Heater. You are right. You’ve seen a world with a lot of bad. I promise we will turn things around. I will give you and your wife weekly briefings on what is being done.”

“I’m going to say something crude, Agent Anderson, but I suspect Trudy would give a little laugh. You see nobody cares enough; perhaps from being too beaten down, perhaps knowing 41

that the politicians are cowards. Aside from Trudy’s family, nobody cared enough if her ‘sorry ass fried.’ That’s a quote I have borrowed from her sister, Mary Ellen. I’m sorry, but I’m angry.

It’s all of our fault. We’re all to blame for what has happened.

It’s got to stop! Not one more life must be lost because we sit on our hands and close our minds. We have two major universities within a four-hour drive. They have world-renowned scholars.

The sports teams are idolized and are highly ranked. Yet, we seemingly cannot solve the burning issues that threaten these mountains, the social inequalities, the classism and all the other ‘isms.’ Someone smashed Trudy’s head in with a rock and fired two bullets from a 22 revolver into her brain! Then they urinated on her body and threw it in a mineshaft! What kind of animal does that? Let us, please, wake up.” At this point, Mr. Heater struggled with his composure.

“I’m sorry. God help us all. Trudy was scattered and abandoned like trash on a garbage heap, my daughter murdered!

All the while the people are told how proud they must be to be a mountaineer! How they were born out of war, how the nation rejoices in their stories and songs and poverty! But you can’t eat history, and pride rings empty when politicians sell it cheap! My daughter’s dead body was found by her grandfather, violated, pissed on, and her body flung on a pile of smelly garbage! Trudy’s nude body was violated in every unimaginable way.”

“I am sorry for your loss. May I be more open and honest with you, and may I be more loving.” Both men were crying.

Mr. Heater railed for days, could not stop. He would not stop.

He promised, he had bellowed in town, to kill anyone who had anything to do with Trudy’s murder. This had been part speech, part rant, on the town square, to nobody in particular, just frustration. He had no confidence that anything would come of his daughter’s death. Trudy’s story, he said, would be downplayed as just another death from drugs and alcohol. He feared Trudy’s murder would be dismissed with, ‘what’s new?’ ‘You play with fire...’ He had struggled to make himself a better father. At one point, long before Trudy’s death, he had weaned himself off pain pills and had promised his family he would do all he could to make the hills a better place. This was after several of his fellow miners were killed in a mine explosion. Then he woke up one morning to learn that yet another disaster had hit after hard rains had left flooding that affected 44 counties. This was not long after 42

the chemical spill had left 300,000 people desperate for water.

This was a result of a lot of pressure to wash as much coal as fast as they could to get it to market – thus overlooking possible problems – like holes in the retaining walls.

“We need to hang together as never before, but will we? Will the country? The alarm has sounded. Who will show? Who is going to stand up and be counted? Enough is enough!” Trudy’s father’s shouts echoed through the hollows.

“I know it’s hard,” his wife had said, “but you don’t need to blame the whole town.”

“The whole town is a bunch of do-nothings! Anyone of them could have pulled the trigger.”

“Stop it. You hounded and hounded Trudy. She was trying!”

“Ok, ok. I’m trying too...trying to be better.”

“You are?”

“Ok, you’re right. I’ve done a lot of stupid things. Our boy is following suit.”

“Stop it. No more.”

“Mary Ellen?”

“She’ll be fine.”

“I pray you’re right. Why couldn’t Trudy have been like you and your mother? Like many mountain women who have a deep inner strength they pull up from somewhere. This state would be nowhere without them.”

“You’re strong, too. You just have to be the man I remember...a funny, kind man who loved to sing old-time gospel music. A regular Billy Sunday, except you like to dance and go to movies.”

“And at least with Billy Graham, you never felt like you were at the circus. Hurts me to say it, but there’s no place for Mary Ellen here. You can’t find hope in a place that has no hope.” *** Mary Ellen understood her father’s venting for all his unhappiness and his desire to see his children go out into the world. The ever-same conversations around the dinner table were always as predictable as the Sunday drives the family used to take.

Her dad had once been Trudy’s booster, pushing her along. But his push had become a shove. Now she was gone. Despite Mary Ellen’s putting up a front for her parents, she needed a painkiller for the heart. All the cookies and cake did was put ten pounds on 43

her. She was doing whatever she could to feel better and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies did the trick - along with remembering Trudy’s joyful, full-belly laugh. Mary Ellen had loved her sister.

“It’s all rotten, we’re all to blame,” Trudy had told Mary Ellen.

“And Jesus won’t solve the problem.”

“God’s got his hands full with southern West Virginia! There are more churches here per square inch than anywhere. It’s either drugs or Jesus,” said Mary Ellen.

“You could go over the mountain to Lynchburg, girl! It’s a different country over there. ‘Course they think their plumbing doesn’t stink,” Trudy had growled. “You need to be in a place where you can be on equal footing with the men. Mom’s a hell of a lot smarter than most men, but let her ask for a raise, and they’ll fire her butt.”

Mary Ellen knew she wasn’t going anywhere until there was payback for Trudy’s killing. She thought working at Deadend might enable her to hear things, like who murdered her sister.

With that in mind, she set out to persuade Desperado to recommend her to Dewey as someone who was a good worker and someone he could trust.

44

6 Right after Trudy’s murder, Henry Mann had been at Starbucks for his usual ‘latte flat no foam’ and noticed a nicely dressed young man sitting in front of him, intently focused on his computer screen. No despair here, Henry thought, watching the genial patron hunched over his computer. Henry smiled, remembering an old New Yorker cartoon where a gathering of white suburban New York aristocrats are enjoying a dinner party while discussing the state of social unrest – “Clarence, you go through Harlem every day – what’s it like?” Clarence, a commuter on the Hudson rail line, sailed through Harlem five days a week without ever glancing up from his reading. Sort of like a fly-over, or a cruise down interstates 64 and 77, thought Henry, to catch a glimpse of the decimated southern Appalachian Mountains without having to drink or bathe in the toxic water, a residue of coal mining operations.

What pleased Henry was that the young man bent over his computer, while nursing his Starbucks coffee, was African American. He watched the young man suddenly pick up a cell phone. You got to love technology, Henry thought. He was addicted to his cell phone and was grateful for the tower that was finally erected on a nearby mountaintop, thus allowing Henry to keep in touch with the world – not by talking to people but by all the information available to him on his smartphone sitting in the palm of his hand. Who knows what email will change your life, though he was aware of the fake news crises. He liked what the Pope had said - comparing fake news with spreading excrement.

Computers and cell phones brought Henry great joy - almost as much joy as a latte. But a latte couldn’t make Henry smarter.

What it could do, or the caffeine could, was keep him awake 45

so that late at night when he couldn’t remember something in preparation for facing his senior high school history classes, some detail that was so tantalizingly close but might as well be buried in Siberia, the computer was there to help him, to rescue him. How wonderful was technology, if not an equalizer for humanity, then certainly a lifesaver for his memory. Henry was a technological innocent.

It was not in him to ever consider using the Internet for illegal means. He would only wonder ‘why’ when reading about a hacker. He had no illusions about technology saving the world.

It had not done much for the children in southern West Virginia.

It had not helped the poor. He had to cajole and demand that his students be supplied with I-Pads. Technology had also put many adults out of work – period, finished, over.

“Robots can sell hamburgers and deliver room service,” he told his class, “but technology has not prevented the crass corruption that pollutes the air. And technology has not diluted the low-hanging clouds of distrust and fear of another mass shooting.”

What disturbed Henry was the hatred that spilled through the Internet via ‘comments.’ The latest one had come just that morning as Henry was scanning some employment and income statistics in preparation for his history class.

Henry’s chin always went up when he would read yet another ridiculous story about the weak, poor, uneducated, cousinmarrying hillbillies. He shook his newspaper so violently that the young man glanced up from his computer. Henry mouthed a ‘sorry’ to the young man, who gave a little smile.

“I should never read the paper this early,” explained Henry.

“There are so many stupid things! The violence and corruption seem to have no limits,” he muttered. The young man nodded, but didn’t move his eyes from his computer. “During these times, I can’t help hearing and reading things, watching things,” Henry continued muttering. “People should give up reading the newspaper. I certainly should. I’d be a happier man for it because the newspaper is usually depressing. You got to be selfish in a world where the flood of information can drown a man. I need some earplugs.”

“Me, too,” said the young man, and laughed.

“Sorry. Maybe I need a blindfold, you know - have my phone 46

disconnected. No one calls me anyway except at election time with the offer of a free lunch and ride to the voting booth. But the world somehow keeps intruding. Scuttlebutt - hearing this and that. I have to stop checking my phone every minute to see what calamity has hit.”

He glanced at the various news items that appeared under each state. Under West Virginia was a short paragraph about recent drug busts and one about a woman’s body being found in an abandoned mine shaft in McDowell County. Henry noted the name of the “apparently brutally murdered victim, Trudy Ann Heater.” Henry brushed the paper to the floor. “Good Lord,” he murmured. Trudy had been a student of his a few years back, and she was Henry’s first hire when he started the establishment called Deadend. He sat quietly for a few moments.

These stories never tell us who we really are, he thought. The reporter, Henry thought, probably Googled his information about Trudy’s murder off the Internet. It was so impersonal. The reporter never knew her. He never saw the plight, the exploitation of children, and the obstacles they face. He couldn’t, he’s too young. They all are, he thought glancing at the young man hunched intently over his computer. The reporter never knew the plantation owners and the coal barrens, a thin line between the two when it came to using people for their own gain, for outright thievery! Simple!

“No one understands how the Trudys of this world are sacrificed,” Henry said, loud enough for the young man to hear.

“You ok?” The young man turned around to look at Henry.

“Just reading about an old student of mine. She deserved better than ending up in a mineshaft...murdered.” Henry retrieved the USA Today from the floor. “She was a smart, pretty girl.”

“Trudy Heater. I know her, I mean...I knew her,” said the young man. “She and I were in your class together, Mr. Mann.

I’m Charles Williams.”

“God, of course you are,” said Henry, recognizing the young man as a former student.

“She was mixed up with some undesirables.”

“Possibly, I guess,” said Henry.

“Trudy knew the players, farmers, who wanted to get into growing medical weed. I gather she was a sort of middleman... woman. Understand, this is off the record. It’s far better to grow weed than to sell it. She knew that. Weed could help us on the 47

heroin front because it’s less addictive. She was bright. Ah, I’m sorry. This is very upsetting.”

“Don’t doubt it,” said Henry. “I worry about Trudy’s sister who is currently a student of my history class. It’s hard to believe the world is a good place. I spent every school year with a headache and runny nose,” Henry muttered. “And it wasn’t from crack.

Someone said it was because of the mine sludge up behind the school. Daddy put up with living there ‘cause he had no choice.

‘It’s the biggest cesspool this side of hell,’ my daddy said. ‘What we got is zero, no hope but a ton of despair,’ he’d say.” Charles nodded as though he understood. “Like the USA reporter understood these hills, but how could he? Trudy Ann Heater was just a statistic... a little space filler.”

“We’re all guilty,” said the young man. “We’ve gotten used to these stories.”

“I talk to myself, didn’t mean to bother you. That little paragraph about Trudy won’t mean anything to people.

Tomorrow will be the same.”

“Ignorance is such a cop-out in this country,” said the young man.

“Yeah, don’t tell me. It’s the easy way out. We don’t want to know. Nobody hears. We just talk loud so we don’t have to listen.”

Henry closed his eyes, pursing his lips, thinking how he might shake things up, as his mother would say when he was down in the dumps. ‘Now you just shake those blues away, young man. Go on... shake ‘em away,’ my mother would say. I would shake vigorously while she would sing a Little Richard song called Heeby Jeebies.”

“Sounds like a wise mother.”

“She was,” Henry vowed to linger on at Starbucks talking to the young man until inspiration struck on how to shake things up. But suddenly Charles excused himself.

“I have to go. See you next time.” With that, Charles quickly gathered his things and was gone.

48

7 A few weeks after Trudy’s death, Mary Ellen sat, scared, her hands over her face. Her elbows were braced on her legs, a dead weight needing support. Bent over, her long body appeared smaller than her willowy 5’10.” Her emotions had taken a toll.

She was having trouble sleeping. She had vowed revenge for her sister’s murder, but had no idea how she would do this. She lowered her hands from her face. Despite her rather fragile state, she tried to present a more positive image. Her burgundy flower print dress came halfway up her thigh. She had cajoled her mother, a wonderful seamstress, to make copies of dresses Mary Ellen had torn pictures of from magazines in the school library.

The embroidered cowboy boots came up just below her kneecap.

Her blond highlighted hair was an abundance of curls that had been enhanced with a curling iron. Her olive-toned makeup she thought exotic was a perfect cover for her expressionless face, her eyes shaded with a deep purple to match her dress. The purple matched her determination, but her appearance was a mask for her fear.

Old for her age, Mary Ellen, despite the havoc around her, lived in her quasi-make-pretend peaceful world, an actress at heart. ‘Be a woman,’ Trudy had told her. Mary Ellen had been asked to sing at the State Fair. This was quite an honor because some noted singers and bands would be appearing. But if she were to perform at the State Fair, she knew she would have to get her emotions under control.

Maybe, Mary Ellen thought, Trudy’s death was what she needed to promise herself she was not going to be what she saw around her. She made a list of friends who were dead. She remembered them - she was thankful they had been in her life.

49

There was Danny and Paul, Randall, who still, like her brother, had the syringe in his arm. There was Jenny, Phil, and now her sister. Still most members of the community, unlike Mary Ellen, were not frightened. Mary Ellen wanted to do something with her life, something good, but first things first, though she felt she was just a grain of salt in the scheme of things.

The straight-back wooden chair on which Mary Ellen sat was positioned near a pool of light from two small windows with half-drawn shades on the back wall in a small cramped room of the Robert Byrd Federal Building in Beckley, West Virginia.

The Federal Building was impressive with its massive stonework that gave the building the illusion of permanence. Mary Ellen felt the soft, soothing breeze steadily humming through the rolling countryside and through the one opened window. The cloudless late July day with its gentle sounds could lull you into a sense of serenity. But Mary Ellen could only feel the coldness of a dark story that was on her horizon. She knew it wasn’t a dream. It was alive in her, throbbing.

“Can I get you anything, a glass of water?” Maxine had just entered the room. “I’m Agent Anderson’s secretary. I’m glad you’re here. I’ve told Agent Anderson all about you. He’s looking forward to talking with you.”

Mary Ellen gave a slight nod and said she would appreciate a glass of water. Sitting in the Federal Building, she felt very stupid and embarrassed because she had been texting her brother that she wasn’t going to cross the state line over into Kentucky. “Not advisable,” she had texted Desperado. She was supposed to make a weed delivery. Her brother told her that was one of the conditions of working at Deadend. She had agreed, still feeling the job might allow her to learn something about Trudy’s death.

“But not into Kentucky or Ohio. Trudy warned me about that. I won’t do it. You could lose everything.” She was in the midst of texting when she ran her car off the road and into a ditch. Sure enough, five minutes later a police car pulled in behind her. Mary Ellen’s first thought was about a friend who had just been arrested for having 20 pounds of marijuana in her possession after being pulled over for running a red light. If weed was all her friend had though, Mary Ellen knew the bail would not be $30,000. It was probably the 80 oxy pills and the loaded gun along with $5,000 in cash found in the trunk that cemented the friend’s fate.

50

Desperado had told Mary Ellen the importance of keeping the lid on. “Don’t talk to strangers. They could be competitors ready to rip you off or a police plant or an informer.”

However, here she sat in the Federal Building where the FBI Office was. Brilliant, Mary Ellen, she thought, just brilliant.

Now what? She took several deep breaths. What was she doing here, she wondered? Why not the police station? Thank God, she hadn’t seen anybody she knew, which was lucky, she thought. You rarely met a stranger in the mountains unless you were on the Appalachian Trail with a thousand other tired and hungry hikers anxious to get to Maine or Georgia, depending on their point of origination. She thought one day she would hit the trail to Maine and maybe never come back. Today would have been a good day to start hiking.

“Relax, it won’t be long,” said Maxine as she handed Mary Ellen a glass of water and then left the room.

Her brother’s mantra was the weed grower’s Bible - make sure you know the buyer. Mary Ellen had learned some growers were far too ambitious. Her brother was one of them, like his boss, Dewey. It worried her. She was on her brother’s case, but generally to no avail. You had a wreck, dummy, she thought because your mind was occupied with seeing Trudy’s killer found and tried. Desperado would probably break out in hives when she told him she had a wreck. She didn’t dare tell him about where she was sitting.

Mary Ellen knew Desperado slaved for Dewey, a man with a nefarious reputation who had more money, her dad had told her, than brains, and no mercy. “He has a knack for selling cars, used cars,” her father said. Mary Ellen thought Dewey seemed to wave a spell over Desperado. With his outsized personality, Dewey had gained notoriety. Mary Ellen had first learned about Dewey from her sister. He became a local celebrity when he started doing his own commercials for his new and used cars.

“But the decline in coal cost him a lot of his business, so he changed directions...adapted,” Trudy had said. She told Mary Ellen, Dewey had purchased the best weed growing equipment available - grow lights, ventilation fans, filtration systems, all meant to produce a quality product.

It would just be her luck that her accident would end up in a police-blotter in the local two-bit newspaper. Just then her grandfather, the Captain, entered the reception room.

51

“I was told by this nice lady I would find you here. Thank you, Maxine.” Maxine smiled and again left the room. The Captain walked over and hugged Mary Ellen. She started to cry.

“Now, now,” consoled the Captain.

“I’m sorry. You’d think I’d have run out of tears.”

The Captain opened the pocket of his long blue coat, reached in, and took out a handful of jellybeans.

“Pappy...” and more tears flowed. When she was much younger, he always had a bag of jellybeans with him.

“Just like President Reagan had. He liked jellybeans,” had said the Captain.

“You know what happened?”

“Yes. Agent Anderson called me.”

“What?”

“I know him.”

“Did he call Dad?” “Not yet. He will. I thought it better not to worry your parents. I believe I see a red-bellied woodpecker with its red cap.”

He pointed out the window.

“We’ve seen several on the mountain,” said Mary Ellen.

“Like you, they are rather rare.” He sat down beside her and put his arm around her.

What art or food did for some people, the mountains, and songs, prior to Trudy’s murder, had done for Mary Ellen, along with the loud song of the Carolina Wren. ‘Damn confederate bird.’ Dad always says that when he hears the wren. You taught me all the birdcalls, Pappy. The crows and owls, the thrushes were easy.”

“The brashness of the wren is what disturbs your daddy. Most birdsongs are too fast for most to keep up with, but you thrived.”

Her pappy let her momentarily forget. She wasn’t without her aches and pains...all emotional. The Captain was somewhat of a throwback to an earlier time, but Mary Ellen felt this was more for show than anything. When the Captain met an out-of-state stranger, he would tend to exaggerate his mountain dialect, not wanting to disappoint any preconceptions. The Captain was the one who first showed Mary Ellen the majesty of the mountains.

He had traipsed the Appalachian Mountains for as long as he had been alive. He hiked everywhere in all kinds of weather.

Sometimes the Captain would leave home for days and weeks.

52

“Searching for more, Mary Ellen, a longing that’s never satisfied.”

She loved his company, no more so than now. She rubbed her hand across the long coat he wore. It was worn, but still had a touch of elegance, a certain style, as did the man.

“You are a French gentleman, Pappy.”

“Affected French,” he laughed, “mountain style.” She also laughed. Her grandfather was a tall, lean, man, his Captain’s hat sitting smart, confident on his head, like an airline pilot’s.

It belied his feeling of futility, of inconsequence, especially with his gruesome discovery of Trudy’s body. It was easy to see why Mary Ellen’s sister had also loved the Captain. But now, Mary Ellen could see that his lined, weathered face was red with a deep anger, an anger she well understood.

They sat in the reception room with his arm around her, drawing her close as he had done after Trudy’s death, while they sat on the rocks looking out over the mountains to the blue sky.

As then, Mary Ellen looked up into his eyes. He was back, all the way.

“You’re strong, Mary Ellen, an old soul, like my nana was.

She raised seven children, cooked meals and baked bread on the coal-fired stove and oven where she also heated her heavy metal irons for ironing and fixed and packed lunches for the miners in the nearby mine where the pay was good, as were the benefits.

There’s no way to measure her kind of know-how.” Mary Ellen nestled her nose against his shoulder. She laughed to herself and recalled the time the Captain’s dog Molly had come nose to nose with a black bear.

“Didn’t know which one was startled more,” the Captain said and laughed. Mary Ellen had loved Molly and was convinced Molly loved her - but the Captain was special - the way Molly nuzzled up to him when she hadn’t seen him for a bit.

“I feel like Molly, curled up in your lap.”

“Well, after Trudy was murdered, Molly filled a hole in my heart. But you, girl, you are my life force.”

Mary Ellen sensed the ache deep in his pit, like the ache in hers. She worried about her grandfather. She knew he had made do with sporadic human conversations and infrequent overnights with a certain widow friend. He had told Mary Ellen that he had never lost the urge to be with someone. It was more than the old words ‘whatever gets you through the night.’ Everything 53

now, Mary Ellen thought, seemed detached. She loved the day the Captain had invited her to hike the mountain in order to spread his beloved Molly’s ashes on her favorite trails.

“I need you to stay strong, Mary Ellen, so when the day comes that I ask you which way home, you’ll remember the way. Trudy’s death has taken a toll on all of us, but we’ll find a reservoir of strength that will carry us through, child. The mountain will be there for us, our stairway to heaven...where the spirits live, where you can always take your troubles, where your screams will be muffled by the silence. Can’t imagine what life would be like without the mountain.”

“Pappy, will you help me find the person who murdered Trudy?”

“Yes,” he said, looking straight into her eyes, “I will help you.”

54

8 Captain Heater,” said the dark-suited man entering the room.

“I see you found your granddaughter.”

“Yes.” “I’m Agent Anderson, Mary Ellen.”

“Oh...” Her eyes opened on hearing his name. After a moment, she softly replied, “Mary Ellen Heater.”

“Yes, I know. I called your grandfather after having learned your name from the Drug Enforcement officer. My secretary, Maxine, told me about you. Apparently, she’s heard you sing.

She says you’re very good.” Mary Ellen looked down at her feet.

“Pretty dress,” Agent Anderson said.

“What?”

“Your dress. It’s very nice, pretty.” Agent Anderson was watching her, seemingly without judgment, thought Mary Ellen.

He seemed different, she thought. “You always dress so nicely?”

“I take baths, too,” she said. Anderson laughed.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...it’s just that I wouldn’t think your... job...would require you to dress up so.”

“Oh yes, my job...” She looked at her grandfather. “A lot of people I know either grow or smoke,” she mumbled into her hands. “Weed’s just been a part of our lives. So, what now?” She looked up at Anderson. “Am I under arrest?”

“No,” said Anderson. “Your grandfather has vouched for you.

I know your sister’s death must have been very traumatic for you.”

Mary Ellen stared straight ahead, not answering. She felt she was suddenly losing control of her life. “Honest to God. I don’t blame anyone. Well...I do, but I don’t know who. My dad says life is cheap in West Virginia.”

55

“We will scatter Trudy’s ashes,” said the Captain. “Lots of families are burying family members before their time, and we all sit and watch and keep our mouths shut. I should shut up.”

“No, please go on,” said Anderson. The Captain nodded.

“Mary Ellen feels like we all do, angry.”

“I’ll soon be eighteen, but I feel old. Pappy says I’m an old soul. We both want to find out who killed my sister. Don’t feel sorry for me, please. It was my sister who was murdered.” Mary Ellen sobbed, “Sorry. I haven’t been myself lately. Guess that’s why I wrecked. My sister told me she liked getting high. She fell in love with it. It was so easy, she said, so relaxing, no fear, not caring if anyone liked you. I’ve tried it, grass, weed, but I didn’t even care for that. I mean it’s fun sometimes. I just don’t like losing control. I feel very insecure...hate to be alone. My sister was killed... murdered. It makes you...”

“Vulnerable?”

“I suppose. It makes me mad, real mad. You realize you can die, too. But I’m not afraid, not anymore. Hope for something better. I’ll probably go to hell anyway, but I’ll have lots of company.” She laughed, looking at Agent Anderson. “I want it to stop. Maybe that’s why I wrecked, why I’m here. If I can’t stop it - the madness, my sister...” She started to tear up again. “I just want to lie down and die.”

Anderson had sensed apathy in the community that he felt led to accepting things as they were - with little hope or faith for change, of having nothing to offer the young like Mary Ellen.

Anderson believed, as the Captain had told him, the angry young woman sitting in front of him wanted to do what she could to make things better. There was that phrase again - make things better. That’s what his wife had said, their reason to move back.

Most West Virginians wanted to make things better.

“My granddaughter can take care of herself. She can and will avoid the apocalypse that too many young people have succumbed to.” The Captain looked at Mary Ellen. She smiled at him and kissed his cheek.

Anderson sensed she was a smart young woman with a sense of fun, and behind the tears, there was a toughness. Also, he felt, a feeling of goodness about her.

“You dress nice. You have to wear a suit and tie?”

“Goes with the job,” said Anderson.

56

“You’re patriotic?” she asked. Anderson was wearing a red tie with a white shirt, but his rumpled grey suit was a sign of casualness she liked. His FBI badge was hooked around his belt.

He wore a tiny American flag in his lapel.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“Here. Southern Appalachia.”

“Where’d you go to college?”

“University of Kentucky. My first assignment after completing the FBI training academy was in here in southern West Virginia.”

“With all the druggies?”

“There were challenges. Still are. But it’s a special place.”

“I think there have been challenges ever since President Lincoln granted statehood to West Virginia,” said the Captain.

“Yes. Right away a Confederate cavalry raided Governor Pierpont’s library and destroyed it - burned it,” added Mary Ellen.

“I didn’t know that,” said Anderson.

“You didn’t have Mr. Mann’s West Virginia history class.”

“No, afraid not.”

“My sister was in his class, and he gave her a job at Deadend when he was there, when it was his, I guess. What was I saying?

Oh yes, the Rebels destroyed bridges, railroads, and dumped thousands of barrels of oil into the Kanawha River.”

“Didn’t know that either. Don’t know that things are much better,” Anderson said. “What with hacking attacks and threats of terrorism - just not from Confederates.”

“Terrorism down here? Is that fake news?”

“Afraid not. No place is immune. There are people on the watch list, terrorists, who travel through West Virginia.”

“I want to visit New York City and see the 9-11Memorial.

Can you help me and my grandfather find my sister’s killer?”

“We have every intention of doing so,” Anderson said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m very sorry about your sister.”

“Yes, there is that, isn’t there. Sorrow.” She started to cry again.

“I should not have brought it up.”

“I’m fine.”

“Your grandfather found Trudy and brought her body in.”

“I know. He told me. He didn’t want us, me and mom and dad, to see her. I was glad.” She tugged at the Captain’s arm.

“Your mother mentioned to me, at one point, she thought your sister wanted to talk to me, but she never got the chance to.”

57

“I still have her number in my cell phone. Can’t bring myself to push delete.”

Agent Anderson liked this girl. She was open and she was vulnerable. He could bust her for distribution, but he knew he wouldn’t. These kids need a second chance, sometimes a third.

You can’t give up on them. Despite her predicament, she seemed rather at ease. Mary Ellen’s face scrunched behind her black polished manicured nails, had a bemused, rather nervous but still direct look. Anderson wondered if she was a bit of an actress trying too hard. Mary Ellen did enjoy pretending...that was how she was getting through high school and how she was getting beyond her sister’s murder. Yes, murder, she had said the word over and over. ‘Say it...murder, that’s what it was.’ Maybe, she thought, she was like Eddy, a great pretender. Like getting through this interview, she would just pretend she was in a detective novel like the one she was reading, ‘The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie,’ by Alan Bradley. It had inspired her. She thought, though a little older, she could be a southern Appalachian Flavia de Luce.

Why not?

Mary Ellen folded her arms across her chest and felt her sister’s strong hands hug her body. “I think Trudy was talking to the sheriff. I think maybe that’s who she met that last night.”

“Why do you think that,” Anderson ask “Just a feeling,” said Mary Ellen. “A few days before, she mentioned having to show the sheriff something. But she was afraid he would have to arrest his friends.”

After a moment, Anderson asked, “You think his friends are doing things they shouldn’t?”

Mary Ellen shrugged. “All I know is a lot of them like double anchovies on their pizzas.”

“Double anchovies,” repeated Anderson. “Sounds inviting.”

“Very, puts you on cloud nine, I guess. I’ve never tried it.”

“They’re probably not too worried about their...special orders,” said Anderson, “because they know it takes a lot to convict them months, years, and a mountain of paperwork.”

“They’re not doing anything that a lot of others aren’t.”

“You know why you’re here?”

“I’m tired,” she sighed.

“You’re too young to be tired.” Mary Ellen got quiet. Too young, Anderson thought, to be wrapped up in a cloak of solitude, 58

to be haunted by a sister’s murder. “Is that why you ran off the road? You’re very lucky.”

She nodded. “After I ran the car off the road and into the bank of dirt, I realized I wasn’t hurt so I got out and walked up the hill and called my pappy.”

“Not your parents?”

“No. They went through so much with Trudy.”

“Can you explain the five little tinfoil balls of crack the police nurse found inserted into a condom in your underwear?”

“I was making a delivery. No one else has to know, do they?

My dad says everybody in the county knows everybody’s dirty underwear. Pappy told me you were a nice man. He wanted me to see you.”

“We can help you.”

“Find Trudy’s killer?”

“Yes.” “I hate it.”

“What?”

“My life!”

“You’re alive, my child,” said the Captain.

“It’s just in here,” she said and gripped her stomach. “In my body.”

“You understand,” said Anderson, “the trouble you’re in now?”

Mary Ellen nodded.

“Don’t worry, you won’t go to jail,” said the Captain. “Am I right, Agent Anderson?”

“You are,” replied Anderson. “We need to keep the jail bill down.”

“I was a girl scout. My mother was very upset when I dropped out just before earning my silver medal.”

“People look at you, they see a girl scout,” said the Captain.

“They don’t see a girl carrying packets of heroin in her underwear.”

“Your grandfather is right,” said Anderson.

“I will do anything to find whoever is responsible for killing my sister.”

“You were delivering tinfoil balls of dope.”

“Yes, I was. It’s a woman’s job, a mule. That’s what my brother told me. Men can’t pack drugs in condoms and stuff them up their vaginas... I’m sorry. It’s just that women are built to carry 59

drugs. It was the only way to make them believe I could be depended on.”

“Make who believe?”

“Dewey and whoever...”

“How do you know that?”

“My grandson works for this Dewey.”

“Yes,” said Mary Ellen, looking down, hearing her brother warn her to ‘never talk to the police, especially the F.B.I.’” “Your route is the whole county?”

“Pretty much.”

“Was there anyone one else in your car?”

“No,” said Mary Ellen, quietly.

“You’re sure?”

Mary Ellen nodded.

“Mary Ellen started working at Deadend,” offered the Captain, “because she thought she could learn who was responsible for Trudy’s killing.”

“Is your grandfather right?”

“Yes.” “Anyone else working with you?”

“The only person I know is Junior, but he wasn’t in my car.

Desperado calls Junior a bad penny boy.”

“Desperado?”

“That’s my brother. That’s what he calls himself.”

“Is he desperate?”

“Sort of. Yes. Trudy said our brother was around the bend.”

“Mary Ellen, tell Agent Anderson what Trudy told you. He will help us.”

“She said Desperado started running something called the Oxy-express, via “Dewey’s Wholesale Nursery.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” said Anderson.

Mary Ellen was hesitant to tell Anderson because she didn’t want to get her brother in any more trouble than he already was in.

“Well, I didn’t understand, and Trudy thought it was crazy, funny. She told me she didn’t believe it at first. She said Desperado and Dewey get drivers to take used trucks from Dewey’s car lots.

They drive up and down the east coast and as far west as the Mississippi River. That’s what Trudy said. Apparently, Desperado, or whatever driver, loads the trucks with plants from a nursery on the eastern shore of Virginia. Once in Florida, they load up with 60

prescription drugs, which they hide under the plants. Then they drive back up here where they unload the pills and then drive up the east coast and deliver the plants. It’s very complicated.”

“I believe, Agent Anderson,” said the Captain, “the drugs and pills are resold at a nice profit throughout the mountains around here.”

“Florida has finally cracked down on this drug source,” said Anderson, “after some bad press.”

“But Desperado also goes to Missouri,” said Mary Ellen.

“Yes. So,” said the Captain, “according to what Trudy had told Mary Ellen, Dewey conspired to replace the Florida supply through Missouri, Detroit, and Columbus. Right, Mary Ellen?”

“I think that’s what Trudy said.”

“Unfortunately,” said Anderson, “you can scour the Internet and soon find scores of places where you can score drugs without prescriptions. Unfortunately, there are some unscrupulous doctors. What does ... Junior?”

“Yes.” “What does he do?”

“Nothing. He drives around waitin’ for calls,” said Mary Ellen.

“Like Uber.”

“What?”

“It’s like big city taxi drivers.”

“Don’t know. Never been to a real city,” said Mary Ellen.

“I understand you may be going to a big city.”

“Have you been talking to my mother?”

“Your grandfather was bragging about you and is concerned.”

“Because I love you, child,” said the Captain.

“You mentioned the bad penny boy, Junior? I believe he’s the boy that was burned pretty bad in a meth explosion?”

“How’d you know?”

“No one came right out and told us. It’s a close-knit place.

But we see stuff moving in and moving out. We need help from the people who live here. So I am pleased, Mary Ellen, that you want to help.”

“Junior has nothing,” said Mary Ellen. “He’s...a little slow... not really, but he was always in the last seat in our class. Then he stopped going. I didn’t blame him. It was awful always seeing him in the last seat of the last row. He lives in a shed above the school.”

61

“A shed?”

“That’s what Dad calls it. It’s a trailer on the hill up behind the school. It’s no place I’d want to live. When it rains, the place is flooded. There are holes in the roof! Dad says it’s an old coalcamp house, the only heat’s an old coal stove. Please don’t...ah... bad penny...”

“Don’t worry. We won’t arrest him. The car you were driving was registered to a used car business.”

“Where’s the car?”

“It’s been impounded.”

“You mean...”

“We are going to keep it for a while. It’s going to need some body work.”

“So will I,” said Mary Ellen, “after Dewey finds out about his car.”

Before Mary Ellen and the Captain left, Agent Anderson went back to his office and dug out an old file of a woman who had been convicted of beating a federal informer with a ball bat at a used car lot.

“She denied it, but her fingerprints were all over the bat.

She maintained she had been forced by a man to hit the victim repeatedly. The man’s name was Dewey Long, the same Dewey Long you both spoke of - the used car pitchman, a little bombastic for my taste.”

“That’s Dewey, belligerent,” said the Captain.

“The woman’s testimony of coercion by Dewey was found not credible due to lack of proof. Mr. Long’s wife testified her husband was with her at that time. Subsequently, the woman was sentenced to 40 years in prison.”

“And Dewey got off scot-free,” said the Captain. “Not the first time.”

“The file noted the woman screamed in court that men were bloodsuckers and that she was the sacrificial lamb.”

“Like Trudy,” said Mary Ellen.

62

9 The next day Mary Ellen, hair tied in a knot on top of her head, sat in the passenger seat as the Captain maneuvered his ten-year-old Toyota pickup, a favorite for the locals ever since Toyota had located a plant nearby in Kentucky, down a steep reddog lane to a football-sized gravel lot where a billboard welcomed all to Dewey’s Used Cars.

“Strange spot for a used car lot. Not exactly a drive-by place,” said the Captain. A rusted, dilapidated awning flapped in the wind over three metal doors of an unpainted, cement block building. The center door gained you admittance.

“You ready?” asked the Captain.

Mary Ellen nodded. “I’m going in,” she said.

“I’m right behind you.”

“Let’s not say we talked to Agent Anderson,” said Mary Ellen.

“Good idea.”

They got out of the pickup, walked to the metal door, and Mary Ellen pushed the intercom button.

“It’s me, Despo,” yelled a semi-cheery Mary Ellen. She gave him a half-wink when he finally unlocked and opened the door.

“Desperado to you, Sis.” He smiled at Mary Ellen, brushing back his ponytail as he glanced around out the door. “You didn’t hit the mailbox. Congratulations.”

“I wasn’t driving,” said Mary Ellen, who had flattened the mailbox a couple of times.

“That’s good. Hello, Pops.”

“My boy,” greeted the Captain.

“What brings you two out this way?”

“Just thought we’d say hello,” said the Captain.

“In the neighborhood, were you? Where’s my car, Sis?” 63

“I’m going to give your sister my pickup, so I just wanted to give her a feel. Get used to it, you know. Show her some things before she takes over,” said the Captain.

As they entered, Mary Ellen noticed Desperado catching his ponytail reflection in the cracked Johnny Walker mirror as he slammed the door behind them. That he was hopelessly addicted to meth was easy for them and most others to spot the tell-tale signs, runny nose and dark circles under the eyes.

“You’re a mess,” said Mary Ellen.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” she replied.

“You’re a walking billboard, boy, for what meth does to the body.”

“Listen, it’s you two putting too much stress on me that I can’t handle. That’s why I need to get high.”

Mary Ellen knew her brother had the makings of a charming two-bit hustler who would soon lose his charm, if not his life.

She was worried because he was developing an undercurrent of anger. His temper was as quick as his “sorry.” Weed had kept him calm, sweet even. Meth gave rise to an inner violence and insecurity. His eyes got deeper and sadder. Desperado’s initial job for Dewey had been to scour the county and established a network of pill users.

“You make your deliveries?”

“Yes,” said Mary Ellen, after a slight hesitation.

“Don’t give me that look. You’re doing them a service. Doctors don’t do house calls. Even if they did, people can’t afford a doctor anyway. No insurance. WalMart has cut off insurance for parttime workers. You’re just playing Robin Hood, Sis.” “Robin Hood was a man,” said Mary Ellen.

“So? Equal opportunity.”

“Dewey pays you with weed and pills. How are you going to pay me?”

“Dewey will pay you, don’t worry.”

“Smell of weed’s pretty strong in here. You should open the window,” said the Captain.

“You should stay outside old man.”

The smell of weed saturated Desperado’s skin and clothes. He could drown himself in deodorant to no avail.

64

“Your problem, boy, is you don’t have the patience for hard, honest work. Expect it to be handed to you. You have to earn your seat at the table.”

“Spare me, please. The smell is high-quality weed. It’s hard work, gotta get your hands in the dirt, know where the sun falls, know what will work and what won’t. Weed grows very well in these mountains. The ground is more moist and heavier at the bottom, so you have to dig. It’s a science. Gardening’s like life, you know. From a distance, all looks neat and clean – you can pretend all is under control – but close up...”

“The philosopher,” said Mary Ellen.

“The truth is you most always have to get back on your knees - for different reasons than our sister did.”

“You’re terrible,” said Mary Ellen, plopping down on a wooden crate, her head hung low.

“It’s the truth. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” she said, exaggerating for effect. “Trudy’s dead!

Other than that...nothing’s wrong!”

“Jesus, Mary Ellen,” he said in his husky voice, having burned his vocal chords with a bottle of moonshine that was doused with turpentine.

“When’s the funeral?”

“It’s not a funeral,” she said.

“Whatever.”

“It’s a memorial. I can’t believe you.”

“You make your deliveries?”

“Yes.” “You take the Captain with you?”

“I didn’t know how to get to some of the places. Pappy was my navigation system.”

“Dewey’s not going to be happy,” said an exasperated Desperado.

“Tell him to come to Trudy’s memorial. That’ll cheer him up.

Even killing Trudy probably didn’t make him happy.”

“Shut up, Mary Ellen.” Desperado got in her face. “He didn’t kill Trudy.”

“That’s enough, boy,” said the Captain.

“Tell her to stay off my back!”

“I will,” said Mary Ellen.

“When?”

“When you decide to leave this rat hole!”

65

“Thank you, thank you, your highness. You gotta go a long ways before you’ll see anything this nice,” said Desperado, looking around the dump of an office. Then he laughed. “Don’t let ‘The Voice’ crap go to your head.”

“I’ll worry about my head. You should do the same,” said Mary Ellen.

“You haven’t got a chance in hell. Some of those so-called amateur singers are professionals. They got coaches for Christ’s sake.”

“I don’t care.”

“Perhaps it’s time for us to go, Mary Ellen,” said the Captain.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“You know, Brother, you stay around here, you’re only going to be good for reproducing. Male pot plants are only good for pollen collection; otherwise, the male plants are done away with.

Killed. Murdered. Are you listening?”

“What in blazes are you talking about?”

“You will be expendable-just like Trudy. Dewey’s going down! I promise you!”

“You sound like Trudy, or else you’re running for office.”

“Dewey’s a contaminator of anything good! Like the nearby crops, he reduces their value. The female’s what everyone wants,” said Mary Ellen.

“You know how to encourage a guy. I ain’t goin’ nowhere. You hear me! Nowhere!”

“Fine! Like Trudy said, stay here and that’s exactly where you’re going.”

“And look where she is! Deadville!”

“Trudy wanted better for both of us.”

“So, go make the world a better place, Girl Scout.”

“I will! Trust me...” The Captain tried to usher Mary Ellen to the door. “You can’t stand it here, Despo! All you do is moan and groan how this place is holdin’ you back!” She stormed out the door ahead of the Captain.

“So why, when I leave, do I get homesick?” Desperado was leaning against the doorway.

“Beats me. Makes no sense. Homesick?” Desperado went back inside. Mary Ellen followed on his heels, getting in front of him. “What are you doing here? This place is a dump!”

“This “dump” is a money machine!”

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“Then how come you don’t have two nickels to rub together?”

“Nothin’ else here for me, Sis. Never will be nothin’ else. If this is what I’m meant to do, so be it.”

“Why’s pot still illegal?” Mary Ellen asked, watching Desperado take a long drag on a joint.”

“Money,” said Desperado. “Big money. Government would lose a shit load if pot were legal.”

“People would pay tax on weed. The government would make money,” offered the Captain.

“Dewey’d hate that,” Desperado said, delighted at the thought.

“Yeah. People’d be smoking joints instead of cigarettes and drinking beer,” said Mary Ellen.

“Legal pot would mean you could grow weed in your yard.

Government doesn’t want you to do that. So people have to buy weed from a dealer. Makes them criminals for something they want and need. I do what I have to. It’s all so stupid. More people die taking aspirin than weed. Corporate tobacco will hog everything anyway! They’ll grow shit for weed and want to wall everyone else out. They help the big drug rings launder millions and get away scot free and a sorry ass like me gets a year for smoking a joint.”

“My brother’s nuts,” laughed Mary Ellen, looking at her grandfather. “I love you, Desperado. I’m sorry... I don’t think I ever told Trudy I loved her.”

“She wasn’t easy to love. Money is easier and drug money’s the only money that stays in-state,” said Desperado, hunched over a computer.

“That’s a good excuse,” said Mary Ellen, looking over Desperado’s shoulder at the computer screen. “I don’t understand,” Mary Ellen said, looking at the computer. “Am I reading this right? How do you trust a site that’s willing to sell you a drug without seeing a doctor?”

“You’re way too innocent, Sis. That’s what scares Dewey about you. You understand? My neck is on the line for you.”

“So how does this drug thing all work?”

“You don’t need to know. I’m busy.”

“How am I going to learn? Trudy told me the gangs fill all the phony prescriptions Dewey comes up with. Is that right?”

“Dewey has his sources.”

“All Dewey has to do is deliver the pay-off?”

“He doesn’t tell me. Weren’t you leaving?”

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“So where do the gangs get the pills?”

“What did I say?”

“The internet says there’s a ready source of doctors willing to sell any number of pills.”

“Their operation doesn’t look any different from the legits.”

“But that’s illegal,” said Mary Ellen. Desperado laughed.

“The government’s slow on the uptake. Dewey buys in bulk, saves a lot of money. But he has to be sure the drugs are legitimate.

You don’t want dissatisfied customers. The gangs guarantee their product - prescription pills, cocaine. But they can play rough.”

Desperado shrugged. “The Internet easily replaced the Florida circuit where pills used to be dispensed - no questions asked, but Florida was forced to turn the hose off. So the Internet became the go to. Plus the Internet frees Dewey from always having to deal with the Detroit-Columbus gangs all the time. Internet’s a win-win because all is legit.”

“You could teach a course on this. What about guns?” asked Mary Ellen.

Desperado looked at Mary Ellen. “Listen to me. You already know too much. Forget what I just told you. You don’t want to know. The less you know, the better off you’ll be. Trust me. It’s for your own good. The gangs will kill you as soon as look at you.”

“Is that what happened to Trudy”? She asked this as casually as she could.

“I don’t know, yes, maybe. All I know is the Mexican guys can be civil. They won’t shoot you without warning.”

“With all the money, has Dewey given you a raise?” “‘Do your job well, maybe I’ll think about a raise.’ That’s what he told me. Told me I had to earn it. It’s a merit-based world.’”

“Merit being the number of guns you move?”

Desperado was mum.

“We need to get going, Mary Ellen,” said the Captain.

“Don’t let it bite you in the ass, please,” said Mary Ellen to Desperado. “That’s what the mayor told you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s looking out for you.”

“Me? Forget it. No way. He’s a politician. I’m no Boy Scout, Sis,” said Desperado.

“No kidding,” she said, laughing. She prayed her brother didn’t have anything to do with Trudy’s killing. It was Dewey she was determined to bring down.

68

“The gangs are the most dependable. Detroit brings the candy,” said the Captain. “And Dewey’s got the fire-power.

Everyone’s happy. Dewey has an inflated sense of his power over people, always has, the bully complex. But for all his bravado, Dewey cares more about staying alive.”

“We all do,” said Desperado. “Dewey’s straight up with the gangs. He won’t screw them or the customers. Dewey’s scales are accurate.”

“That’s a shock,” said the Captain. “Of course if Dewey charged more and didn’t increase the number of guns in return, the gangs might decide they’re getting ripped off. That would not be good, I suspect, for Dewey,” said the Captain.

“Why?” Mary Ellen asked.

“Because they’ll shoot you, dummy,” said Desperado.

“Did they shoot Trudy?”

“I don’t know! Trudy was thinking she could score big, but when you play one side against the other, something has to give.”

“I have pictures,” Mary Ellen blurted out as the Captain pulled her to the door.

“What pictures?” Desperado got between them and the door.

“You heard me. Pictures! They were Trudy’s.”

“Come on, girl,” said the Captain.

“You know what happens to the rat,” Desperado said softly.

“Is that a warning?”

“Just don’t go mouthing off.”

“I want you out and not dead like Trudy,” said Mary Ellen, pleading.

“Then mind your own business.”

“I still don’t believe Trudy’s gone. I have her cell number in my phone. I hear her talk. I wait for her call, but it doesn’t come.

I walk the mountain, like Pappy - it has always been good for me, you know, peps me up. No more. I stand on the ridge and all the beauty’s there, but I can’t see it, can’t feel the wind.”

“It’s called Deadend,” said Desperado.

69

10 On their way back from Dewey’s used car shack, the Captain noticed a box in the middle of the railroad tracks as he drove the pickup over the tracks. He guided the pickup out of harm’s way and got out to move the box. To his great surprise, he found a puppy inside.

“It’s a puppy,” the Captain called back to Mary Ellen. She got out to look.

“Pappy, it has Molly’s soulful dark eyes.” At that moment they heard a shout coming from down the tracks. A boy was running towards them.

“My puppy,” said a nervous, young man coming up the railroad tracks.

“It’s Junior,” said Mary Ellen.

The Captain recognized Junior - a frail and disheveled waif. He knew Junior was a friend of Mary Ellen’s. The boy had accompanied them a couple of times on their hikes up the mountain. Many young men of Junior’s age lived with their grandparents, and most all were poor.

“The puppy was in trouble,” said the Captain. “Yours?”

“Yes.” “You left him on the railroad tracks?”

“Not me.”

“Who?” “Desperado.”

“Desperado?” said Mary Ellen.

“My grandson?” Junior nodded. “Was not a nice thing to do, was it,” said the Captain.

“He told me if I ran, I could get the puppy before the train came. It was a long run.”

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“What’s the puppy’s name?” asked Mary Ellen.

“Zeke.”

“Zeke?”

“Yes.” “Zeke from Cabin Creek?” asked the Captain. Junior did not understand the Captain’s reference to the famous basketball player, Jerry West, who was known as Zeke from Cabin Creek.

“Why did Desperado put the puppy on the tracks, Junior?”

“He’s not happy with me.”

“Why?” Mary Ellen asked.

“I made my deliveries, but some people didn’t pay me, so I owe Desperado money.”

After asking Junior a few questions, the Captain said, “You asked for my help, Mary Ellen. Can’t turn back now.”

“Pappy, you hear the bird! A Carolina Wren’s whistling ‘good morning, Pappy.”

“Oh, yes,” responded the Captain after listening to the Wren for a few seconds. “Well, we better get going. Come on, Junior.

You and Zeke are coming home with me and Mary Ellen. You hungry?” he asked Junior.

“Yes.” “Me, too,” said Mary Ellen.

“Hop in.” They all squeezed into the pick-up. “So you’re in trouble unless you pay the money you owe? Is that right?” asked the Captain. Junior nodded. “Where you living, Junior?” Junior shook his head. “What’s that mean? You have a home?” Junior shrugged. “No home? You’re homeless?” Junior just stared at the ground.

“You will stay with me... and your puppy, too.”

“That’s so nice, Pappy.”

Junior’s cell phone rang. He looked at it but didn’t answer it.

“That your phone,” asked the Captain “Yes, well, Desperado gave it to me. I don’t want to talk to him. He says I will no longer be among the living. He calls me a retard.” The phone continued to ring. Junior shook his head hard, put his head between his knees and stared at the floor.

Mary Ellen exchanged looks with her grandfather. She took the phone and turned it off.

“Do you know where you are, Junior,” asked the Captain.

“In your truck,” said Junior.

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“I mean... forget it. Can you read, boy?” The Captain waved a piece of paper in front of Junior’s face. “No one taught you?”

Junior shrugged again.

“I can read.”

“But some people think you’re dumb?” Junior nodded. “Can you write?” Junior tilted his head. “Write your name.” Junior did, slowly. “Junior. After your daddy, huh?”

“You have nice handwriting, Junior,” said Mary Ellen, smiling.

Junior looked away to the window.

“How old are you,” ask the Captain.

“Seventeen”.

“Do you know who I am?”

Junior nodded. “Mary Ellen’s grandfather. I went up the mountain with you. I liked that.”

“Pappy just wanted to make sure you remembered that,” said Mary Ellen.

“I know your dad’s in the state pen. You’re not dumb, Junior.

You just need some help. You could be in trouble. You’ve seen things, I’ll bet. You may know too much for your own good. Your backpack here is loaded with drugs.” Junior nodded.

“He wanted them.”

“Who?” “The sheriff.”

“The sheriff?”

“I guess. The deputy asked me if I had some to sell.”

“And you did?”

“Yes.” “He paid you?”

“Yes. I guess the Sheriff ’s got the goods on me.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“He’s got the goods on lots of people,” said Junior.

“You know that for a fact?”

“No. “How do you make your drug deliveries?”

“On my bike, but not always. If the places are too far, they let me use a car. That’s when I go up the mountain.”

“Does the sheriff get pizza?”

“Yes. I deliver it. He gets the special toppings.”

“Oh?” Junior did not elaborate. “Does he tip you?”

“Sometimes. He doesn’t pay for the pizza.”

“He doesn’t, huh?”

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“No.” “Interesting.”

“Maybe the sheriff ’s got something on Dewey,” said Mary Ellen. “That could be why he doesn’t have to pay for his pizza.”

“Cheap blackmail. But you could be right. How much money did the sheriff pay you, Junior?” Junior hung his head - and held up three fingers. “Three thousand dollars?”

“No. Hundred.”

“Three hundred?” Junior nodded. “Still, that’s a lot of money.

You have the money?”

“Yes. In my sock.”

“How many pills does Desperado give you to sell?

“He...depends on how many they want.”

“The customers?”

“Yeah. Sometimes he gives me extras to sell to people I know.”

“When you sell those, what?”

“Desperado picks up the money.”

“It’s more than three hundred?”

“Yeah.”

“Then he gives you more pills?”

“Uh huh.”

“Does he give you any pills for yourself?”

“Yeah. I hammer them down to powder and snort. I don’t like to shoot. I didn’t get any today. He’s mad at me.”

“I see.”

“That’s what Despo said... that he’s mad at me.”

“Because you sold some drugs to the sheriff?”

“Yes.” “Have you ever been to Dewey’s house?”

“He has,” said Mary Ellen. “Trudy took us both once.”

“Was Dewey there?” asked the Captain.

“No,” replied Mary Ellen. “Can we go, Pappy? I’m hungry.”

“Me, too,” said Junior.

“All right, all right. We’ll make some sandwiches at my place,” said the Captain. “Will be better than your school lunches.”

“20 peas, a piece of bread, and a hamburger patty,” said Junior.

He and Mary Ellen laughed.

The Captain was forming a plan of sorts. He opened a zippered change-purse and pulled several bills out. “Here, tuck these in your socks.”

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“I have the money.”

“This is for you.”

“Thank...you,” said Junior.

“You have a choice, Junior. You haven’t lost your way – yet.

Some of your friends have missed the bus. The puppy depends on you. Tell me more about what you do.”

“I won’t be here if I talk to you, I mean...if they find out I’ve been with you.”

“They? Dewey?”

“Yeah.”

“Where will you be?”

“Really dead. He’ll kill me.”

74

11 Henry Mann had made his habitual stop at the Beckley Starbucks and was, despite his better judgment, reading USA Today while waiting for Agent Wayne Anderson to show.

Henry was reading an article concerning how the African American miners were still invisible and being invisible meant no power. “You would think the mountains had no outlets for higher education, no churches, just snake handlers and fire and brimstone preachers along with backwardness, isolation, and idlers,” mumbled Henry. He took a sip of his latte. “Aw...let it go, Henry, let it go, let it all go.”

“Meditation’s good,” said Charles, smiling at Henry.

“It’s not easy...meditation,” said Henry, grumbling. He thought maybe he really should start meditating, soon, real soon.

Maybe that’s why he loved cell-phones and the Internet. They were diversions, distractions, to take away the present, the now.

Life is out there, Henry. So what if two of West Virginia’s largest cities were voted the two most depressing cities to live in? Who voted?

Just then a young white man came into Starbucks and sat up his iPad at the same table where Charles was sitting. The regulars usually always sat at the same table if it was available. Henry was dumbfounded, but delighted as he watched the two seemingly educated young men, laughing, enjoying in common whatever was the root of their laughter.

“My name’s Henry.”

“This is my partner, Walt Berry,” Charles said. “Mr. Mann was my high school history teacher.”

“Nice to meet you, Walt. Charles, what exactly do you two do?”

75

The young men laughed, and finally, Charles said, “We’re eradicators.”

“Eradicators?” questioned Henry, puzzled. “What’s that?”

“We eradicate,” said Walt and laughed.

“Yes,” said Charles. “We eradicated 222,621 marijuana plants so far this year.”

“Marijuana?” Henry asked in a hushed voice.

“Yeah.”

“Two hundred...?” Henry asked, not believing.

“222,621, and counting,” said Charles.

“That’s counting indoor and outdoor,” said Walt, laughing.

“West Virginia ranks in the top five nationally in the amount of marijuana eradicated.”

“Mostly down here in the southern part,” added Charles.

“I don’t believe this,” said Henry, rather astonished.

“We just eliminated hundreds of illegal marijuana plants not too far up the road. This area’s dependency on the illegal drug trade has exploded,” explained Walt.

“Right under our noses,” said Henry.

“Yep,” replied Charles. “You just don’t hear about it so much what with all the pills, methamphetamine, and heroin as the cheaper option.”

“How do you find the plants,” asked Henry.

“Not easy,” said Charles. “They’re usually well hidden. We get tips on where to look, then we do a flyover.”

“Do you use drones?”

“We have. Why do you ask?” said Walt, raising an eyebrow.

“Ah, no reason really, just curious.”

“We do use drones. They are a big help with surveillance,” Walt continued.

“How much do you value each plant? Just curious,” asked Henry “Street value - $2,000 each,” said Walt.

“That would be...” Henry did a quick calculation. “Math is not my forte. I’m a history teacher. I’d guess about $450 million?”

“Close enough,” said Charles.

“You guys must be good.” Suddenly Henry got real quiet.

“Wait a minute. You guys are DEA?” “Yeah,” said Charles. “Drug Enforcement Agency.”

“I don’t believe it.”

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“It’s true,” said Charles. “We’re working out of the local FBI office.”

“With Wayne Anderson?”

“Yes,” said Walt.

“Good man,” said Henry. Walt agreed.

“Don’t arrest me, please,” said Henry. “I’ve been thinking that weed should be legal.”

“Not so loud, Mr. Mann,” said Charles, quietly.

“You realize people have been forced to turn to weed cultivation,” said Henry.

“Yes, we know. But the law’s the law, and laws in southern Appalachia are tough on weed,” said Charles.

“When you eradicate $450 million worth, someone is going to be mad.”

“Possibly,” said Charles.

“Maybe mad enough to murder?” Charles and Walt were quiet. “So, did Trudy Heater give you guys “tips” about the location of producers?”

Charles and Walt looked at each other. Charles finally spoke. “I didn’t mention this to you before Mr. Mann, but Trudy Heater was a courier between here and Charlottesville. Also, with growers and buyers, she was a go-between. We just follow orders,” said Charles, looking around to make sure they weren’t being overheard.

“But you think someone could have had reason to murder Trudy?”

“Tough laws don’t stop southern Appalachians from being prolific producers of weed,” said Walt, matter-of-factly. “Nor do tough laws stop the killing.”

“Weed is part of the culture,” said Henry.

“Yes,” replied Charles. “Many around here can tell you what it takes to grow good weed; finding the best strains, gauging the market, how much you can charge, what strains are selling and who the buyers are. But very few are willing to talk about Trudy Heater.”

“A lot of people have benefited from growing weed,” said Henry. “If they feel their crops are going to be targets for eradicating, some growers may not come back.”

“We know,” said Charles.

“So Trudy knew the buyers and the growers?”

77

“She was the middle person who put them together, or not, depending on who was paying the most,” said Walt. “Competition is stiff.”

“I’ve been told that medical weed has a real future,” said Henry.

“Yes,” agreed Walt. “Trouble is weed’s an illegal Schedule One drug and as such, there hasn’t been a lot of research,” said Walt. “I think there are strains of weed that could be used to help people, but the different strains need to be tested.”

“Kentucky ranks third in the United States behind firstranked California and second-ranked Tennessee for the amount of marijuana produced,” said Charles.

“Probably grow enough weed to pay off this country’s debt,” said Walt.

“Yeah,” said Charles. “It’s been estimated that West Virginia could raise somewhere in the neighborhood of $45 million in taxes if medical weed was legal.”

“If weed’s legal everywhere, you guys would be out of a job.”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t have anything to do,” said Walt, laughing.

“Prison population would decrease,” said Charles. “Legal could mean more tax money for the mountains.”

“But illegal means there are more sordid stories for reporters to cover,” said Henry.

“Yeah, and politicians have a soapbox to rail from,” said Charles. “The price of illegal weed means there are more jobs open at the DEA. But with legal weed, this state could save millions currently spent on what we do - enforcement.”

“And marijuana could potentially have a positive impact on West Virginia’s opioid-based painkiller and heroin epidemic by offering another, less addictive alternative to individuals who are suffering from debilitating medical conditions,” offered Walt.

“We eradicated nearly 400 million dollars of marijuana last year,” said Charles.

“That’s as much as the coal companies pay in severance tax,” said Henry.

“The worldwide market for weed, Mr. Mann, is more than for the smartphone business.”

“You telling me the truth, Charles?” asked Henry. The men nodded.

“Funny,” Henry said, looking around, “But, then it wasn’t that long ago that sitting in a Starbucks having a latte would 78

have been unimaginable, not just because I’m black, but because finding a Starbucks in this part of the world was like finding a needle in the haystack. The aroma, the socializing, you know, being with people you don’t know except to say hello, which most everybody does in here. It’s almost quaint. There’s no rushing you. I had a place up on the mountain, briefly. Even had a name, Deadend.” The two men laughed. “Good eating and music and relaxing. Didn’t want a hard liquor place, just calm and peaceful, no aggression. Just happiness and love.”

“So what happened?”

“Long story. But Starbucks was sort of my model. Coffee’s so democratic.”

“Never thought of that, but you’re right.” The young men got up to leave. “Be seeing you around, Mr. Mann,” said Charles.

“Enjoyed our talk, boys. You have a good day.”

“You too, sir. Don’t give up on Deadend,” said Charles.

Henry returned their smiles and felt a renewed optimism about the future. Those two young men were the promise. He had a feeling he would be seeing them again.

79

12 “Have you taken up residence here, Henry?” Agent Wayne Anderson sat down beside him.

“Thanks for meeting me here, Wayne. Better than the teachers’ lounge. This is my second office. I’m addicted to my after-school caffeine.”

“No problem,” said Anderson.

“So what’s on your mind?”

“Tell me a little about Deadend.”

“That’s what it was, a dead end. Long story, Wayne.” Henry took a sip of his latte. “These lattes are loaded with sugar, but they’re so good.” Anderson laughed. “When I first started teaching, the small town of Last Chance was booming, relatively.

Now it’s pretty much a ghost town. The kids joked that they should change the name from Last Chance to Deadend. I liked the name Last Chance. Make it here or nowhere. Then I remembered a sign I saw that was at the end of a road, just before a cemetery, that had made me laugh. The sign read, ‘Deadend,’ with no pun intended. I had seen that sign many times but never thought about how funny its placement was.”

“So, ‘Deadend,’ was it?”

“Yep. Deadend was to augment my teacher’s salary. I always wanted to be my own boss, though it was a proud day when I was hired by the school board to teach. The school board was not only all white then, but several members were related.

Seemed you needed to have a relative on the board in order to be considered for a job in the district. There are usually a few openings for teaching jobs. I don’t get too friendly with fellow teachers because they most likely will be leaving. Urban area teachers don’t fancy relocating to southern West Virginia.”

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“You love teaching.”

“Yes, I do. Love young people. Many students love learning, and many, despite the odds against them, go on to college. I tell you, Wayne, some students possess a light and calmness and poise that defy their age and their environment. A couple of my students earned their Ph.D’s. A few became medical doctors. I did lose a couple of promising students to drugs. A few more just lost hope. Anyway, sorry, what was your question again?”

“You were starting to tell me about Deadend. How did it come about?”

“I figured I had to shake things up...can’t teach forever. I wanted someplace where you could kick back and read a book or newspaper or just sit and talk or not. Starbucks does it very well, I might add. Deadend would have been as accommodating and comfortable as Starbucks. The coffee would always be hot.

So I did it. Wasn’t easy. Deadend was only open in the evenings because of my teaching schedule. The place had been an old hunting cabin, but it was right on the highway. My friends came.

The regulars all had their seats, and if one dared sit in another’s chair...well...that was a no-no. I loved the sleepy, dim evenings when the gossip and jokes were stale when no surprises were left, when there was no more energy for boasting, when everyone could sit back and enjoy a smoke or a beer and tell each other another big lie around the warmth of the glowing fireplace. The fire would take the chill out of any hard feelings over another lost football game or a bad weed crop or another mine closing.”

“The dense forest on the mountain where I located Deadend was too dark to cultivate weed, but at special, unexpected times, Deadend was just right for cultivating conversation, though at times the conversation camouflaged any real feeling, especially of a political nature.” Henry laughed. “The political/social system had been set in place before the Deadend regulars were born, back when men were men and coal was king. Southern Appalachia coal country had long ago turned against the ‘Establishment,’ holding it to blame for turning the country in directions they felt remote from...left out. I wanted a place where, when everyone got quiet, had run out of talk, of words; there would be the magic of the times when movies really were magical. I like the old movies. I had a collection of them. ‘High Noon,’ ‘Shane,’ ‘Singing In The Rain.’ I put in a big screen television and had a movie night where people could vote on what they wanted to see. So 81

many by-gone films could still stoke the embers of holding off the mountain chill of exclusion. But that was in the olden days, the magical days, long before Trudy Heater had made the men feel heroic, special, long before she gathered the secret locations of many southern mountain weed farms by being very choosy about which powerful, financially-abled men she would bestow her charms upon.

“What motivated you to give up the reigns to Deadend?” asked Agent Anderson.

“My belief in God. ‘If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.’ My backer had different ideas about Deadend.”

Anderson noticed Henry’s coffee container was low and there was just a bite of his roll left. “How about another latte and cinnamon roll, Henry?”

“That would be a start,” said Henry, smiling.

“Coming up,” said Agent Anderson and strolled over to the counter.

Henry noticed Anderson giving a smile to another AfricanAmerican, a young lady, far younger than himself, hunched over her computer while, every once in a while giving a kind smile or a kind greeting to a fellow Starbucks’ customer as she had returned Anderson’s smile. Sitting in Starbucks reading the paper, sipping the last of his latte, Henry had to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” asked Anderson walking back after putting in his order.

“Just thinking that we’re part of the young and well-educated ‘elitists,’ the latte-sipping crowd.”

“We’re ‘elitist’ for sure,” laughed Anderson.

“Except for the lady in the corner,” whispered Henry, pointing at a portly woman. I know her. She’s just one of the ‘Accidental Racist’s’ Paisley sings about.”

“Who?” Anderson asked.

“Country singer.”

“Don’t know him.”

“He’s from West Virginia,” said Henry. “He sang about hoping a black man who’d waited on him at Starbucks would understand the Rebel flag he was wearing was just because he was a Skynyrd fan, a southern band.”

“You can’t wear a Confederate flag t-shirt and think it doesn’t mean anything. It’s racism,” said Anderson.

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“Yeah, but the guy wearing the t-shirt will say slavery wasn’t his fault. You can’t do anything, he’ll say, without somebody taking it the wrong way.”

“How else do you take wearing a Confederate t-shirt?” asked Anderson.

“It’s all just a big misunderstanding,” said Henry. “You know let bygones be bygones. Like the town has pretty much forgotten Trudy Heater’s murder.”

“Sometimes living in West Virginia is more dangerous than living in Mexico,” said Anderson.

“Especially when so much money is involved, along with all the heroin overdoses we’re seeing. Thank you,” said Henry as Anderson handed him the coffee and roll. “I’m sort of addicted to these cinnamon rolls. Hoping the caffeine won’t keep me awake tonight.” Henry’s cell dinged with a message. He read the message and smiled. “It’s my wife telling me to buy some bread on the way home.”

“I get the same message,” said Anderson as they observed four different patrons of Starbucks, each with their computers hooked up to free electricity. “So you thought at Deadend,” said Anderson, “you would copy the free Wi-Fi access through AT&T.” “If broadband got to the top of the mountain. In addition, like this Starbucks, I’d have a well-stocked reading and game shelf to encourage customers to settle in and hang out with friends for a while, and once weed was legal - I said legal - maybe indulge a little. You can make a call now and get weed delivered as fast as pizza,” said Henry - “not legal, but fast.”

“If weed is ever legalized on a big scale,” said Anderson, “I wouldn’t be surprised to see Starbucks carry it in time. So Deadend was modeled on Starbucks?”

“Sort of a rustic cabin model tucked in the forest. I wanted to emulate the human connection and humanity that I think Starbucks does. It is a place between home and work. I wanted a low-key, comfortable, inviting business but the old rundown building I found up the mountain at the south end of Last Chance was not unlike many others in southern Appalachia that were in need of some tender loving care...nothing to look at from the outside, but once inside the door, I wanted customers to find a cozy beer garden with a couple of pool tables, a TV, card table, a nice place to hang your hat. Deadend would be about good food, 83

my mother’s recipes. A place to stop and have a cold one, a place to talk and laugh with friends, a place where, perhaps, fresh ideas would germinate about how to get this place moving. And, in time, as I said, if and when weed was ever legal in this state, the customer could feel free to indulge in a soothing joint. Knowing how slowly the political wheels grind along though, I figured I had time to work out the details.”

“Eventually, once medical marijuana becomes legal here, you could have a whole chain of them. Was that your thinking?”

“No. Not my thinking. I needed money, more money than I had. The odds were against me. There are only a handful of black-owned businesses in southern Appalachia. But I had papers drawn up with everything aboveboard.”

“It takes some guts to start your own business,” said Anderson.

“I guess. Like many things, you’d never do it if you knew how hard it was going to be. My determination to keep going forward had been instilled in me by my mother. ‘We got to push,’ she’d say. She had been a maid before earning an advanced degree and going on to a thirty-year teaching career. Anyway, all I needed to complete my vision for my start-up business was money and the savvy of someone with business connections who knew where the deep pockets were.”

“There aren’t that many deep pockets in this state,” said Anderson.

“The only person I knew of that ilk was a man named Charley Wise. You know him?”

“Know of him. I understand he’s one of the movers and shakers.”

“Charley’s a smooth operator if ever there was one, a man who has made the most of his limitations. He never graduated from college, I guess feeling that he did not need a degree to do what he had decided to do. His gift is merging wealthy people with their ambitions. Teach them how to spend their money to make their dreams come true. I had heard Charley had his fingers in some of the larger weed farms across the southern Appalachians, through Kentucky and southern Ohio. Investing in weed farms, he told me, is better than the stock market.”

“Interesting,” said Anderson. “I suspect he’s the same ‘Charley’ that is said to be involved with Dewey Long?”

“Ah... yes.”

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“Mary Ellen Heater mentioned her sister had said there was a man who had something to do with Deadend.”

“Yes. Trudy was a student of mine several years ago. I hired her to work at Deadend. That was how she first met Charley Wise, the man she must have told Mary Ellen about. Charley was my backer when I wanted to open Deadend. He was the owner, a polished operator. He has a very successful public relations and financial advisement firm up in the state capital. He’s Mr. Polish who’s made a career of appeasing everyone while offending no one.”

“He must be a magician,” said Anderson.

“Charley’s slick. He’s been a confidant of many politicians on both sides of the fence and has run several winning political campaigns. He knows where every last dime in the state is, and he can cajole the most die-hard penny pincher to ante up for his candidate! He has no allegiance to anyone. He’s all about money and polish – a little seamy, but he offers no apologies. He’s never set himself up as a saint. After spending many summers driving him all over the state and keeping my mouth shut, I earned Charley’s trust. He can smell a good deal a mile away, and he saw the possibility that he could tie up weed distribution rights to legalized weed. He said it was what Joe Kennedy did with liquor back in the Thirties. The moonshiners were asleep at the wheel while trying to outrun the law. Old man Kennedy was ready when the social mores changed. Charley said he’d be a billionaire today if his great granddaddy’s cousins had been smart. Hard workers, he said, but they never thought about being rich. I guess, unlike Charley, they didn’t care about money. They were having too much fun. Charley can smell money. ‘Easy money, Henry, easy money.’”

“People admired the moon-shiners. They were capitalists who made their own way and their own rules. Made friends with the law, so usually, I guess, they didn’t have much trouble.”

“Sounds like Charley,” said Henry.

“People didn’t kill each other back then,” said Anderson. “Do you think Charley had anything to do with Trudy’s murder?”

“No...he’s more subtle.”

“The drug trade and weed is big money today.”

“Yep, and like moonshine,” said Henry, “drugs and weed let people earn a living.”

“Henry, I hear that all the time,” said Anderson.

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“Charlie thinks he’ll be sitting on a pot of gold when weed goes legal,” said Henry.

“But if legal weed becomes a fact, will the state decide to own and operate the stores like they did with liquor?”

“Yeah, but Charley won’t allow that,” said Henry. “He knows the state barracudas will be out in force.”

“The cowboy troopers,” said Anderson. “Protecting the state’s turf. That’s when the fun begins. Corruption is tiered like a big money cake, Henry. You have to have guards, 24/7, to keep the poachers away because we’re talking big money. You don’t know who your allies are. That’s when my job gets tough. There’s a need to replenish the state coffers, so Charley may be ahead of the curve. So what happened between you and Charley?”

“Charley had bigger ideas. At the end of the day, I’m a high school history teacher who happens to be black. So that left me out. Charley gave me a payoff, and I walked away. Charley wanted to push ahead right away. He said people and the government would need to catch up, but he figured they’d jump the fence on legalized weed when they realized the benefits for the state. ‘They just need to ease along the Christian folks,’ Charley said. ‘Like with same-sex marriage.’ Charley said he’d run a couple of ads that Southern Baptists would swallow. He was taking the ball and running with it. Charley was going to make contact with a couple of companies that help various entities go nationwide. He knows how to sell the sizzle.”

“So Charley Wise wanted a silent partner role?” asked Anderson.

“I think he had bigger and more questionable things in mind as far as I was concerned. A black history teacher didn’t fit the bill. Even if weed is ever legalized, I don’t think Charley would have a different opinion. I was disappointed. He thought a white guy would come across as, well... smarter to other whites. Whites trust other whites.”

“Now that weed is legal for medical purposes, Charley will be busy. He mentioned that the distribution side would be straight up and be ready to go when things were legal. Now they are.

He’d already made a few deals that most likely shut off any other distribution roads. He’ll have a monopoly. In the old days, my uncle told me that moonshiners couldn’t fill all the orders. Did you know NASCAR owes its start to moonshiners?”

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“Funny,” said Anderson. “They were probably racing to get away from the sheriff. What happens when children start munching on pot-laced cookies? How do you control that?”

“I don’t know, tell you the truth,” said Henry. “I became concerned that pot could affect the young brain because the brain’s still developing when they’re young.”

“Come harvest time, we’ll have all these drones flying over,” said Anderson. “Pot growers will be hard pressed to hide their crops. Like when the interstates were built that opened the door to more tourists, which was good. It made it easier for law enforcement. There were more jobs, gas stations, diners, motels, which gave people more choices as to how to make a living.”

“Around here, coal was the driver until it went asunder, and people fled the area. Medical marijuana could come to the rescue, give this whole area a lift.”

“What about Charley’s relationship with Trudy Heater?”

“I know he liked her. She went to work for him. But he never talked to me about Trudy. I understand she introduced him to some growers, and I guess Charley persuaded several of them to align with him. Trudy and Charley may have had something going on the side. She was very pretty. I suspect she liked Charley for what he brought to the table - his connections, high society.

She usually got her man if she wanted him. Charley’s only concern is money and I was black. Actually, he did me a favor.

‘I live outside the fence,’ I told him – ‘so that makes me not as bright, capable, or just too stupid to know what to do?’ ‘Henry, please,’ Charley said. ‘It’s not a racist thing.’ That’s the first thing a racist says, ‘it’s not racist.’”

“It’s not easy, I know,” said Anderson.

“Depressing is what it is. Charley suggested I could come up with a front man. Forget that, I told him. What was I supposed to do? I was tired of being polite. Where has politeness ever got us in this country? I guess I would not have made Deadend go in the legit world. I should have put up a fight. I caved. My uncle would have slapped me up for that. The truth, when it finally dawns, makes you...you feel stupid and then you get angry. This place, this country, is on a downhill slide.”

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13 Deadend, a thirty to forty minute drive up a winding mountain road from Last Chance, sat on the crest of a mountain between two hollows. It was not for casual stopovers looking for a quick beer. Deadend, set among the trees, was fairly dark and close, stagnant even in mid-afternoon, a place of solitude.

A small weathered sign left over from Henry’s reign with the faded words “No Negativity Allowed” hung over the door. Once inside though, after Henry’s reign, Deadend, like the dank smell of weed in the floorboards, reeked of negativity.

Henry would not be pleased. Pin-up girls adorned a wall.

A faded “Stop Obama’s War on Coal” sign was still prominent.

Another full figure Obama cutout was riddled with bullet holes.

There was a pizza oven and a few tables and chairs. A drivethrough window along one wall (the only window) was where pizzas and various mind-altering drugs, pills of various sorts, and cheap handguns were judiciously dispersed under the new management. A hanging wooden cross was hung beside a sign on one wall that read “Serve Coke At Home.” Bobby Bare’s “Detroit City” was a favorite on the old jukebox that Henry had purchased from an antique store.

After driving the mountain roads making drug deliveries for a couple of months, Mary Ellen had been allowed to enter the hallowed halls of Deadend, a man cave. Desperado had persuaded Dewey she was a responsible person who would keep her mouth shut while tending bar and waiting tables.

“Sorry about that, Mary Ellen.” The local high school football coach was commiserating with Mary Ellen over Judge Pendergast’s loose tongue and aggressive flirting behavior prior to his being on the receiving end of her swift kick to the 88

groin. Mary Ellen had delivered the kick to fend off the judge’s unwanted advances. “Nothing’s private anymore, Mary Ellen.

Nothing,” said the coach.

“NSA has seen to that,” said the mayor.

“Seems there’s nothing private over at NSA, even top national secrets,” said the Captain. He was sitting at the bar keeping his eye on Mary Ellen, concerned for her safety.

“No matter anyway. Everything we say, every picture we post, everything we do, is just a Google away,” said Doc. “Google may speed the end of democracy.”

“We’re talkin’ bloodbaths, scandals, bought elections, and street fights,” said the mayor. “People are tired of it. Tired of being abused in the mines and getting hooked on drugs in dealing with the pain.”

“Bribe-takers and backroom dealers, and coal companies don’t care about that,” said the coach. “The only bottom line they care about is run coal! I’m tired of it. Can’t get enough equipment to run my program.”

“Soon, Dewey will run out of guns because everyone will be using them on each other,” said Mary Ellen in an aside to the Captain just as Dewey entered.

“Easy girl,” whispered the Captain, placing his hand on hers.

“I’ll be outside... when you get a chance.” She nodded. “Dewey,” said the Captain as he exited. There was a sudden hush. The men quietly all said hello to Dewey. Dewey was a cohort of the local coal baron who had just been found guilty for a mine explosion that had occurred several years back killing several miners. It was the first-ever such conviction of a coal baron.

“Folks are more upset about the football team than about our dear coal baron,” said the Captain.

“You’re talking Armageddon here - losing football,” said Coach. “Have to watch my back.”

“You’re lucky, Coach,” said Doc. “The pawn shops have all the guns because people need the money. A lot of people need a win, Coach. How are you, Mary Ellen,” asked a genuinely concerned Doc. “Holding up, are you?”

“Yes, holding up,” said Mary Ellen.

“Mary Ellen, dear, you’re a sure cure for what ails many a man,” said Doc.

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“Thank you,” she said and smiled. At Deadend, Mary Ellen saw the lonely, hard-drinking men trying to make the best of things, and if a little flirtation came her way, she could smile it away, knowing the code of silence meant a great deal in the mountains. Even when the judge’s sexual harassment reared its ugly head. “Another round comin’ up, boys. What would you gentlemen like?”

The conversation continued, a forced easiness, while the booze went down easy, well into the evening. The smoke from the mayor’s cigarette wafted up into the haze. Dewey huddled in a corner with his cell phone, seemingly not happy with what he was hearing. But Dewey was rarely happy.

“Set the checkerboard up, Despo,” said Dewey, putting his cell phone away. Desperado hated playing checkers with Dewey.

Dewey was a sore loser. This place has no rules, Mary Ellen thought. Like the scumbag, Judge Pendergast just coming out of the bathroom rubbing his crotch. He would easily bend his elbow with the other men. He’s probably offering them favors for sale, like justice, she thought. The judge had ruled in Dewey’s ex’s divorce case, and Trudy had told Mary Ellen that was why Dewey’s ex was sucking up to him or just sucking him. She must have been good, Mary Ellen thought because Dewey’s ex won big.

Having heard enough, Mary Ellen served the men their drinks and then excusing herself, stepped outside. Doc stepped out behind her. They saw a lone car zip by as though the driver knew what was around the next curve. People think they know what’s around the bend, Mary Ellen thought, but they don’t.

“You must be careful, Mary Ellen,” said Doc. “I am.”

“Deadend’s an oasis for the stressed-out men in there, slumped around the long table, telling each other their troubles.

Everything from depression, nerves... addiction. We’re all trying to hang on. The men have no pressure of having to be anywhere anytime soon or even desiring to be. They’re all from my generation, Mary Ellen, laid-back, deliberate, and passionate in their way, with honest resignation. You can see it in their eyes, bleak at times. There’s some lingering resentment among them for the elites of the world. Many think we’re just a bunch of donothin’ hillbillies. It’s hard for me sometimes not to be cynical 90

and suspicious. I’ll be back in a bit. Have some patient charts to finish up. A doctor’s work is never done.”

Mary Ellen watched Doc as he ambled to his car. She saw the Captain’s pickup down the hill, off the side of the road. She walked toward the pickup. She had made up her mind that in time she would walk away from her past, southern West Virginia’s past. It was all written in the stars. She had heard her mother say men were to blame for all that had gone wrong in southern West Virginia, for her sister’s death. The pretenders, her mother said, the greedsters and hucksters, armed with college degrees and country club memberships - they were all to blame. Dewey, Mary Ellen knew, had no conscience. That’s why her grandfather was sitting close by outside. He was her protector. She opened the door to the Captain’s pickup.

“The bastard judge is still in there. He tried to rape me,” she told the Captain. “Rat poison’s too good for him, the two-faced son-of-a-bitch.”

“I agree. He and Dewey are of the same ilk. Both are despicable and have been for decades. My dear, you’re more woman than most men would know what to do with, certainly the scummy judge.”

“I’m a foolish, selfish, self-destructive woman. My life is going nowhere but down. Something has to shake loose, Pappy,” she said.

“It will,” he assured her. “Here’s the empty disk you wanted.

Be careful.”

“I will.” She slid the disk under her sweater. Trudy’s murder had catapulted Mary Ellen, like her father, into a downward spiral.

Dreams of emulating country singers she admired, like Dolly Parton and Patsy Cline, were just dreams. Mary Ellen’s makebelieve dreams had been shattered when the show American Idol vanished. Her mother had told her she was going to enter her in The Voice competition wherever the auditions were held. She felt the disk against her skin. The disk could be her redemption.

Darkness was descending upon Deadend. Mary Ellen looked at Junior in the back seat of the Captain’s pickup. He was sound asleep. She took a deep breath, kissed her grandfather’s cheek, and went back inside Deadend. The men didn’t look up when she entered. They were quiet, tense. She knew Trudy’s nearly yearold murder and who did it and why was part of the forced casual 91

conversation among the men at Deadend. Talking was a way for the men to alleviate the monotony of work. Mary Ellen felt them get quiet whenever she was around. With alcohol to boost their moods and loosen their tongues, Mary Ellen was quick to fill the empty glass or replace the empty bottle. They would lie, brag, or just complain about the state of their marriages and anything else to Mary Ellen. She encouraged them. It had been the mountains, the hunting and fishing, digging coal, and a sense of humor that had allowed them to survive. She looked at Desperado, who was in a meth stupor. “Forget him, he’s gone,” she told herself.

The judge made a little motion at her. He wanted to pay for his drink. Just then Dewey came out of the back room, slamming the door.

“Thought I told you to set the checkerboard up, Desperado.”

“He’s afraid he’ll win,” said coach. The men laughed.

“You must be afraid, too,” said Dewey. “People need a winner!

You should retire, Coach, before the new season. You’re not up to the challenge,” Dewey said forcefully, taking a seat at the table.

“The season’s about to start. All the shit going on, and you’re worried about me? Give me a break! The only person I’ve ever known you to be concerned about is yourself!”

“Oh, aren’t you the brave one.”

“No, but I’ll know when it’s time to retire,” said the coach, unflinchingly.

“If not now, when?! You’ve had ten losing seasons in a row!

Enough’s enough,” said Dewey.

“Jesus Christ. You’d think I was a terrorist.”

“Worse! You’re a loser! Like you, Mayor! Beats me how you ever got elected. Damn carpetbagger,” said Dewey, angrily.

“People voted for me, that’s how. Like you, I was born and raised here, and I like football. God knows why I come here.”

After high school, the mayor had left the mountains and did not return for nearly thirty years. At college in Cincinnati, he discovered he was gay. When his mother died, he moved back to southern West Virginia to care for his ailing father. He had been in the Ohio state legislature and was seen as a reformer. It wasn’t an easy choice to move back. He had been concerned about the abuse he might receive as a gay man, but after a few years, he was asked to run for mayor. He never made a show of his sexual preference, but he did not back away from it. The people had a 92

“live and let live” attitude with regard to the mayor’s being gay.

He looked people in the eye, not letting their attention wander.

His voice had a lilting, commanding quality. He shook hands and kept a firm hold of the person’s hand until they smiled.

“Some think I want to change everything. That’s what they said about Obama. I’m just trying to stir things up.”

“So am I,” said Dewey.

“They’ll wait me out,” said the mayor. “I’m just trying to survive. Hold onto your britches a little longer, Dewey. Obama was a temporary nuisance, like me. After I’m gone, you can do all the raping and pillaging you want.”

“And put a bullet in your head, Mayor,” said Dewey, pointing the gun at the mayor’s head. The conversation stopped cold.

Mary Ellen was about to set more beers on the table. No one looked at her. No one moved.

“Maybe for the sake of peace around here, Coach, maybe both of us should leave,” said the mayor, evenly.

“Yeah,” Dewey said, finally, “you both could do the town and me a favor and quit today,” he continued, gruffly, still holding the gun.

“Enough’s enough, children,” said Mary Ellen, with an actress’s playfulness. “This town needs all of you. We all need to be loving and big-hearted, hard as that may be. I’m singing at my sister’s memorial service. I hope to see you all there.”

“Don’t expect any tears from me,” said Dewey.

“I won’t,” said Mary Ellen. She smiled innocently at Dewey, ignoring Desperado as he shook his head at her. With that, Mary Ellen went to the bathroom.

“Your sister’s a real pain,” said Dewey. “She’s lucky I didn’t shoot her. Should never have let you all talk me into bringing her up here.”

“She’s got a strong streak,” said the coach. “Rather fearless.”

“Stupid, like her sister was,” said Dewey.

“I like her,” said the mayor. “It’s a tough time for her.”

“My players have always liked me,” said the coach.

“You’re too damn soft, Larry,” said Dewey. “Been tellin’ you that for years.”

“I hardly have enough players to field a full team as it is. Last thing I want to do is run any of them off. Players aren’t machines!

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Nothing’s easy coaching a bunch of teenagers. I’m a teacher. I still hear from many of my old players.”

“Touching. Who cares? Who cares if they like you!” said Dewey, exasperated. “Hell’s bells, I could give your quarterback some footwork lessons. It’s all in the footwork.”

“Dewey, if the team won every game, that’d be no fun. Like having sex every night. You’d get tired of it. You’d be bored, Dewey. You wouldn’t enjoy it.”

“I’d welcome a little boredom.”

“This country has got its head screwed on backward,” said Coach. “People watch football for the wrong reasons. I’m more than a losing football coach. I’m poetry in motion.”

“You and the mayor should get cozy.”

“Sometimes I want to be out in a desert somewhere,” replied the coach. “Give my soul and body a rest.”

“You coach high school football,” said the mayor. “It’s a privilege.”

“Yeah, a privilege all right. My failures are out there for everyone to see.”

“Footwork,” boomed Dewey. “I’m tellin’ you.” With that, Dewey staggered up and demonstrated his frustration with a surprisingly agile two-step left, then a two-step right... all the while holding his gun aloft. “It’s a dance.”

“A little light on your feet, Dewey,” said the coach.

“Right, left, up, down, flutter here, flutter there - quick too – like at the shooting range - no time to reload,” said Dewey, getting more than a little threatening, a little exaggerated in his dance as though he was on something besides beer. “Need the big clips – like a Pez dispenser - bam, bam, bam. Pop-up target shootin’s popular, the old west, people like shootin’ - spreadin’ like wildfire.” The men tensed. “Target shooting’s gonna be bigger than Friday night football, bigger than NASCAR. Hell, grandmas out there fingerin’ shotguns, rifles, bows and arrows. It’s all in the footwork, Coach - like tennis.”

“You don’t know shit ‘bout tennis,” said Coach, forcing a laugh.

“I know more about tennis than you know about football,” said Dewey, waving the gun around. “You got to be perpendicular to your hand, like in golf...”

“Golf?” Coach laughed.

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“In golf, you got to keep your eye on the ball! It’s all in the footwork.You don’t have the footwork, you ain’t got shit. BAM!” Dewey fired the gun out the half-opened drive-thru window. The men tensed. Mary Ellen came out of the bathroom but stayed close to the door. The mayor motioned for her to stay put. “Your quarterback’s feet are in quicksand,” said Dewey, firing another shot into the ceiling. “Whole damn county’s in quicksand,” said Dewey. “That’s your fault, Mayor, for not bringing work to this county.”

“The world’s changing,” said the mayor.

“Not here,” said the coach, laughing.

“It takes some kind of courage to run this place,” said the mayor. “When I came into office, everyone thought things would go on as before, including the then sheriff. This town was in the grip of criminals, some of your old friends, Dewey. The sheriff paid me a visit – asked me what I wanted. “Nothing,” I said. “Just want to get rid of some free-loaders.” He asked me if that included him. I said yes because I didn’t think a leopard could change its spots. He left, after calling me a queer. I’m pretty proud to be from West Virginia. I went away to school, I guess, to prove I could make it outside of this place. I did and as an old singer sang, “I’m still here. Our mountains may be gone, but I’m still here.”

“And ain’t it a shame,” said Dewey, firing a bullet into the floor, a foot from the mayor’s feet.

“I’m glad you’re still here, Mayor. Any coward can go to war when he’s sure of winning,” said the coach, looking straight down at Dewey, who had fallen unto the floor. “My players have the guts to take the field when they know they are going to lose, when they know the other team has all the guns. That’s courage.”

“This little town has been forgotten by some people, but it’s not a loser,” said the mayor.

“What do you call a place with no movie theater, no post office - everything looks like it’s gonna fall down? This town’s a train wreck. It should be demolished,” said Desperado, hardness in his voice.

“I always thought football was fun,” said Mary Ellen, coming into the room and going behind the bar. “If you win, ok, if you don’t ok. You can do your best and still lose, but you treat your players with compassion and honesty, and they will come out all 95

right. Mayor, you have held this community together. We have all suffered, but I appreciate what you have done. And my dad says you haven’t doled out jobs to all your relatives and friends.”

“Thank you, Mary Ellen, and thank your dad. Used to be companies that had job openings would just go to people they knew. There were no applications. The other people were left out in the cold, especially black people, so they gave up looking for work because they had no chance of being hired.” The mayor pushed back his ‘Henderson’s Auto Shop’ ball hat and said, “I just hate to see that, and nobody likes to lose. But I agree with you, Coach. We can lose with dignity.”

“Bullshit,” said Dewey. “My gun gives me dignity,” said Dewey, getting to his knees and then falling over the table while knocking his chair over.

“I come here to Deadend,” said the mayor as the men helped Dewey to his feet. “I feel safe here. No one’s gonna take a pot shot at me. Right, Dewey? Look, let’s keep it civil. I feel responsible for this community,” said the mayor.

“We all are responsible, Mayor,” said Coach.

“I confess my sins straight to God,” said the mayor. “Where do you confess yours, Dewey?”

“You’re going to hell,” mumbled Dewey.

“Your soul is black, Dewey.”

“You’re all talk, Mayor.”

“You have no compassion, Dewey.”

“Compassion, bull-shit,” said Dewey.

“That bothers me,” said Coach “Losing should bother you!”

“You know what bothers me? Bothers me how people who are down on their luck, on drugs, and broke can still vote against their own interests,” lamented the coach.

“Is everyone ganging up on me?” asked Dewey. “Don’t you see I’m holding a gun?”

“You need to get out of yourself, connect to the world,” said the mayor.” The mayor picked the chair up and Dewey fell into it, laying the gun on the table.

“Don’t need your dime store crap philosophy, Mayor. I should be in Florida. That’s where I want to “connect” to, but here I am with you losers.”

“Talk to your sugar daddy,” said the mayor. “Charley Wise has all the answers or at least knows where they are. You said you 96

couldn’t afford Florida anymore. Hear you tell it, you can’t afford anything.”

“Ha! You don’t know what I can afford.”

“That’s what you told us, Dewey,” said the mayor. “You were almost crying. Maybe your ex will take the sheriff to Florida.”

“Screw her.”

“He may be,” said the mayor. A laugh escaped from Mary Ellen.

“Something funny, young lady?” He picked up the gun again.

“No, Dewey,” she said.

“Just know I’m telling you this as a friend - I heard the judge was in her bed,” said Coach.

“They all deserve each other, a gold-digging threesome,” said Dewey, smiling. “The judge thinks with his crotch. Right now, I got other things to think about. I can’t even afford a God-damn Starbucks latte,” he said rather dramatically.

“I thought lattes were sissy, liberal drinks,” said Mary Ellen.

“A liberal is lonely around here,” said the mayor, walking over to Mary Ellen. “Sure you can see, we’ve got a situation here.

Dewey, despite his disclaimer, has too much money and time on his hands. He’s a hazard. He doesn’t like gays or women...I don’t know that he likes anyone...I’m awfully sorry about your sister, Mary Ellen. I know it’s been a spell, and you never can find the words.” He put his hand on her arm. “They defiled the mountain where your sister was found. I still hear the fragileness in your voice. We all suspect that your sister was murdered on the mountain by one of our own...and I know it’s hard but mind your tongue, girl,” said the mayor.

“That’s what my mother told my father. Dad blames himself for Trudy’s... being gone. He’s found it hard to go on. ‘Sometimes,’ my mother says, ‘we have to fool ourselves into thinking we are better at something than we are, and then maybe we can do things we never thought we could do.’ Daddy finally agreed that we needed to have a service for Trudy. Maybe that will help.”

The mayor nodded. “My conscience makes sleeping hard.

Why we let such evil happen. And pretend we don’t know. Why? I don’t know how this tale will end, but it will end. Coming up the mountain today, I saw the red and yellow leaves of the most beautiful trees you’ll see anywhere. The beauty of this place is why I’ve don’t want to leave. Some things you can do better and 97

some, well, I try not to worry about things I can’t do a lot about.”

The door opened and Doc Johnson re-entered. He looked like the playwright Tennessee Williams, dressed in his usual rumpled white linen suit. Doc set his medicine bag down, along with a small suitcase, and rejoined his friends.

“I need a drink.”

“You plan on moving in?” asked the mayor, pointing to the suitcase.

“I might have to. Got no water.”

“Again?”

“Still running black - orange on a good day. Oil tanker upended in the river.”

“What’s new,” said the coach. “Water’s been poisoned...again!”

“I pray not. 300,000 people with no good water,” said the mayor.

“I still won’t drink the water,” said the coach. “Half the rivers in the state are poisoned. Had to truck in water for my players.”

“No one knows what the effects of this tanker deal will be,” complained Doc. “No water, again,” said the Mayor, shaking his head.

“I still can’t take a shower without my body burning.”

“That shouldn’t bother you, Doc. You’re a mountaineer,” said Desperado.

“You’re lucky, Dewey, they’re not ripping this mountain down to get the coal - otherwise your well water’d be nasty. This Johnny Cash day, Mayor?” The mayor was dressed all in black.

“Been to a funeral?”

“He sure has,” said Dewey, lifting his head off the table.

“Didn’t you see the game, Doc?” “It’s amazing, Doc, how much better I feel when the season ends,” said Coach. “I suddenly start feeling good.”

“You’re a type A, Coach,” said Doc. “I’ve told you - forget the losses.”

“They won’t let me.”

“If I can’t forget them, you can’t,” said the mayor, with a smile, fooling with his cell phone. “Reception up here’s spotty at best.”

“Nothing but abuse, Doc,” said coach.

“Don’t listen to them, Coach,” said Doc. “There’s a damn water emergency!! Can’t make coffee!” Doc shook his head. “I’m not fitted for life here any longer. No man or woman is. I want 98

you to know that. I want you to think about it, gentlemen, talk about it. Can’t even get a glass of water that doesn’t look and smell like shit! Not even safe in Canada anymore.”

“Here you go,” said Mary Ellen, handing Doc a scotch and water.

“Thank you, my dear. Coach, I’d say go fishing,” said Doc, “but all the fish have been poisoned!”

“I’m more mellow now,” said the coach.

“I was mellow until this morning,” said Doc. I couldn’t brush my teeth!”

“I’m not like I used to be,” said the coach. “You can’t coach the same way. It doesn’t work anymore. I used to put the kids through boot camp, but it was too much. For so long, I blamed myself for everything. If a kid fumbled, I should’ve passed. Sure as I’d pass, there’d be an interception. Every loss tells me I’m not a good man. Despite the loss, I tell my players to keep their heads up. I have to tell myself that. It’s not easy.”

“My advice, Coach,” said Dewey. “Next season - muddy up the field, make the players wallow around in slop like hogs. Don’t cater to them. Don’t tell them they’re the best thing since sliced bread. Tell ‘em they suck and if they don’t improve, cut ‘em. I wouldn’t end practice till a player hits one of those pine trees hard enough for a pinecone to fall!”

“My ass would be in court,” said Coach.

“You makin’ a house call, Doc?” “What do you need, Mayor, besides a bigger budget?”

“How about any budget. Can’t afford the phone bill...can’t sleep, my arthritis is so bad.”

“I’m a gullible man,” said Doc. “How do I know you’re not faking?”

“These liars are hard to detect,” said Coach with a wink.

“Tell me. I’ve seen grandmothers hauled off to jail for selling their meds,” said Doc. “Yeah, but no grandma is going to let her grandchildren go hungry,” said the mayor.

“I’m a kind man, I don’t want you to suffer. It’s that bad?”

“Yeah, it’s bad, Doc,” said the mayor. “Hell, Luther had to help me get off the toilet.”

“Pain is hard to deal with. Sometimes it’s better trying to... just deal with it. Better than pills,” said Doc. 99

“How is Luther?” asked Coach.

“He’s ok,” said the Mayor. “He needs to lose weight. Like me.”

“You’re not alone,” said Doc. “Easy to gain, hard to lose.”

“Yeah, but not as hard as supporting all these politicians and church do-gooders. How can I keep doing it and living the life I live?”

Doc and the Coach commiserated. They understood. Luther was the mayor’s life partner. The mayor and Luther had lived together for years. Some folks thought they were brothers.

Others didn’t pay attention because communal living was fairly common due to personal economics. But the mayor’s friends knew there was more to his relationship with Luther than some in the community would be comfortable with.

“You’d think a man would get old enough not to let this stuff bother him,” said the mayor. “Shouldn’t care what people think.

Never gave it too much thought until all this noise about gay marriage came up.”

“Jesus,” said Dewey. “Give it a break,” coming back into the room. “Anyone up for a checker game,” asked Dewey. No one answered. “Desperado!”

Mary Ellen put her arm around the mayor’s shoulder. “It doesn’t bother my friends or me,” she said. “It’s nobody’s business.”

“Appreciate that, Mary Ellen.”

“Self-medicating, boys? Or is that for me?” Mary Ellen asked when she saw Doc take a pill from his bag and set it on the table.

“Is that an Advil? Just kidding. How much are those things?”

“That’s the last thing people ask. It should be the first. A lot of times there are cheaper alternatives,” said Doc. “This pill is gratis for the mayor. I wish I had a magic bullet for pain. I don’t. Stress doesn’t help. Don’t even know what to tell my patients. Crack and meth or pills - legal and illegal.” Doc looked at the pill he laid on the table. “I didn’t put that pill there. You never saw me do it. But like I say, I’m a kind man. Just like my eyes are closed every time I hear someone pull up here and ask for a whole-wheat veggie pizza.” They all stifled their laughter.

“What kind of pill is that,” asked Coach, bending his head down to get a closer view of the pill on the table.

“It’s a Lortab,” said Doc. “Times like this, I need a fix in a hurry,” said the mayor, picking up the pill.

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“We’re all trying to live our lives the best we can, I reckon,” said Doc. “Amen,” said Mary Ellen, and the men clicked their glasses.

“One pill?” asked the Mayor, looking at the pill between his index finger and thumb.

“Yep, that’s it. I believe you, but some can’t handle any pain and that leads to no good. Pill mills, dirty doctors,” said Doc. “A wellness center, couple of counties over, is rumored to be handing out hundreds of prescriptions every day. One doctor, over a tenyear period, has written more than 355,000 prescriptions. Right here in our backyard!”

“You believe that?” asked Coach.

“I do,” answered the mayor.

“Believe it,” said Doc.” “Rumors are just that, rumors,” said Dewey. “Course you dogooders tryin’ to take away my livelihood. Right, Mayor?”

“Your wife did that,” said Coach.

“Desperado makes a good pizza,” said the mayor, wiping his mouth with his hand.

“There aren’t enough people in this county to eat all the pizzas he makes,” said Mary Ellen.

“That may be true, but Dewey doesn’t sell over in Kentucky like this doctor was doing,” said Doc rather daringly. “Do you, Dewey?”

“Do what?”

“Just thinking that you wouldn’t condone selling drugs across state lines. Right? That would be bad, wouldn’t it, Dewey?”

“None of your business, Doc,” said Dewey.

“Crossing state lines, yeah – probably not a good idea,” said the mayor.

“Risky,” said Doc. “Sad fact is no one pays much attention to pills,” said the coach.

“Or guns,” said Mary Ellen to herself, as she walked toward the door.

“Well, some after-school sports might help,” said Coach. “It hurts me. I see these kids every day and so many are so hard up...their parents,” said Coach. “It’s not right! The kids don’t care about the politics of how we got where we are. Some kids so hungry, all they can think about is putting food in their tummy.”

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Mary Ellen wondered about what her sister Trudy had told her - that Despo and Dewey were trading guns in return for drugs. ‘The guns ended up - God knows where,’ Trudy had said.

She had mentioned that Dewey kept a record of how many guns went out but nothing of where they went and whom they killed.

Where would Dewey keep such a record, Mary Ellen asked herself - probably in a safe in his hilltop house, she thought or - Mary Ellen glanced back over her shoulder at the back-room door.

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14 “Junior?” Desperado, short on sleep and hyped on coffee, barked into his cell phone. “Answer me!! Where the hell are you?!...I’ll say it again, Junior, real slow,” shouted Desperado into his cell phone. “Where...the hell...are you...Junior!!”

Mary Ellen’s eyes went to the door, thinking she was glad Junior did not come in with her. She hoped Junior and the Captain had remained parked up the small lane off the main road.

“You better have your shit wired tight. Did you wash your car?... Make sure you trash those Grateful Dead stickers...

Junior?!...Junior!...damn! That little shit...” Desperado stopped himself from throwing the phone. A receiver was attached to his ear with a wrap around mouthpiece. He moved around trying to find the best cell signal. He paced, his hands in constant motion while he talked. “Where in the hell are you, Junior! You wash your car?...Junior. God-damn-it...” He slammed the cell phone.

“Jesus. Mayor, I thought you said that tower would do the trick!”

“Reception up here is always iffy with all the trees. Go out in the field,” said the mayor.

“Reception’s no better out there,” said Mary Ellen.

“Pick up you little shit. Junior?!...Junior! Yes, it’s me. Who in the hell else would it be? You’re what they call an anti-social creep terrorist! I shoot your rat ass, Junior, and they’ll give me a medal! You’re a fuckin’ nuisance! You’ll never be missed! You deserve to die and rot in hell!” Desperado realizes the cell is dead again. “Damn! What the hell? I’ve been talking to myself!

Jesus H. Christ!” His cell rings. “Is that you Junior? Jesus! It’s a miracle!...Junior?...Where’d you go?...Never mind. Better?...

Yeah? You’re dead, Junior...No! Yes, I can hear you! Your phone!

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But you’re going to be dead!...Dead zone, dead zone! Stop, Junior.

Stop! Don’t move! That’s good. Don’t move!...Where the fuck are you?...I am up to my ass in orders...Shut up and listen! Did you shower?...Clean clothes?...Take the earrings out and cover the tattoos? Did you get rid of that roach in the ashtray? Did you clean that piece of junk? Don’t want any dog sniffing you up. Don’t squash the buds...they’re fragile. And don’t speed...and no weed, no pills. Cause the sheriff likes to stop and search and seize! You get a haircut?...Short?...Wear a suit and tie to the hydro store...No! I told you, don’t text about bud, growin,’ or smokin’.

Understood? And no politics, no religion...and be polite. And don’t drive around with wet or freshly dried bud...Stop!...Haven’t you learned your lesson?! Sheriff ’s no good! He hates Dewey.

He’ll haul your ass in this time. You get pulled over, he’ll search your home...if you had a home!! Did you hide the gun?...you’re in denial my friend. You get busted, they’ll be on my ass...and I won’t be happy. What?...Junior!”...“Damnit!” OK! Now listen to me...Listen to me! Three eight balls, 12 bags –12 bags – party and play combo...22 College Ave. Apt 6. – Repeat it...Repeat what I just told you!...You don’t have a gun do you? Wha’d I tell you – no gun! Be polite. – Yeah, what?...Take the bags out of your fuckin’ mouth when you’re talkin’ to me pea-brain!...Don’t swallow them...I’m not worried about you, Junior, I’m worried about my stuff! Next stop - 816 James. Pack-a-bowl - Five bags. Five! Plus two halves and three pd’s. You hear me? What did I say?!...Good That’s good.”

“It’s a big ticket for this kind of entertainment,” said the mayor, nodding at Desperado.

“Maybe Mary Ellen will go to Hollywood and make a movie about us,” said the coach. “Some movie that’d be.”

“Appalachia behind closed doors,” said the mayor.

“Desperado!” Dewey slammed his cell phone down and got out of his chair. “That dumb shit Junior sold oxycodone to some guy and had no idea the guy was a deputy? Could have been a fed instead of that deputy! Damn retard!”

“There’s been no more calls from the sheriff, Dewey - no deputy knocking on our door,” said Desperado, meekly.

“Well, all I need’s for that little shit to get arrested. Where’d you get him anyway?”

“He’s Mary Ellen’s friend. She said he was ok.”

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“Wonderful! He better keep his damn mouth shut, girl. Ball’s in your court, Desperado. Sheriff thinks he’s so damn brilliant,” said Dewey. “Just wait. He’s gonna wind up with – a bullet to the head. We need to eliminate our low-life competition,” he said, conspiratorially, in an aside to Desperado. “Find Junior. Now!” “I’m trying.”

“Try harder,” Dewey hissed.

Desperado thanked Mary Ellen for Dewey’s flying off the handle. “You enjoyed this, I hope!”

“This place is a fool’s paradise,” Mary Ellen said from behind the counter, handing Desperado a dishrag, and whispering, “You better wipe your fingerprints off those guns before you put them in the pizza boxes.”

“Oh? ... Yeah, you’re right.”

“No kidding. How low can you get? Selling guns to people you don’t know,” said Mary Ellen in a low voice.

“What are you saying, Sis?” asked Desperado.

“Nothing,” said Mary Ellen showing him the newspaper.

“Read this. Giving pills to someone you know’s an abuser’s the worst. The abuser gets behind the wheel and slams into another car and kills three people, a mother, and her daughters.” She slams the paper into his chest. “That could be us!”

Mary Ellen came out from behind the counter and looked at Dewey, feeling very low. She felt a sudden rush of a deep, deep freeze – not because of the weather or being anxious to leave the mountains. The cruel cold chilled her with the sudden frozen feeling of being utterly lonely, like an un-forecast freezing blizzard blowing down from the North Pole in the middle of summer. At the same time, as she watched the men she thought these men can’t help themselves, but they do relate to each other.

It was confusing. They can make each other laugh and feel good about where they are. The ties are deep, and they loved the place, the mountains of West Virginia. They would support each other, even the coach who was sure to have another losing season, or even her brother who the men knew was selling drugs...or maybe even, God forbid, Dewey.

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15 “The judge should have sent him to jail then,” said Logan White, the southern district DA for West Virginia. He was talking with Agent Wayne Anderson about Dewey Long. “It was a federal felony, Wayne.” The DA was referring to Dewey’s wiretapping of his ex-wife’s phone. “We’ve got to work together if this state has any hope of attracting people who can help turn the state around. I agree with your wife that we must make this a wonderful place.”

“No wonder my wife likes you,” said Anderson. “Look, I agree. Dewey Long should be in jail. Little things like unpaid taxes, laundering money, dealing drugs through his used car lots and towing business. Everyone has looked the other way.”

“I’m going to be the dog with a bone,” said Logan. “It’s $35,000 a year to put someone in federal prison. But Dewey Long is worth the expense.”

“The brutal murder of Trudy may have tipped the scales. Her family was well liked. People may yet be willing to come forth.

Someone knows something,” said Anderson. “My friend Pastor Joe has hit some rough bumps. Some of his parishioners are not too pleased with the pastor because he talked to me.”

“It’s hard for people who live here. They feel like they get the shaft every time. Eventually, you lose trust,” said the DA. “Yes,” said Anderson. “But there’s no quick fix. The system is fragile. Cleaning the streets, playing some soft upbeat music in the afternoons won’t do it. When someone runs a red light the system breaks down.”

“It took ten years to weed this Wellness place out,” said Logan.

“One doctor left the country. They gave every patient an x-ray, so in case we showed, the clinic could show they were searching for 106

the problem. The doctors involved got mad at their accountants because they didn’t hide the money. They brought in more than $4.6 million in one year!”

“The mine with all those dead miners was bringing in $600,000 a day,” said Anderson. They shook their heads.

“I promise you I will be relentless,” said the DA as he got up to leave. “We have to show the same grit and determination as the people who settled this place.”

“Absolutely,” said Anderson. “If the Captain can turn over evidence of his grandson’s involvement, that’s the least we can do.”

“Did the recording come through?” asked Walt.

“Loud and clear.” *** A day later, Maxine ushered Mary Ellen’s mother into Anderson’s office. “Would you like some coffee or tea?”

“No thank you.” Maxine excused herself as Agent Anderson came out from behind his desk to welcome Mrs. Heater. He pulled out a chair for her.

“Appreciate your making the drive to Beckley, Mrs. Heater.”

“No problem. I believe your wife has taught Mary Ellen’s English class a few times.”

“Yes, she told me. My wife’s a substitute, but has decided to go full-time next year,” said Anderson, taking his seat. “She’s a good teacher. Is college in the works for Mary Ellen?”

“Yes, Oberlin.”

“Ohio. Great music school.”

“Yes. I’m bragging a little. She has a wonderful voice, and I have entered her in The Voice competition. Mary Ellen doesn’t want to do it, especially...after Trudy...it’s...been very hard. So many in the town want Mary Ellen to participate. They already have her in Hollywood. She has to pass all the auditions first.

Don’t want to count my chickens. People are so proud of her.

And her sister, well, she was Mary Ellen’s biggest fan, and she would want her to try.”

“I’m deeply sorry for your loss... and sorry we have not made an arrest. I’m sure Mary Ellen will make the right decision about her singing career.”

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“There seems to be a lot of excitement over her achievements,” said Mary Ellen’s mother.

“My wife says the same thing,” said Anderson. “Her singing at the State Fair was the best thing to happen around here in a long time. It would be nice if that good feeling continued. Your daughter will be a hero who grew up here and calls it home.

It’s important for us to know that our community is capable of giving ‘birth’ to people like Mary Ellen.”

“Yes. I think, though I am prejudiced, there are a number of Mary Ellen’s in these mountains. We told her it was a way she could honor Trudy.”

“I agree,” said Anderson.

“Her father wants her to audition,” Mrs. Heater said. “Trudy’s funeral - memorial, will be in two weeks and after that Mary Ellen will have to decide whether or not to enter the competition.

It’s a long process.”

“It could be a healing process,” said Anderson.

“I suspect she’s afraid she’ll lose.”

“I think folks around here would accept whatever. It’s great she’s done so well,” continued Anderson.

“Yes. And she’s been elected Homecoming Queen.”

“Yes. My wife informed me of that,” said Anderson. “Your daughter is a popular girl.”

“Mary Ellen says it was a sympathy vote. It’s taken me and my husband time to come to terms with Trudy’s death. Don’t know that we ever will.”

“I want to tell you...that your daughter, Mary Ellen, I did meet her.”

“She told me,” said the mother.

“She would not want me to say anything but I’m concerned... she had been...detained...she was carrying drugs on her person...”

“Oh, no.”

“I hesitate in telling you because I told her it wouldn’t go outside this office.”

“I won’t say anything to her... or her father.”

“For now, I think that would be best. It was a woman agent who searched her, if that is any consolation. I was called, and I decided I should have a talk with her, which I did. She said she wanted out of her...well, the situation she finds herself in. She

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said she wants to put one of our undercover agents, a woman, on the “referred” list of drug buyers at a place called Deadend.”

“Our son got Mary Ellen involved there. My husband is extremely upset.”

“I told Mary Ellen, even though she is in a position to help us gather some crucial evidence, that I am not comfortable with that scenario. I do not want her putting herself in harm’s way.

She’s a very stubborn girl, your daughter. She wants to help find her sister’s killer.”

“I know. My husband has had to up his blood pressure medicine. Trudy and Mary Ellen were not just sisters. They were each other’s best friend. I just don’t understand,” said the mother, “Trudy was...everyone liked her. When she was in high school, well, she was the queen of the ball. It’s senseless. I can only think about the love so many had for her. Sometimes we don’t know our children as well as we think we do.”

“We are in the process of accumulating more evidence. The people who are responsible for Trudy’s death are probably not too worried because it has been awhile.”

“Do you have any idea who did it?” asked the mother.

“Let me just say that I’m confident your daughter’s murder will be solved. People are scared to come forward. They don’t want to be next. It’s very serious, Mrs. Heater. I feel the murderer is close by, local. There are several men who frequent Deadend and have not come forth with information that is helpful. But I am hopeful in persuading them to do so, trust me. This case is front and center for us. We have a smoking gun, but no gun...yet.

Might you know something that might help our investigation?”

“I don’t know. All these months, since Trudy... I’ve been thinking. I’ve gotten out some of the things that she left. She had told me she was concerned, not just for herself...my husband thinks there is a gun hidden away somewhere. He says that man, Dewey, wouldn’t throw money away...he would try and sell the weapon.”

“You suspect this Dewey?”

“I only know he was upset with her. Trudy told me.”

“The Captain...your father-in-law...”

“Harry. Captain’s the name he gave himself. He was in the Viet Nam War. He was decorated, but he wasn’t a captain. He pretty much raised my husband. His wife left them cold and dry.

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She wanted to get out of here, so she took the first offer.”

“Trudy wanted out of here, too?”

“She talked a lot about leaving but...Her brother told us she was in danger and that man wanted her out of the picture.”

“Dewey?” Anderson asked.

“Yes. Trudy said he was toxic, that he has no limits as to what he will do for money.”

“That’s what the Captain implied. When was the last time you saw Trudy?” Anderson asked.

“It was a couple weeks or so ... before Harry, the ‘Captain,’ found her body. She just said she was going out.”

“She had once been a regular at the rather notorious pizza place?” Anderson asked.

“Right on Last Chance’s main street. She had worked there three or four days a week before it was closed down.”

“Apparently the sheriff had wanted her to be his informer.”

“I don’t know. She didn’t tell me anything about that. We had words. People around here keep to themselves, don’t want to get involved, though they probably know what is going on. I warned Trudy to be careful. She said she was going to blab everything she knew. Kevin said that was what Dewey had been afraid of.”

“Kevin?”

“My son. His nickname is Desperado. I hate it.”

“Do you know if he worked for a used car dealer?”

“That’s Dewey, the same Dewey who runs Deadend. I’ve told them, Desperado and Mary Ellen both, that their father and I are not pleased. They know it. Dewey used to own a lot of car lots along with some other businesses,” said the mother. “He’s a big shot, sort of a celebrity... dinners with the governor. He was good at doing television commercials for his cars.”

“Did Trudy leave anything behind or ever say anything about what she was doing?”

“You’d have to ask Mary Ellen. I didn’t like everything Trudy was doing, but she was my daughter. I loved her. My husband says Deadend is where a cocaine and pill ring is being run.

I don’t know how he knows that. As a teacher, Mr. Anderson, I know that books, good ones, like good paintings, don’t stop wars or mountaintop mining. But books do show us things and take us places we wouldn’t otherwise see. Trudy, I think, could

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not find positive meaning here. It is easier for a man to feel he belongs here. Myself, while I am comfortable here, I did, early on, struggle to find a true sense of belonging. Eventually, I did.

Sadly, Trudy never did.�

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16 The DEA had staked out several acres of marijuana fields deep in the southern Appalachian woods. The weed crop was hidden between rows of Christmas trees making them hard to see from the air. But a drone was able to close in. A trace put on the ownership of the land came up empty. The reason they discovered it was because the land they had under surveillance was actually part of the U.S. National Forest. Walt and Charles, the DEA agents, decided they would wait until peak harvest time when whoever was growing weed in the National forest would no doubt show up. Harvest time, they knew, was the grower’s busiest time. Weed had to be harvested before bad weather arrived. It had to be cut and dried and readied for sale quickly – otherwise, it was susceptible to the weather and theft, or an aggressive DEA agent who didn’t have his eyes closed.

“You close down the weed farms – everyone will starve,” said Maxine.

“Including the deer,” said Anderson. “Guys like Dewey have a sense of entitlement. Dewey’s isolation in these southern Appalachians has convinced him that he doesn’t have to answer to anyone. He can run his serfdom as he sees fit, and growing weed on federal land would be no problem.” Anderson had gotten a new appreciation of Dewey Long’s wiles when he went through some of Dewey’s tax returns. “Mr. Long convinced his then-wife that they could save money in taxes if they went to a warm country in the Caribbean in December, obtained a divorce, and then get remarried when they got back here.”

“Can you do that?” asked DEA Agent Walt Berry.

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“It went so well that they did it a couple of other times. Got out from the cold and went down to the Caribbean sun. And saved a bundle in taxes.”

“They got away with a scam divorce?” asked Maxine.

“A couple of times. The IRS filed suit, but their argument was based on regulations that cover corporations.”

“And you can hardly apply corporate law to human beings,” said Walt, rather astonished.

“Apparently so,” said Anderson. “I wager that Dewey had a good laugh.”

“So they got remarried back here both times?” asked Maxine.

“Yes,” said Anderson. *** Desperado’s cell phone rang yet again. “Junior. Junior??...

Are you there?!...Is this Junior?!...What?...Junior!” The line went dead. “Damnit!”

The drive-thru intercom buzzed again.

“Business is booming,” said Coach.

“All right, I’m coming!” yelled Desperado.

Mary Ellen’s brother did have, at one time, a sense of fun that she had found charming. He was full of self-deprecating, ‘I can’t help it if all the girls like me. I’m just a lover by nature.’ He faked a smile and turned back to the drive-thru window. “Jesus...Well, hello Ricky.” Ricky was about twenty and a regular. “You’re right, Sis, nothing for me here,” he said, turning back to Mary Ellen.

“So what are you going to do about it? Careful. They could be listening,” said Mary Ellen.

“Who?” asked Desperado.

“The Feds! Every time you go online, the Feds are watching.

You can’t hide.”

“You bull-shiting me, Sis?” Desperado asked.

“No,” said Mary Ellen. “They can trace a cell phone call right from where you’re standing. The good thing for you, Despo, is the Feds only show up at harvest time.”

“That’s why Dewey plants enough for them,” said Desperado as his cell phone rang again - then stopped. “Jesus!”

“Dewey wants me to leave.”

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“Yes, he wants you to leave!” said Desperado from the drivethru window.

“I know too much. You men know too much also. Right?

We’re all in the way...just like Trudy was.”

“Please...” hushed Desperado, “a customer.”

“You’re obstructing justice, Desperado,” said the mayor. “If Mary Ellen leaves town, that would prevent her from giving information to the sheriff about Dewey’s drug business, past or present. We don’t want to obstruct justice. If I were you, I’d let Dewey worry about Mary Ellen.”

“You need to take a vacation, Sis.” “I’ll go to Maui,” said Mary Ellen.

“Where,” asked Desperado.

“Hawaii, you ignoramus.”

“Please, listen to me.” Desperado pulled her aside. “Dewey gave me money for you to go to Ohio... Motel Six.” “Motel Six! Ohio?!” Mary Ellen laughed. The men joined her.

“He doesn’t want you talking. For your own good, go,” said Desperado.

“Tell Dewey I’m going to Hollywood.”

“Where are you going to get the money? You’re not listening!”

With that, Desperado went back to the drive-thru window. “I ain’t got all day, Ricky,” said an exasperated Desperado.

“Hollywood beckons,” said Mary Ellen, making an instant decision of her destination.

“You’ll be a star,” said Doc. “Why not,” she replied, almost as a resolve.

“You’ll be dead,” whispered Desperado, into the back of her head.

“I might as well be dead now,” she said turning back to her brother. “All of us might as well be dead. Am I crazy! You men sit here on your fat rear-ends and do nothing about what you know is going on!” She turned to Desperado and wiped her hand in front of his face. “Whoosh!”

“What’s whoosh?”

“Your life, brother!”

“I got a plan,” said Desperado with bravado.

“A scheme you mean,” she said, laughing.

Just then Desperado’s cell phone rang. “Yeah?...Who is this?”

Whoever it was-was gone. “Retard.”

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“My brother is inhaling what he cooks.”

“The wind’s right, you can smell the cooking when you pull up – like dry rot,” said the coach.

“Fed-Ex don’t come up here, let alone Feds,” said the mayor.

“Feds couldn’t find this place if you gave ‘em a map,” said Desperado.

“Give me a strong boy who can catch and run like the wind and like a bear to honey, every football pimp in the country will smell this place out – I guarantee you,” said Coach.

“Nothing to sweat,” bluffed Desperado. “This place spooks the Feds out.”

“Feds don’t need a map,” said Mary Ellen.

“How do you know?” asked Desperado.

“I read about it. Have you heard of drones! You oughta try reading.”

“This place is insulated. Dewey’s strung fish-hooks at eye level all around,” said Desperado. “He’s got surveillance cameras watching the property.”

“You mean we’re on TV,” asked Doc. “Yeah, Doc,” said the mayor.

“Surprise, surprise!” said Mary Ellen.

“Dewey’s paranoid,” said the mayor.

“Only the paranoid survive,” said Desperado.

“He oughta get a couple of pit bulls,” laughed Coach.

“I do a lot of my work at night,” said Desperado.

“Don’t matter, Desperado,” said Mary Ellen, “all the old people up hollow, they’re watching your every move.”

“Mary Ellen has a point,” said Doc. “Old folks can’t chance losing the Fed’s benefits just because they have to grow weed in order to make ends meet. It’s hard to speak up because our friends need the money.”

“True, to a point,” nodded the mayor. “Mary Ellen’s right. So are you, Doc. All the retirees up hollow need their Social Security.

And folks would lose their food stamps or housing supplements should they’d be arrested for cultivation. You don’t want that, Desperado. Nor does the sheriff. He’s sympathetic. Not to Dewey though...too much history there.”

“I believe what the mayor’s saying, Desperado, is that you better be careful whom you confide in unless you don’t care everyone knows you’re a guns for drug trader,” said Mary Ellen.

“It’s your choice, live or die.”

115

“Whole wheat pizza with pineapple. No cheese,” came Ricky’s voice over the speaker.

“How hard could that be, punker?” yelled Desperado and turned back to Mary Ellen. “All you have to do is be on television, and people think you know it all. You’re famous,” said Desperado.

“Look at Dewey.”

“No thanks,” said Mary Ellen. “You can be my manager, Despo. We could sell your ‘guns for drugs’ story.”

“Damnit, Mary Ellen,” said Despo shutting the drive-thru window.

“What else do you have to offer? Nothing! We could go undercover.”

“Stop it!”

“You nervous, brother?”

“I got a rash on my stomach,” said Desperado and walked away.

“Think of all we know, men, the stories we could tell! Any of you got a better idea?”

“Hard to find opportunity in these woods,” said the mayor.

“I’m not walking away from a bountiful harvest,” said Desperado. “This year’s could be our biggest cash crop. Dewey put in new irrigation, moved a lot indoors.”

“When the exhaust fans are on, I think we’re taking off,” said the mayor.

“The fans are strong enough to blow that pungent weed smell into Virginia,” said Doc. “I think there’s more Mexican weed here than’s grown locally,” said Coach.

Just then the intercom rang. “God, it doesn’t stop,” said Desperado ambling to the window.

“Hello, Dennis. Can I help you?” asked Desperado.

“Large veggie with pineapple and a bag of peanuts,” came a man’s voice through the intercom.

“Comin’ up.”

“Peanuts!?” asked the coach.

“Pd’s,” answered Doc. “Pharmaceuticals.”

“Have a good day,” said Desperado, after placing the pizza box into the drive-thru window. He counted his money and then turned around to see Mary Ellen staring at him. “What?”

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“Stupid. Stupid is as stupid does. The best thing for you, Desperado, would be for all this to blow up in your face.”

“I’ve told you a thousand times - this is all there is!”

“Find a new job. Maybe the mayor can get you on with the county. How about it, mayor?” asked Mary Ellen. “You’d do that, wouldn’t you?”

“Forget it! I don’t need a hand-out,” said Desperado.

“Remember the time I found you, Desperado,” said Mary Ellen quietly. “You were passed out with the needle still in your arm. It was either bad stuff, or you miscalculated the dose. I got you to urgent care in time, and you came out of it without mom and dad finding out. All I did was just delay the inevitable.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Give me the password to the computer, and I will,” she whispered while preparing another round of drinks for the men.

“Doesn’t concern you.”

“Please. For Trudy.”

“Nothing can help her.”

“She told me there’s stuff on the computer that she saved, stuff that might help you in case...otherwise, I will spill everything I’ve seen...and what the mayor, coach, and Doc have seen. I swear it!”

“My sister, the traitor.”

“If that’s what I am. Fine.”

Mary Ellen turned and went around the bar to serve up the men’s drinks. On her way back to get the men’s pizza, Desperado handed her a piece of paper as she passed him. She smiled at her brother and picked up the men’s pizza. “Extra-large Desperado special pizza with all the trimmings, men.” She laid the pizza on the table. “Enjoy.” She then walked toward the bathroom all the while watching the men, who were already devouring the pizza.

She passed the bathroom and opened the back room door instead.

Closing the door, she quickly went to the computer. She looked at the password Desperado gave her - “eaglesandme.” She quickly entered the password and bingo, she was in. After perusing a few files, she found what she wanted. “For you, Trudy.” She brought one file up and typed, “Nancy Pringle.” She then pulled out the blank disk from under her sweater, inserted the disk, copied all the other files, and after she made sure all was how she found it, she quickly left the room.

117

“Senate leader was just nailed,” said the mayor. “Hell, half the town council is in jail for embezzling, the county school board president’s under suspicion. Like the rest of the country, people here are turning on each other. The FBI man, Anderson, is pressing me,” said the mayor. “Says I could be arrested for not being forthcoming about certain events that transpire here.”

“He called me too,” said Coach.

“He paid me a visit,” said Doc. The men looked at each other knowing time was dear. *** “It’s a mess,” said the coach, making fast conversation, as Dewey came in the front door. “Economy’s in the tank. Right, Dewey?”

“It’s all the immigrants,” said Dewey, pulling up a seat.

“Trump’s right. Those people can’t read, they don’t care - most are crooks. They don’t sweat the small stuff, like losing football games, or water disasters.”

“Got any immigrant kids on your team, Coach?” asked the mayor.

“A couple.”

“Get me a beer, would you, girl?” asked Dewey, seeing Mary Ellen come out of the bathroom.

“My name’s Mary Ellen.”

Dewey ignored her. The men lowered their heads. “The immigrants drink too much,” Dewey said. “They’re killin’ us today. They wave the Mexican flag. They’ve taken California over. Refuse to learn English. They don’t want to be a part of this country - they want to take it over. Like the blacks - You know, back when blacks sided with the KKK.” “They had to,” said Doc, “for their survival.”

“They didn’t like all the foreigners either,” said Dewey.

“Desperado! Where’s your stupid punk runner, Junior? His ass is dead. So is yours if you don’t find him...Jesus! You can’t find good workers these days.”

“I don’t know where Junior is,” said Desperado. “My phone’s a piece of crap.” He fast dialed Junior’s number...“Junior?... reception is crap up here.”

“It’s what I get for bringing in a bunch of idiots,” snarled Dewey.

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“You get up on the wrong side of the bed, Dewey?” asked the mayor.

“Where’s my beer?” asked Dewey.

“Where have all the coal mines gone,” Mary Ellen got Dewey a beer, still singing. “Long time passing. Where have all the coal mines gone? Long time ago.”

“Beautiful voice, Mary Ellen,” said Coach.

“I’ve heard her sing before,” said the mayor. “Your sister’s got talent, Desperado. We all saw you at the State Fair, Mary Ellen.

Wonderful! Look out Hollywood.”

“She is wonderful, but still a long shot,” said Coach.

“I’d bet on her to win before betting on your team to win a game.” The mayor had a sudden coughing fit.

“Keep smoking,” said Doc. “I need patients.”

“Most of those Hollywood people, you never hear from again,” said Desperado.

“So what?” said the mayor. “Mary Ellen’s trying, that’s the important thing.”

“She’ll end up like everybody else around here,” said Desperado - “on federal monies, like SSI.” “And people think Washington’s the enemy,” said the mayor.

“Washington’s totally against us,” said Dewey. “They don’t like our jobs. They don’t like our attitudes. They don’t like anything.”

“Your sister’s right,” said Doc, quietly, to Desperado. “We’re cowards.”

“The coal barge may be leaking, but we’re bailing as fast as we can to kill this renewable energy bullshit! Until America decides to stop mainlining coal for electricity, forget it,” continued Dewey, loudly. “We can all just shut up!”

“What about wind power?” asked the Mayor.

“Wind power!” said a fed-up Dewey, and laughed, bitterly.

“Yes,” said the mayor. “When’s the last time you heard about wind power...destroying our water supply?”

“Obama turned this place into a ghost town,” said Dewey.

“Jesus,” said the mayor.

“Your brother seems jittery,” said Coach in an aside to Mary Ellen.

“A lot of stress knowing there’s a ton of unharvested weed up hollow,” said the mayor.

“I hear out in Montana, they get a lot of power from wind,” said coach.

119

“We got a lot of wind power in here,” said Doc. “Wind power is just for the hippies who live on mountaintops out there and smoke weed. Real energy out there, like here, comes from coal,” said Dewey. “C-O-A-L!” The chorus of the men shouted, “C-O-A-L!!”

“That coal, like here, is soft, toxic...and wind power’s a whole lot cheaper than coal,” offered Doc. “And the wind’s going to be around a long time.”

“Like your bullshit,” said Dewey.

Mary Ellen began to sing, Well, I was born a coal miner’s daughter In a cabin, on a hill in Butcher Holler “Get to work,” shouted Dewey. “You’re no Starbucks barista!

This ain’t no goddamn Starbucks!”

“Gee, Dewey, you could’ve fooled me. It looks just like Starbucks,” Mary Ellen said, and laughed, knowing that Dewey hated Starbucks. “You know a barista can make over $20,000 a year.”

“Starbucks,” said Dewey with disgust, “that latte-sipping pansy boutiquey left wing crap. Pretentious! Makes me puke!

This is Appalachia for Christsake, not New York City! And it’s not that gentrified grass fed casino Greenbrier crowd. I don’t want some fancy yuppie meat market. Only thing we have in common is coffee! They aren’t real – just a train-load of phony talk. In this place, you got to be real and quick on your feet.” Dewey was holding court. “By the time I get done, Starbucks pansys won’t know what hit ‘em.”

“Innovative, Dewey. That’s it,” said the mayor, pumping his fists in the air.

“Have your shit together,” added Coach, egging Dewey on.

“First place I had was the Main Street pizza shop till that bastard F.B.I. Agent got nosy. In these parts I was the first to offer big screen sports, first to have Direct TV, first to put in slots,” said Dewey.

“First to be shut down by the Feds.”

“Bastards!” Mary Ellen poured him another whiskey. “Took ‘em long enough,” laughed Dewey.

120

“Yes,” concurred the men, enjoying getting Dewey riled. They each wanted Dewey’s emotions to boil over into something that would not be pretty.

“I was the first to have a lottery machine,” said Dewey.

“YES!” came the men’s chorus.

“First to pay off on pinball machines!”

“YES! You were a hit,” said coach. “The place to be seen!”

“Some deep pockets wanted to franchise me up and down the Ohio. So I expanded.”

“Just like the used car lots,” said coach.

“That’s right,” Dewey yelled. “Then the economy turned south - interest went sky-high.”

“Tough luck but you showed them,” said the mayor.

“When your back’s against the wall, that’s the test of an innovator,” said Doc. “That’s when you called out a special favor,” said coach.

“You better believe it. That’s what I did. He told me you find a product that the public needs, wants, desires, something to help ‘em face their troubles!! When nothin’ else will stop the pain! The only reason this whole damn county’s depressed – in the crapper - is cause we lost, coach. Again! You lost again,” shouted Dewey.

“So shoot me,” said the coach, looking straight at Dewey. “I once had a man tell me he’d kill me if I didn’t play his son.”

“You’re a fair and equal employer - you play everybody,” said the mayor. “My life’s been threatened a number of times, and not because I’m gay. Because I want to get rid of the old white boy’s network that controls everything.”

“You have my blessing to go after my ex,” said Dewey. “I remember she called you a faggot to your face.”

“Yeah, my life flashed in front of me,” said the mayor, and then laughed hard. The coach and Dewey joined in the laughter.

“Don’t know what this world’s comin’ to,” said the coach, shaking his head.

“A black guy was just elected county supervisor two counties over,” said Dewey.

“He’s a friend, a good man,” said the mayor.

“Is he a faggot like you, mayor?” asked Dewey.

“I don’t appreciate that,” said the mayor, staring straight ahead. “Even in jest.”

“Who said it was in jest,” said Dewey.

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“The idea that the coach can be in harm’s way just for losing a football game or having the wrong campaign sign in his window is something to consider.” There was a long moment, and then a police cruiser pulled up at the drive-thru.

“Jesus! Now what? It’s the sheriff,” said Desperado, ducking back from the window.

“What’s he doing here?” asked Dewey.

“I don’t know,” said Desperado.

“Go ask him what he wants,” Dewey said to Mary Ellen.

Mary Ellen went to the drive-thru window. “Can I help you, Sheriff?”

“Oh, hello there,” said the sheriff, smiling. “Your brother’s using that kid, Junior, to hustle his product. A little desperate, isn’t he? Tell Dewey he’ll need to buy me off like he bought off his ex. Squeezed him pretty good, I hear. Rumors are flying off the mountain faster than firearms, faster than motor-boats down the New River loaded with weed! Renting used cars with gas tanks half full of drugs going north and south - giving Avis a run for their money - could mean prison time for Dewey and your brother.” Just then, Desperado appeared at the window. “Well, well. Hello Desperado.”

Desperado gave a quick glance to Mary Ellen. She smiled a ‘what did I tell you.’ Just then, Dewey stuck his head in the window, pushing Mary Ellen and Desperado out of the way.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Sheriff. There’s nothing here for you. Nothing. You have no testimony, no collaboration from anyone about guns or drugs or anything else. So unless you have a warrant to be on the premises, you’re all bullshit, and you know it. Junior’s an addict and my ex is a serial liar who wanted money, and you wear a tin badge and are all talk.” Dewey turned and walked away.

“I’m sorry, Mary Ellen,” said the sheriff, and then softly, confidentially, “I’d make myself scarce around here for awhile if I were you. The shit’s about to hit the fan.” Mary Ellen nodded, and the sheriff drove off.

“Damn sheriff wasn’t elected,” said Dewey, “he was anointed.”

“It’s not what you know, but who you know, and we’re all glad to know you, Dewey - because you know the man who calls the shots,” said Coach.

“And don’t you forget that,” said Dewey.

“How could we forget,” said the mayor, quietly to the others.

122

“Here’s to knowing Dewey,” said Coach. “But knowing you, Dewey, has not improved my team.” They all laughed, quietly – even Dewey laughed.

“The people have long been let down,” said the mayor. “I told FBI agent - Anderson - that I would work with him by the book.”

“By the book?” Dewey asked, his eyes taking the mayor in.

“You heard me...by the book...don’t worry, Dewey. I’m a sheep in a pack of wolves. All I do is talk. I’m as hollow as the deepest hollow in Appalachia,” said the mayor, dejectedly.

“I should shoot you or kick your gay ass outa here. Put you out of your misery!”

“Then do it! Shoot me!” The mayor threw back his chair and got up, toppling the table as he did. “You think everyone’s out to get you, destroy your precious coal, and you’re miffed because you’ve got a huge inventory of used cars that your ex didn’t take and now no one is buying because coal jobs are scarce. So the only choice you see is to sell guns for pills and then hustle those pills.”

“You better be able to back up that accusation,” said Dewey.

“I got eyes.”

“Come on. Sit back down, both of you,” said Doc. He helped Mary Ellen upright the table.

“You think homosexuals should be behind electrified barbed wire, like cattle?” asked the mayor ignoring Doc. “Or maybe I should just be strung up? That how you feel, Dewey? This place started out welcoming folks of all persuasion, you know, unaffected atmosphere full of friendly folks.”

“Why Mayor,” said Mary Ellen, “some of us are minions. You know it’s how the game is played around here.”

“Bullshit,” said Dewey. “Sounds like a goddamn woman.”

“Fuck you, Dewey,” said Mary Ellen.

“You’re replaceable, bitch...Desperado!!”

“Cry me a river...,” sang Mary Ellen. “I got eyes too, Dewey.

You’re an arrogant bastard.” Dewey drew back arm as if he was going to slap her. Mary Ellen didn’t move. Suddenly Desperado was there.

“Godammit, Sis, get the hell out of here.”

“Easy honey,” whispered Doc, pulling Mary Ellen away.

“What the hell is a minion?” asked Dewey, sitting back down.

“A slave, Dewey,” said Mary Ellen, “like Desperado.”

123

“Mary Ellen, get out of here,” said Desperado quietly. “Get out of here before Dewey has a seizure.”

“We should be so lucky,” said Mary Ellen. “Here you go, boys, another Desperado special,” said Mary Ellen as she laid the largest pizza east of the Mississippi on the table. “Everything’s on this one, including meatballs and sausage.” The men, including Dewey, took a few deep breaths, sat down, and dug into the pizza.

Mary Ellen quietly walked out the door, leaving the men with the pizza and beer, and stories. She hustled down to the side road. She pulled the disk with the copied files from her sweater pocket and climbed into the Captain’s pickup.

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17 The northern and central parts of West Virginia were awash with the colors of fall and also of cocaine and heroin. Ironically, West Virginians felt safer now that they no longer needed a permit to carry a concealed gun. Meanwhile, drugs and pills were killing them in record numbers.

“You drink coffee?” asked Agent Anderson.

“When I need a pick-me-up,” said Mary Ellen.

“Supposed to be healthy. Who knew?”

“Yes.” “Starbucks has a nice salad,” said Anderson.

Starbucks was where Agent Anderson usually went to order his drug of choice - his usual latte, flat, no foam, but this location was off Interstate 64 at the busy Beckley travel plaza off the West Virginia Turnpike, and the only one for miles around that was open 24\7. It was in a tourist oasis where various works by Appalachian artists were for sale. It was also where Anderson could enjoy the best-fried green tomatoes he ever tasted, outside of his mother’s. They must have her recipe, he had told his wife.

‘They’re that good.’ The Captain had suggested this Starbucks was where Mary Ellen and Anderson should meet because Mary Ellen probably would not see anyone she knew there. She was surprised that her grandfather knew there was a Starbucks, but she liked his idea because she loved to look at all the crafts. She had her eye on a fiddle that was made by a local craftsman.

After using the bathrooms, Anderson and Mary Ellen sat at a dark stained back corner table and waited for their names to be called. She picked at her salad and pointed to the information board with the words, ‘A coffee house is a place where communities gather, to come together.’

125

“Sort of a date,” said Mary Ellen.

“Coffee date.”

“Thanks for having my car repaired.”

“I’m a nice man...don’t text and drive.”

Anderson was caught in a web of catching crooks and wanting to help the Mary Ellens of the world whenever he heard their cries for help. He watched Mary Ellen’s eyes survey the customers, lingering over an amorous couple seated at a nearby table. Mary Ellen saw Anderson notice that her very white hands were calloused.

“Hoeing the garden, pulling weeds,” she said.

“I like the black nail polish,” he said, smiling.

“My sister, Trudy, painted her nails black, so...”

Observing the several customers, they could not argue with the words, “come together,” though several patrons were seated alone. A few people were reading newspapers. Several were looking at their cell phones or laptops - like folks in any other town across America seated at Starbucks. Two men were playing chess, and a few others were simply conversing.

Anderson could sense that Mary Ellen wanted to talk. That was why she had called him, wasn’t it? That was why he had agreed that this particular Starbucks was where she would feel more comfortable. He didn’t want to meet at his office with the institutional walls and paint. How would Mary Ellen’s story end?

Anderson wondered. State leaders, not only in West Virginia but all across the country, had passed a number of measures that were very positive for women. Anderson’s wife had worked hard on women’s issues in West Virginia. She was concerned that the new administration would roll back the gains that women had made. Anderson had told his wife about Mary Ellen. She encouraged him to help her if he could. The do-gooder need was their precious bane to bear.

Anderson and Mary Ellen’s names were called and they got up to doctor their coffee. Mary Ellen had a venti. “I need to mainline it,” she said, as they sat back down.

“So, it’s good to see you,” Anderson said. “Why did you call me?” Mary Ellen shrugged. “Are you scared, Mary Ellen?”

“Sometimes. My grandfather told me to call you. He drove me here.” Her face, Anderson thought, scrunched behind those manicured nails, had an angry look. She had attitude, but it was not off-putting, just rather direct.

126

“I got this for you,” said Anderson. “It’s a new item here with hummus and whole wheat crackers. So, talk to me.”

“It’s hard to keep a secret in this town.”

“I promise I won’t say a word.”

“What would people think if they found out they picked a Homecoming queen who has smoked weed and hides drug money in her vagina?”

“They’d say congratulations.”

“I don’t believe I’m talking to you like this. Not even my father... Homecoming Queen. It was a sympathy vote. I don’t think God cares about homecoming queens.”

“You care what God thinks? Maybe that’s what angels are about.”

“A lot of homecoming queens floating around up there?” said Mary Ellen. “Wish somebody else would’ve been chosen. I could just be...”

“What?”

“Be - just be!”

“Is that what your sister wanted?”

“She wanted out. She was scared. The night she disappeared, she was nervous, I could tell. She said she’d call me later. She never called which was unusual because we always checked in with each other. I called her, but she never picked up.”

“She’d be proud of you. State Fair sensation, and you’ll be a great Homecoming Queen.” Mary Ellen laughed. “How’d about The Voice contest?” Mary Ellen looked confused.

“How did you know?”

“Ah...my wife told me. I guess she was talking to your mother.”

“Yeah. One morning while reading the newspaper my mother saw an announcement about auditions being held in North Carolina.”

“You love music.”

“I’ve always loved music. Mom prodded me to join a church choir. I finally gave in. Then I won a county Idol contest with a rendition of “You’ve Got To Be Carefully Taught.” It’s from an old Broadway musical, South Pacific. A man saw me sing a couple of years ago over in Lewisburg, in a summer theater production of South Pacific. He said I had talent. That’s how I ended up at the State Fair. Anyway, Mom and I went off to North Carolina a few weeks ago. ‘Just do your thing,’ mom told me about my Voice 127

audition. ‘Don’t worry about what the others do.’ Mom said the same thing on the whole drive to North Carolina. The auditions started at 8 am...the worst...but people were already in line when we got there at 5 am.”

“A lot of hopefuls.”

“Yes. That morning it seemed all the hopefuls everywhere were in line in North Carolina. It cost nothing to enter the competition, but you had to pay to stay and eat. We stayed at a Comfort Inn for one night and ate all our meals at Cracker Barrel. I was so nervous. Mom held me by my shoulders and looked straight into my eyes, ‘You can do this,’ she said. ‘Do it for Trudy. You are giving the audience a gift. Have fun.’ Mom’s been through so much. She struggled with Trudy and with dad because for a long time he couldn’t find work. I felt I had to do it.

It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I sang three times in two days before three sets of different judges. We didn’t find out until we arrived that you had to be in the first ten in order to be called back. ‘No problem,’ Mom said, ‘You’ll be called back.’ She is with me all the way. Rain or shine.”

“A good mom.”

“She is. I’m sorry for any trouble I’ve caused her. But she always had her hands full with my sister and brother. I couldn’t hurt her again, especially after Trudy.”

“My wife said only relatively few get to Hollywood.”

“That’s what my mother said.”

“You got to try.”

“Nothing happens if you don’t - my mom’s motto.”

“And you have to live up to the promise your mother says you have.”

“Yes...or else. I don’t think I want to go. I don’t know...I want to make something of my life, but why not here? I don’t need to go to Hollywood. My dad says I need to go where there are more opportunities. He doesn’t want me to go to New York. He says they’re all liberals.”

“You don’t have to stay in Hollywood. You can come back.”

“After college, I doubt it. Hardly anybody, my dad says, comes back here after college. There’s nothing to do. Maybe I’ll stay in Hollywood.”

“Why not? They won’t eat you up out there.”

“Mom made me a red dress that I wore at the first audition.

One of her favorite songs is ‘Lady In Red’.”

128

“I remember that song.”

“The dress was so tight, I could hardly move, but I did my thing. When it was over, I kept saying, I did it, I did it.”

“I’m sure you did well. You must have.”

“Mom is much more excited than I am.”

“When will you know?”

“There’s another audition...I’m not holding my breath.”

“You can show people what a southern Appalachian girl can do,” said Anderson. “You have a big heart - along with some good old spit and fire,” said Anderson. “You have a boyfriend?”

“God no. I thought I had one once...did my best to bestow my charms on him but after a whole school year, not even a kiss. I took out my frustration in song-you know Mirah Carey’s, Touch My Body?”

“Afraid not,” he laughed. “Too old.”

“Anyway, I sang it over the phone one night to Eddy, that’s his name, but alas, to no avail...he told me he was gay. It was awful. I had no idea.”Mary Ellen looked at the amorous couple across the way wondering if love was living up to their expectations. “Look at those love birds. I can’t give it away!”

“You will when that light of love burns hot,” Anderson said.

“Don’t be too anxious.” Anderson decided to change the subject.

“Has your dad heard you sing?”

“Oh yes...I even sang for my Facebook friends.”

“Singing at the State Fair and auditioning for the Voice has given you some notoriety.”

“Before, I was like the terrorist livin’ next door. No one paid attention to me. Working at Deadend has given me notoriety, according to dad.”

“We all have choices, Mary Ellen...if we’re lucky.”

“I think college is more realistic than Hollywood. You know, people here are as smart as anywhere else.”

“So be smart. If you win the chance to go Hollywood for the Voice finals, the town would have another chance, perhaps its ‘last chance’ for redemption. Pride could be restored. We could have DVD’s made of your singing on the show. A screening could be held at the movie theater. That’s a lot of inspiration.”

“The movie theater’s been closed forever.”

“Oh, yes, forgot about that. Townhall then.”

“I don’t think God cares about homecoming queens or The Voice,” Trudy said.

129

“You think he cares about FBI agents?”

“More than homecoming queens.”

“You care what God thinks?” Mary Ellen shrugged. “You’ll go to Hollywood. Give all the children an example of what is possible for them.”

“This man who saw me in South Pacific, the talent scout, said I could make big money. He said the judges have never heard good mountain singing. Maybe I’m just a white hillbilly they want to make fun of.”

“You know better than that. And as long as they’re paying, what does it matter? If people want to call you a hillbilly, that’s their problem! Don’t pay them any attention.”

“Daddy says those people are scared.”

“He’s right. And blind! We’re all travelers on the same road, child, the same end.” Anderson felt Mary Ellen was determined to do good - do the right thing. “So why did you call me? Free coffee?”

“Thank you,” said Mary Ellen. “One drug is as good as another. Right?”

“I’ll stick to coffee.”

“I called you because I’m worried about people, my brother, Junior, my dad...”

“Agent Anderson!”

Anderson turned and saw Henry Mann.

“Hello Mr. Mann,” said Mary Ellen, smiling. “Mr. Mann was my history teacher last year,” said Mary Ellen, smiling.

“Hello, Mary Ellen.”

“Small world,” said Anderson “Excellent student,” said Mann. A good actress also, thought Anderson.

“Join us, Henry,” said Anderson.

Henry did. “I still remember that paper you wrote, Mary Ellen, how West Virginians don’t own the vast wealth of their land - the reason why coal-mining areas have always been poor.

Believe I gave you an A on that paper.”

“You did,” said Mary Ellen. “Mom showed it to all the relatives.

I have to run,” Mary Ellen said suddenly, looking at Anderson. “I told mom I’d go to WalMart with her.”

“This being Saturday, WalMart’ll be packed,” said Henry.

“Pappy is waiting for me. I’m not running away, though I’d like to,” she said and gave a little laugh. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She 130

reached under her sweater and pulled out the disk she had copied Deadend’s files on. “This is the disk I copied... why I wanted to meet with you.” She handed the disk to Anderson.

“Good seeing you,” Henry said. “Wondered how you’re doing.”

“I’m good.”

“I guess I’ll be seeing you at Trudy’s memorial,” said Henry.

“Yes, you will,” said Mary Ellen.

“Your mother asked me to say a few words.”

“Daddy wants armed guards at the memorial.”

“So I understand,” said Anderson.

“I don’t know. Mother says it is so dangerous that she would like to leave. I’m going to sing a song I have written.” With that, Mary Ellen turned and left.

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18 “Don’t come out here often. The Starbucks in town has wi-fi.”

“So does this one,” said Anderson.

“Yeah?” Henry looked around. “It’s a bustling place. People with money to burn for coffee.” Anderson and Henry laughed and sat silent for a moment, before Henry asked, “Mary Ellen in trouble?”

“She’s flirting with real trouble, I’m afraid,” said Anderson.

“But she’s determined. The disk she gave me has, she thinks, some information on it that I can use.”

“I know she’s working with her brother. That’s not good. She’s smarter than that.”

“Well, she’s set on finding out who killed her sister,” said Anderson.

“She has a lot of spit and fire,” replied Henry. “One of our teachers told the students that abstinence was the only way - that if not abstinence, ‘a girl would be like an old shoe that nobody would want’. That’s a quote. The teacher went on to say that condoms provided no protection from sexually transmitted diseases. I was dismayed when I heard about this – as were many of the students, including Mary Ellen. I told her to complain to the American Civil Liberties Union. She did!”

“What happen,” Anderson asked, but he couldn’t help laughing.

“All I know is that teacher stopped preaching the glories of abstinence. Teachers need time to be enriched, informed, so that they can, in turn, enrich their students, and not get in their way, well-intentioned or not. Mary Ellen has gained early admittance to Oberlin, but I worry about her since her sister was...murdered.”

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“Yes, I told her I’d appreciate any information she had, hence this disk, but I don’t want her any more involved than she already is. Mary Ellen’s a good girl. She thinks she’s Nancy Drew.”

Henry was amazed at the dedication of fellow citizens, like Agent Anderson, and that included most of his fellow teachers who never let the students give in to the media image of southern Appalachia. The motto was “Don’t write us off.” That exhortation of encouragement though, Henry and Anderson both knew, would not be nearly enough to ensure that the students would not be defined by where they came from – as Henry and Anderson both, at one point, had unwittingly let themselves be defined. But they had long ago determined that the responsibility for their lives was theirs and no other.

“Around here, students don’t enter high school with the greatest confidence,” said Henry. “Insecurity - been a lifelong battle.”

“I understand,” said Anderson. “Yet... here we are.”

“Still,” said Henry, and smiled.

“Our journeys began at the same time,” said Anderson.

“Far different backgrounds. We were both hungry souls waiting to be fed. Our destinies - a teacher and an F.B.I. agent searching for what’s real.”

“And here we are at Starbucks.”

“Yep.” They both had recognized something in Mary Ellen... something within... and simply praising her was not the answer.

How to help? There was no AAA map. Both men wondered...was it their right, their business to get involved? How? It was emotional for them. They sat there, neither speaking. An understanding of self wasn’t something that could be accomplished in onehour blocks. Neither teacher, or agent would get rich, but they might be able to inspire some of the children hanging out in the hollows. They knew the risks of failure were high when going out on the line for someone like Mary Ellen. Being a good teacher or F.B.I. agent took an ever, non-flagging determination. You had to decompress, lose the depression, and begin anew. Once you did, the sense of belonging got stronger.

“Nothing worse than a depressed hillbilly,” said Henry. “Does Mary Ellen have a chance in this Voice competition?” asked Henry.

“I think so. She must be a good singer.”

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“She’s a wonderful singer.”

“She’s lucky to be able to express herself in such a positive way. I guess there’s still another audition before Hollywood.”

“Making it as a singer’s like drilling for gas. Don’t want her to sell cheap,” said Henry. “Hopefully, she’s learned from her sister’s mistakes. Mary Ellen’s sister, Trudy, did well in school. I was her teacher also. Mary Ellen’s done well, both popular girls, but Trudy got caught up in the partying, I guess.

Today the kids brag on Facebook. They document their drug-parties...shove it in our face. They do what they want with no thought about tomorrow. The sheriff seems to pretty much ignore the drug parties, and the online posts of such by the local high schoolers, which, document all. Pick your battles, I guess.”

“I’m as impatient as you are, Henry, but I’ve assured Mary Ellen’s parents that my heart and soul is in this investigation.”

Anderson and Henry got quiet, reflecting on Trudy. “Her mother said she knew there were some unsavory goings on,” said Anderson. “So do most people around here, but they sit on their hands! They’re suspicious and scared. Trudy may have told the sheriff something, but if she did, the sheriff has not passed that information on to us.”

“If he knows the information is incriminating for his friends, he’ll keep his mouth shut,” said Henry.

Anderson’s way of working was to get out of the gate fast and start asking questions, but he had now dug in for the long haul.

Being a federal agent had made him something of an outsider.

Nobody wanted to be seen talking to him. People even avoided him at church.

“Did get some information provided by the NYC FBI,” said Anderson. “We staked out a couple of Dewey’s used car lots that were receiving UPS mailings from New York and Detroit. At one, an African American in a black SUV with Michigan license dropped off two large boxes and took a couple of large boxes in return. New York agents have tracked drug trafficking throughout southern Appalachia - with thousands of OxyContin, Opana, and other controlled, prescription pain pills from Detroit and Florida going to pain clinics in southern Ohio and West Virginia. We found pills were being sold out of a Courtyard Express! Southern Appalachia is lucrative enough for the dealers to buy off people and also afford a couple of dealer residences in the area for drug distribution purposes. It’s long been suspected the gangs trade 134

pills for firearms - with the guns ending up in New York, Detroit, wherever. We suspect that Dewey is in the middle of it all. Like you, Henry, I feel for the Mary Ellens of this world. That’s why we must do all we can to help them because they, in the end, can make a big difference here. It’s funny but as much as we’d like to help Mary Ellen,” he said, looking at the disk in his hand, “she may end up helping us.”

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19 Just as Desperado slammed down his cell phone, the Captain swung open the door to Deadend. “Getting dark out there - a storm comin.’” Several cans and bottles rolled out of the two large burlap bags he had dumped to the floor. Upon seeing granddaughter, Mary Ellen, he tipped his hat.

“Jesus! Captain, we’re full up,” said Desperado. “Big happenings.”

“I can only imagine, my boy.”

“Sorry. No room at the inn,” said Desperado and attempted to usher the Captain out.

“That’s odd,” said the Captain, looking around. I see a few unoccupied chairs.”

“You and your garbage - outside!”

“Free-loaders’ll steal it.”

“Outside!...Riff-raff! Lowlife!” He swung a broom at the Captain. “Get your trash out of here.”

“Trash! How dare you be so ignorant? These bags are filled with treasures.”

“Trash is trash. It all ends up in the dump - like Trudy.”

“One man’s garbage is another man’s treasure!” The Captain pulled a bag away from Desperado, and as he did, the contents spilled. More cans and bottles rolled over the floor.

“Now look what you’ve done! You’re nuts, old man!”

Desperado started for the door to throw out the other burlap bag.

“Seen men lose their hands for much worse,” said the Captain and pulled a machete from his belt. He buried the machete in the table where the men were seated. They jumped up. Beer spilled.

Everyone froze.

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“Have you lost your head,” yelled Desperado.

“I know where my head is. Put the bag down.”

The Captain had a glimmer of how his grandson felt. As a one-time vet, a lower-middle-class white man, the Captain was familiar with the feeling of being split asunder from the small power elite of West Virginia, the elites his parents had supported but then later turned against. They, like most West Virginians, had supported the war in Vietnam. A draft call wasn’t needed in West Virginia. Most young mountaineer men gladly volunteered for service. But after hearing war tales from their son, the Captain’s parents, though still voting democratic, pulled their support from that war, as they also did, unfortunately, he thought, with any new taxes for social programs.

As a soldier, like other Vietnam vets, the Captain had taken the brunt of people’s frustrations with that war. He never really told his parents or anyone of the true horror of Viet Nam. People didn’t want to know, and he didn’t wish to regurgitate the misery or dampen his parent’s idolization of JFK. The Captain was glad that today’s vets faced a much more sympathetic public, a more understanding public.

The Captain had once been employed as a greeter at a Walmart store, the same store that had been forced to close because of rampant thievery. At West Virginia’s largest employer, the Captain never made over $ 7.00 an hour and was thankful for that. He was happy saying a smiling hello to the customers especially those who came early in the day because he knew his greeting might just help get their day off to a good start. He remembered the woman who bent over in front of him, holding her stomach, deep in pain. She fell to the floor, her face in her hands. He still saw the man in the wheelchair, moaning and groaning in agony and when asked how he could help, the man managed to laugh and said, “You can put me down like an old mare.”

The reality is, the Captain knew, was that some people can’t afford to shop elsewhere...or live elsewhere. If people need insulin, Walmart is the cheapest place to get it...like the cholesterol drug he needed that reportedly cost $14,000 but he could get one at Walmart for a few dollars.

“As a young soldier, I watched my fellow soldiers die in my arms. As a coal-miner,” the Captain said, looking directly into his grandson’s eyes, “I helped build America’s industrial strength. I 137

saw miners get sick with black dust, some buried under a cavein down under a mountain of rock and coal, legs crushed, guts pushed out. Some lived, but never a long life. They paid the price, soldier and miner, so you would have a place to lay your head.”

“Hello, Pappy,” said Mary Ellen with a smile. “Can we start over?” It was a game that she and her grandfather had been playing since she was a toddler when she would ask him after she had misbehaved, if they could start over “Yes. Honored as always.” He tipped his Captain’s hat, and she hugged him.

“Do you fly for American Airlines?” Mary Ellen asked, pointing to his cap. This brought a low chuckle from the men and a muffled hoot from Desperado.

“I would, Mary Ellen,” said the coach, “if hips and legs like yours climbed into my plane.” Again the men laughed.

“Thank you, sir,” said Mary Ellen. It was one of the games they played.

“Jesus,” said Desperado.

“Haven’t I seen my granddaughter’s picture recently in our once glorious newspaper?” The Captain opened his long coat and removed a newspaper from the inside pocket. He held the paper with the picture, comparing the image he sees with Mary Ellen. “Yes, I thought it was you. Our Homecoming Queen! I bought a couple of extras.”

“She’s going to Hollywood,” said Doc. “Oh yes, yes, I know. Her mother has told me,” said the Mayor.

“She’s told everyone,” said Mary Ellen.

“The singer,” smiled the coach.

The Captain looked at the photo again and then at Mary Ellen. “Hollywood could use you, my dear.”

“Don’t know about that. Don’t know if I’ll get there.”

“You will, you will.”

“I’m flattered, Pappy,” said Mary Ellen as she ran her hand through her hair. I used to have very long hair.”

“I remember. You are the spittin’ image of a young Lauren Bacall.”

“I don’t know her.”

“You should - big movie star when stars were stars. Right, men?”

The men agreed.

“Always good to see you, Captain,” said the mayor.

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“Yeah,” said Coach.

“You know, you still look good,” said Doc. “For my age? Don’t be so surprised, Doc. I’m still erect! And a big smile like the one my granddaughter’s wearing keeps me that way.”

“Jesus,” said Desperado.

“She makes an old man’s heart flutter.” The Captain started to gather the spilled cans and bottles. The others helped. “Your pins, Mary Ellen, could bring a man back from the dead.”

“My pins?”

“Yes, your Betty Grable legs. Now, she was a looker.”

“Don’t you have someplace else to go, old man,” said Desperado.

“No. Like my granddaughter, this place has charisma, charm, like the beautiful rust colored autumn leaves, fresh and innocent.

We all were fresh and innocent before we lost our balance - our innocence, before Viet Nam, before Nixon, before 9-11. Before the rich got so much richer. Before, before...right, my friends?”

“You know it,” said a chorus of men.

“The innocence of your youth, dear girl, like the innocence of the Appalachian mountains has been stolen by the failure of our hearts, our courage. Wouldn’t you say so, Judge?”

Mary Ellen looked at the judge and offered a slight smile. The judge flashed a hint of concern that perhaps the Captain knew something.

“Death is the price of living,” said the mayor.

“Yes, you’re right, Mayor. That’s the rule of the game. I’m just a bit-player in this game, especially the games being played today.

You’ve been places, seen things, Mayor. Two reasons to stick around - you love it here or you’re scared to leave. Your brother’s dreams got small, Mary Ellen. You can’t ever stop chasing the dream, keep pushing. The goals are high. We know the song...if we live long enough, we’ll have some regrets - just don’t want to have too many.”

“Keep the faith,” said Mary Ellen.

“That’s right, girl,” said the Captain. “Remember Jesus, the real Jesus.”

“Faith in what?” asked Desperado.

“Your sister’s settin’ the table for you boy. Don’t blow it.”

“Get off my ass.”

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“Life’s not easy. You took the easy route. Trust me. I’ve got more common sense than all the country club boys around here put together.”

That kind of talk from his grandfather always riled Desperado. “You’re full of hot air, old man,” said Desperado. “No one’s listening. Your time has passed. You junker.”

“My vocation is a humble but honest living, my boy,” said the Captain.

“You dig through people’s trash.”

“I think pappy provides a community service. Don’t you, Mayor?” asked Mary Ellen.

“Definitely,” replied the mayor.

“Thank you both kindly. I try my best. I never leave a mess and don’t make any noise. It is my job now. I do it every day, like a reporter. Daybreak is when my most productive work is done, so it’s early to bed for me.”

“Any money in your business, Pappy?” asked Mary Ellen, smiling.

“Cash on the barrel, my dear. Supports my social work... strictly volunteer. I’m not a case-worker. I visit those that are off the radar, further up the hollow, so to speak.”

“Yes, and you are wonderful,” said Mary Ellen.

“The good Lord has put me here. He had something he wanted me to keep doing right here in these mountains. Canning’s my way of still doing something worthwhile. There’s lots of competition today, out-of-towners who hear the canning’s good in these parts. It’s a big business. I hunt for my treasures wherever these old legs will carry me.” He checked a little notebook that he had pulled from his coat. “Last July Fourth, I collected onehundred and twenty-eight bottles in ninety minutes. I received $41.16. My personal record was the leavings from a Super Bowl party. $179.00, even.”

“Some people got more important things to do than pickin’ up cans and bottles,” said Desperado.

“That’s true. Those seemingly ordinary cans you’re holding, my dear, those precious discarded cans and bottles are money in the bank.”

“A bum’s what you are!”

“Don’t talk like that to our grandfather!”

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“It’s all right, dear. Some people don’t have the time for such a mundane activity or are too lazy to bend over,” said the Captain looking directly at Desperado. “They lose their way. So I’m most appreciative to those who have more important things to do with their time. My business is not the most celebrated – like some others I know.” Again he looked at Desperado. “If people weren’t so proud, full of themselves, think they’re always right, see no worth in anyone else’s opinion, they could find a way out of their desperate situations. Think of the waste folks such as myself are finding a use for. Of course, my experience of observing at Walmart taught me that people like to buy lots of things, things they may not need, so the waste just keeps piling up. I can’t stay ahead of the game. I pick up a can – there are two more to take its place. Job security.” The Captain had a hearty laugh. “I’m most appreciative. I don’t require much, no need for a power suit. And how many shirts can you wear? Never wanted a suit anyway.

Little things count.”

“That’s right, Captain,” said Doc, having just come through the door, we just go on. Do the best we can. Even here, in Last Chance – we do the best we can. Like the drugs - it’s gotten worse, like the madness. I go all over, making talks, telling people. I feel like Preacher Joe. A toast to being the best we can be!” said Doc. They all raised their beers, including Desperado. “Judge?” said Doc. “Are you going to join us?” The judge raised his glass.

“To the best we can be,” said Doc. “The country needs us, needs all of us to be the best we can be.”

“What’s it all about?” asked the mayor, in his best ‘wonderment’ voice.

“Mystery,” said Coach.

“Nothing matters if there’s no love,” said the Captain.

“Without love nothing matters, Paul told the Corinthians.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” asked Desperado.

“The Bible, dummy,” said Mary Ellen.

“Excuse me, Saint Joan.”

“My brother’s not fond of church.”

“The only thing the Bible’s good for is quotes,” said Desperado.

“Bible didn’t help Trudy or all the other murdered people.”

“The truth shall set you free,” said Mary Ellen, almost to herself.

“Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition,” said the Captain.

“I think confession’s food for the soul,” said the mayor.

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“Yes. We’re all too hard on ourselves,” said the Captain.

“Sometimes we need to forgive ourselves.”

“That’s God’s job,” said Mary Ellen, with a hardness that belied her young age.

“Yes, girl. But you don’t want to reach my age and wish you had been a better person. Truth has a long shelf life,” said the Captain.

“Yes,” said Mary Ellen and looked at the judge The judge got up. He turned and caught Mary Ellen’s eye as he headed for the door. She did not divert her eyes. She wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed by the judge’s unwanted advances. But she was angry.

“Be beneficial if all could take a seat at the table of conscience, Judge,” said the Captain as the judge, without looking back, opened the door and was gone.

“Unfortunately, conscience doesn’t put food on the table or points on the board,” said the mayor.

Desperado performed with great flair and expertise as he spun a large pie-shaped dough in the air and then caught it.

“Don’t forget mushrooms,” said Mary Ellen.

“Will you stop with the mushroom crap,” said Desperado.

“It’s anchovies. Don’t confuse me.”

There was a quick rapping at Deadend’s door. All got quiet.

Another knock. Mary Ellen slowly went to the door.

“Don’t answer it,” said Desperado.

“Who is it?” asked Mary Ellen, calmly.

“What did I just say?”

“Why are you so nervous, Desperado? Could it be the sheriff, you think, maybe the FBI? You never know,” said Mary Ellen.

“Junior,” came the high-pitched anxious voice from the other side of the door. “I’m Junior. Open, please.”

“I’ll let him in.” Mary Ellen opened the door. Junior poked his head in, looking around.

“The sky, it’s falling. A big shadow’s chasin’ me.”

“Get your ass in here,” said Desperado, pulling Junior’s arm.

“Where have you been?”

Junior was as frightened of Desperado as Desperado was of Dewey. Junior carried the puppy under one arm. Desperado

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turned the “closed” sign around and closed the door. Junior crawled under a table.

“Get up! What the hell are you doing here? How’d you get here?”

“He came with me,” said the Captain.”

“What!?”

“I was driving up the mountain, and Junior was hitchhiking,” said the Captain.

“Well, get that damn dog out of here,” said Desperado.

“Dewey will scream bloody murder.”

“Yes, yes, I hear you,” said Junior trying to calm the yipping dog.

“It’s shaking,” said Mary Ellen, petting the puppy.

“It’s comin’ fast,” said Junior.

“What is?

“It’s out there. Scare away the shadow, please,” said Junior.

“It’s over all of us.”

“It’s all right, Junior. Come with me.” Mary Ellen led him to the door.

“Wind’s kickin’ up. Gettin’ dark,” said the Captain looking out the drive-thru window.

“Mama said the sun would be swallowed,” said Junior.

Mary Ellen opened the door and looked up at the sky. “It’s an eclipse! See? The Captain and Mary Ellen, with Junior and the puppy in tow, stepped outside. The rest followed them.

“Remember the only other time I saw one... I thought the world was ending” said the Captain. “Don’t look straight on children, it’ll blind you.”

“No, it’s all right,” said Doc. “The eclipse is total.”

“Oh my God,” said Mary Ellen. “It’s...it’s...”

“Glorious,” said the coach.

“They say bad behavior of people causes the sun to turn away in disgust,” said the Captain, looking at the men.

“We’ve had some bad behavior from some bad people, and from some bad, powerful people,” said the mayor.

“The world’s full of bad behavior,” said coach.

“We’ve let some things slide,” said Doc. “We have been dismissed, a failed state, a lonely state, trying to find its way in a hostile environment.”

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“The sun hasn’t shown in this hollow since coal was discovered,” said Coach.

“There was a time when an eclipse was a bad omen,” said the Captain. Then looking at the others, “We need to stand up and be counted.”

The eclipse was total. They were all in shadow. It was dead quiet, eerie, and very dark for a full twenty seconds. No one spoke - the puppy whimpered. The shadow, ever so slowly, moved. Then it was over. Six or seven blackbirds lifted closely together and skimmed the tops of the trees. There was silence.

“Despite all, it’s an extraordinary place we live,” said the mayor, in a hushed voice. All concurred, but only with quiet murmurs of agreement.

“Liberating, wasn’t it,” said the Captain.

“Peaceful,” said the mayor.

“It’s better now, Junior,” said Mary Ellen. “See. Listen. The birds are singing again.”

“Not as pretty as you sing,” said the mayor. The puppy yipped.

“Let me hold him,” said Mary Ellen. She took the puppy, and they all went back inside. Desperado locked the door.

“It’s kind of wonderful how a puppy can make you gush all over yourself,” said the Captain.

“So fierce for such a little bit,” said Doc, patting the puppy’s head.

“I’d like to assume a box on the railroad track was an act of mercy,” said the Captain, looking at Desperado - “or was it something else? Something too terrible to contemplate, even in these hills. Bring it to Pappy.” Mary Ellen gave the pup to the Captain. “That’s it, put your head on Pappy’s chest. Bet your daddy spent all his money on whores and booze. You deserve better.”

“It’s all right, Junior, you can stop shaking,” said Mary Ellen.

“You’re all sweaty.”

“My chicken has come home to roost,” said Desperado, putting his hand around Junior’s neck, giving it a squeeze.

“Desperado, please bring me a wet towel,” said Mary Ellen.

“It’s all right, Junior. It’s all right to be frightened. Night is scary.

Puppy was scared, too.”

“You gotta be real scared and real stupid to show your ugly face in here because you are in the shit house.”

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“Leave him alone, Desperado,” said Mary Ellen.

“You’ve been a hard man to find,” said Desperado, threatening.

“Just wanted to get out of the dark. I’m going,” Junior said.

“No, no, you don’t,” said Desperado. “You might skip the country. Got lost, did you? Been on vacation? Relax, Junior. You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here. You understand the gravity of your situation? Dewey’s not happy with you.

Which means Dewey’s not happy with me. Which means I am not happy with you. You have something for me? Junior? Look at me.” Junior did. “Where’s my money. You sold some pills.”

“The puppy was hungry. He could’ve died.”

“So could we all, Junior, so could we all - if Dewey doesn’t get his money! Business is business!”

“Puppy’s a little skeptical, I imagine,” said the Captain. “He’s nervous.”

“Bit me. Sharp teeth,” said Junior.

“I’m going to bite your head off.”

“Desperado!” said Mary Ellen.

“Give the mutt to the SPCA,” said Desperado.

“SPCA has too many dogs now - Millions, trillions of them.

All kinds,” said the mayor.

“Just like cellblocks,” said the Captain, “death traps. There’s a sad story here.” He patted the puppy’s head. “Welcome home to Jesus. God loves this puppy, and you, too, Junior.”

“He does? The puppy needs God’s help. Me too.”

“You’re no better than this dog,” said Desperado. “God’s not going to help you.”

“That’s enough, my boy,” said the Captain.

“Don’t pay any attention to him, Junior,” said Mary Ellen.

“Dewey’ll hang my ass. Jesus,” said Desperado.

“The little darlin’s famished, I’ll wager. Puppy needs some food,” said the Captain. Mary Ellen got a piece of pizza and broke it into little pieces and fed the pup.

“I could shoot your rat’s ass, Junior, and they’d give me a medal.”

“Desperado, you’re scarin’ the puppy,” said Mary Ellen.

“You’ll get your money, ok.”

“It’s Dewey’s money,” said Desperado.

“He’ll pay his debt to Dewey,” said the Captain, looking hard at his grandson. The puppy yipped. “Hold on, little fellow. On inspection, I determine that he is a she,” said the Captain.

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Mary Ellen tried to get something out of the pup’s paw. “Don’t move. I know it hurts. Eat up.”

“The indignities we suffer,” said the Captain to the puppy.

“The palaces of the seven kings. That’s where you should be.”

“Ante up, Junior,” said Desperado.

“I’ll get your money,” said Junior. “I promise, cross my heart, hope to die.”

“That’s good ‘cause I won’t be pleased if you’re a dime short.”

Junior pulled a lone bill from his socks. He took a shoe and sock off, nothing. “I don’t...it was here.”

“You better find it, Junior,” said Desperado.

“I’m toast,” said Junior, as he pulled his shoes and socks off in a futile search for the money. “Pastor Joe says I’m on the devil’s path.”

“You better come up with my offering.”

“I don’t know. He gave it to me.”

“Who?” “The man.”

“The sheriff?”

“No...yes, yes, the sheriff...he was there.”

“The sheriff was there?”

“I think...”

“You think? You idiot!”

“I had it in my sock. I swear.”

“It’s all right, Junior,” said Mary Ellen, patting Junior like she did the puppy.

“I fronted for you, Junior. I vouched for your integrity. My ass is on the line. You don’t wish me any harm, do you?”

“No.” “You’ll get me what you owe me?”

“Yes.” “When?” “...Soon,” said the Captain.

“No four-year plan,” said Desperado. “This is America. Soon, real soon would be best for him and me. You understand?”

“Yes, men beat men,” said the Captain. “You work long and hard, and they thank you by killing you. No escape. There’s a better place. Just don’t know where. Better’s not going to knock on your door, Desperado. You got to do the knocking.”

“Wha’d I tell you: If I want a sermon I’ll go to church,” said Desperado.

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“Life’s not easy, son.”

“You’re full of hot air.”

“Your dreams got small. You got to dream big! Like that Don Quixote fellow. You got to dream the impossible dream.”

“That should be real easy to do,” said Desperado, “living in southern West Virginia!”

“The requirement’s to do better,” said the Captain. “Make this place a better place and not get stuck down under. You’ve got a lot to offer. You can contribute. Wouldn’t you love to do that, to be part of that?”

“You’re dreaming, old man.”

“If you stay, my boy, it doesn’t mean you failed.”

“You better not stay around, Mary Ellen,” said Desperado in an aside. “You and Junior both better leave ‘fore Dewey shows up.”

“Why,” asked Mary Ellen.

“He’s in a pissy mood, that’s why.”

“You’re very nervous, brother.”

“Yeah. Motor City boys are nervous. That makes Dewey nervous. He thinks the Feds are closin’ in. Hell, this place is no secret. That makes me nervous.”

“You’re gonna to be one big red blotch.”

“Oh God, I’m gonna throw-up.” Desperado slammed the door to the bathroom.

“Look in your pants pocket,” the Captain whispered softly to Junior.

“Oh yeah.” Junior did and sure enough, there was the money the Captain had given him. Junior looked around for Desperado.

The Captain took the money.

Just then, Desperado’s cell phone rang. Mary Ellen looked around and saw the phone sitting on the counter. With Desperado back in the bathroom, she answered the phone.

“Deadend...Can I help you?...Got it,” said Mary Ellen into the cell phone as Desperado came out of the bathroom. He grabbed the phone from her.

“Look at my face,” said Desperado. “What the hell did I say?

Don’t ever answer the phone!”

“Excuse me, you were in the bathroom,” said Mary Ellen. “Is this not a place of business?”

“Can’t you see I’m nervous? Don’t answer the phone! We don’t take special orders over the phone.”

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“Since when?”

“Since the Feds started nosin’ around,” Desperado hissed.

“Wha’d they order? What’s your name?” Desperado finally asked the customer on the phone.

Desperado knew most of his customers. A customer’s credit rating was set by prior experiences within the network of growers.

Credit came in cash or other goods, like cocaine or prescription pills. If a customer failed to pay on time, he or she was charged interest. In case a customer was arrested, it was always assumed the law would try to get information in exchange for lesser charges. So Desperado only dealt with strangers who had been vetted. The customers he didn’t know had to be referred by another grower-seller in Kentucky or Virginia or West Virginia.

Dewey would preach, ‘Know your customers.’

“Your name?”

“Nancy Pringle.”

“Like the potato chip?” asked Desperado.

“Yes,” replied the woman.

Desperado checked the computer list and sure enough, Ms. Pringle was on the referred list.

“Must be a friend of Dewey’s,” said Desperado. “Your order will be ready in a half-hour.” He hung up and asked Mary Ellen, “So what did she order?”

“Something about “the works.”

“The works?”

Mary Ellen checked what she wrote down. “Large whole wheat veggie with pineapple and hold the cheese. The works.”

Desperado banged his head against the wall. “You probably just signed my death warrant.”

“What was I supposed to say?”

“You weren’t supposed to answer the phone! Jesus, Jesus.

And we don’t do whole wheat!”

“Relax, brother. People aren’t going to ask for whole wheat unless they’re in the know,” said Mary Ellen, eyeing her brother.

“What do you mean, ‘in the know?”

“I don’t know. I’ve heard you say that.”

“Don’t repeat everything I say!” Desperado examined the phone as if he was looking for something. “The phone could be tapped. Feds could be in the know. Large whole wheat, pineapple, hold the cheese... That’s all they ordered?”

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“Yeah,” said Mary Ellen as she checked her notes, “oh and double the anchovies,” she said, casually.

“Double the anchovies?” Desperado suddenly was breathing much harder. It was a full-on conniption. “Were you not goin’ to tell me that?”

“Why should I? Anchovies...I don’t like anchovies.”

“I gotta think,” said Desperado, putting his hands around his head.

The mayor, Doc, and coach were laughing among themselves.

“Men, please,” said Mary Ellen. “Desperado is thinking. A little respect.”

“Double the anchovies. That’s big,” said Desperado, pacing in circles.

“Ok, pull it together. You can do it,” said Mary Ellen, cheerfully.

“Talking to yourself ’s not a good sign,” said Doc. “Double the anchovies,” said Desperado, still pacing. “Has to be the Motor City boys. Damn it the hell...Nancy Pringle?...Must be an alias. Funny. What am I gonna do?”

“Simple. Make the pizza and double the anchovies,” said Mary Ellen, calmly. “What’s the big deal? You been waiting on this for weeks.”

“How do you know”?

“I don’t. But you’ve been nervous for a month.”

“Yeah...What if it’s not them?” Desperado asked. “Did I not ask you to leave town?” said Desperado.

“Technically speaking, I guess not,” said Mary Ellen. “You gave me a few dollars, bus money’ you said. You mentioned I think, that Dewey wanted me to go to Ohio?”

“Yes. A few days of r&r.”

“Where? Motel Six?” “Sorry, we can’t afford the Greenbrier.”

“Relax, my boy,” said the Captain. “Here’s the money Junior owed you. Now that the boy’s debt has been paid, I will drive him back down the mountain. Mary Ellen? Could I impose on you to give me a hand with my bags? If you will help me, we will redeem these at the redemption center and drop off the proceeds at the senior center. And then we will get ready for Trudy’s memorial service.”

“Yes, I need some time, brother. You will be there, won’t you?”

“Yes. Go,” said Desperado. “Go, go.”

149

20 “Forgive my foul murder?”

That cannot be; since I am still possess’d Of those effects for which I did the murder...”

The voice was deep and rich and belonged to Trudy’s grandfather. He looked out at the large gathering for Trudy’s memorial service.

“Most of us used to think that mountains and young lives, like the printed word, like history, were fixed, but no – like a bad editor who can rip the heart out of a story, our mountains were beheaded, chopped up, dismembered. My granddaughter’s young life was treated with no less brutality, her body discarded as garbage. All the hardships and sacrifices suffered deserve admiration, and, I suppose, has made us all stronger – at least the ones of us who aren’t dead. But that is little or no consolation.

Trudy’s murder has crystallized it all for me. It has taken us generations to reach this point where a hard-fought pride covers an inner misery. No more. I have reached the point of no return.

“I understand my son’s anger. I share it. Things like Trudy’s brutal murder are becoming too common. We are all sad for a day or two - till the wolves are gone. The games we play, I cannot bear.

Under our mountain of combustion, we don’t want to know that no one cares! We don’t want evidence that people are forgotten, that people are left to fend for themselves as best they can! I am merely a witness, a strolling itinerant actor in these mountains, largely self-trained whose only fame to claim is playing a ghost of a man. Who was I? My granddaughter is gone, but I’m still here.

What kind of a coward am I who cries himself to sleep? We have let this happen. Go on you young ones, mold your future. I only hope that it will be molded as kindly and precisely as possible.

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As my friend Doc says, ‘Drinking doesn’t do any good. Neither does dying.’ It’s all done. We’ll all go on until we’re eating slum.

Then maybe we can start over. I cannot watch the nightly news.

I cannot read the newspaper. Oh well, I say, let it be, let it be, let it be. In the mines, it’s not the lungs that get you, it’s the mind - it plays tricks, like an eclipse. The boss said they might as well keep digging. Two days later, my grandfather and three others crawled out. Seventy-eight others stayed in the dark. How fragile our world is, how fragile society is. I promised myself at seventeen that I would never go back underground until my eyes closed for the final time. I had never seen dark like the dark you see in a coal mine. But nothing is as dark as saying goodbye to my granddaughter. I love you, Trudy.”

“It was a long walk today to a service I didn’t want to attend. I see my son, Trudy’s father, his wife beside him, her arms wrapped around a tattered stuffed animal, as she must have held her baby.

I saw a gentleman put a single rose by Trudy’s photo. He told me it was his heart...”

With that, the tears flowing, the Captain slowly took his seat next to Junior. Henry rose from his seat and came forward.

“My name is Henry Mann. I was Trudy’s high school history teacher.

Trudy was a very good student. I asked her parents if I could say a few words...Isn’t it a marvel that such beauty as Trudy’s can still come out of such an atmosphere of sadness, treachery, violence, cruelty, corruption, poverty, humiliation, and... betrayal? Composers are still able to write stirrin’ and beautiful music. We, the audience, want to be able to put our cares aside and hear the beauty.” Henry looked at the rose left by the man

by Trudy’s high school photo. “Trudy carved her name on all our hearts. She liked to push boundaries. As contradictory as it may sound, she was very innocent. She was someone who once saw the world as good, but when I ran her into her, well over two years ago, it appeared to me that Trudy had discovered that there is a lot of bad in the world. The rules are hard for us to follow. All one asks for is precision, a word or two that is devoid of vagueness - not so uncertain, not so dark, or abstracted, or ruthless. Something good comes out of tragedy. I try not to be indifferent to the possibility that wondrous properties may yet be called forth from our little village, that the pears will ripen and the sun will shine, the coffee will brew, the air conditioners 151

will hum, and the lights will stay on. But reason says otherwise.

We live more in our heads today than in nature and are more concerned with efficiency than with intimacy. It is more about “I” than “We.” Will the sky and moon and music be enough to lift what seems at times to be a blanket of problems where even the sun is just a bit of convenience rather than providing any real warmth? If Trudy’s life meant anything, may it be that love prevails, so that we may look at each other with an unspoken, unanalyzed genuine love. Many of us, if we have been lucky, have experienced the lightening of our load of doubts and suspicions and disapprovals of the world when love hits us. Today, in Trudy’s memory, let us truly see the sky and feel the love and select the details that we must see of those around us in order to love them, and thus may we put an end to all the insanity that has gripped our country.”

When Henry finished speaking, Mary Ellen came forward.

She looked at Trudy’s photo. “You, dear sister, were my song, my Voice.” Then, accompanying herself on the guitar, she sang.

A mountaintop time of year is when we climbed the hill and touched the sky walked the clouds that hung so still Hiding the hollow fill of moments that accumulate We rode the waves of rousing cheers saw the world and met the great.

Don’t you think it’s kind of funny don’t you think it’s kind of strange when you’re nearly out of money just a little bit of change that no one seems to care for mountain music’s in the air Along the mountaintops of measured time life is but to celebrate so here’s the how and why.

Live it now and bow to fate for it would make a terrible din to have to hear what might have been.

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It’s really kind of funny and it’s really kind of sad when you’re nearly out of money and you think you’re going mad that no one seems to care cause mountain music’s in the air.

All that is grand may we preserve.

This gloried land let us deserve.

You are the tree the field we see.

My tears are love for what you are, the sky above the brightest star.

I cannot speak of what I feel.

Can only peek at what is real.

The sights and sounds that be are not what matters at all to me.

It is the love we sowed that made our world grow.

I shoo away all other sound and bless the day of silence found, when I hear the heartfelt care of your mountain music everywhere.

As Trudy finished her song, Junior rushed forward, crying, throwing his arms around Mary Ellen. The Captain tried to pull Junior away from her gently, but he held tight.

“It’s all right,” said Mary Ellen, softly. “Junior?”

“I didn’t mean it! I didn’t,” Junior finally said. He was crying.

“Tell me Junior...what didn’t you mean?”

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“He...he made me?”

“Who made you?”

“Said he would kill the puppy if I didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Shoot Trudy.”

154

21 “Do you think Junior could’ve killed your sister of his own free will?”

“No!” “Apparently he sold some drugs to the sheriff ’s deputy.”

“Can my granddaughter talk to Junior?” asked the Captain, who was seated beside Mary Ellen.

“Yes. He refuses to talk to anyone else, but said he wanted to talk to you, Mary Ellen,” said Anderson. After a few moments, Junior was escorted into the room and shown a seat across from Mary Ellen. “We’ll be right outside the door.”

After Anderson shut the door, Mary Ellen looked at Junior for a long moment. He kept his head down not looking back at her.

“He made me.”

“When?”

“When he met us at the dump. He was going to give us some dope.”

“Who? Junior, please. Was it Dewey?” Junior nodded. “So then what happened?”

“He hit her. Then he gave me a gun and told me to shoot her.”

“Shoot Trudy?”

“Yes.” “And did you?”

“Yes...he had a gun pointed at my head. I’d trade places with her if I could. He, he... marched us into the woods. “He told her to get on her knees. She did and then...”

“What? Then what?”

“She asked if she could pray. I prayed too.”

“And then?”

155

“He put a gun against my head, right here.” Junior rubbed his right temple. “Then he made me put the gun against her head.”

“Then what?”

“I pulled the trigger.”

Mary Ellen broke down, sobbing and left the room. After a few minutes, she returned with Agent Anderson and the Captain.

“After you shot Trudy, what happened, Junior,” ask Agent Anderson.

“Dewey gave me some coke, and he left.”

“Where’s the gun?”

“I gave it back to Dewey.”

After another long moment, Mary Ellen thanked Junior for having the courage to tell her what happened. Junior was then taken from the room.

“What will happen to him,” she asked.

“He’ll most likely stand trial, and we’ll see,” said Anderson.

“What about Dewey? Does he go free?”

“Right now, it will be his word against Junior’s,” said Anderson.

“What about the files I copied,” asked Mary Ellen.

“They will be helpful, but we still need to find the gun that was used. It’s best for you not to be further involved.”

“How can I not be,” she asked. “I already am involved.”

“Your mother told my wife that you are going to Hollywood for the Voice competition.”

“I can’t go now! Anyway, it’s just an audition for the chance to go.”

“Still,” said Anderson. “Only very few, as I understand, have a chance to go on to Hollywood. I know it’s hard, but perhaps the best thing you could do for Trudy is to go. She would be rooting for you, as I know many in the town will be.”

“I don’t need...Homecoming queen’s enough...”

Just then the door opened, and Walt Berry, the DEA agent, entered. “Found something on that disk you might want to see.”

“This is the young lady who gave me the disk,” replied Anderson.

“Hi,” said Mary Ellen. “Sorry, I’m not in a better mood. I’ve hit what my dad calls the hard bottom. It’s like that film, American Hustle.”

“Haven’t seen it,” said Anderson.

“You should. My film is called Appalachian Hustle and it’s not funny. It’s boring, irritating! You always have to be on guard.

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I’ve thought a lot about it, and there is no one else who will help you. No one knows I copied those files. Also, I never told you that Trudy told me that she had ‘evidence’ and that she was going to use it if anyone gave her trouble or threatened her,” said Mary Ellen. “I found some photos on her cell phone.”

“Photos?”

“Yes.” “It was right before she disappeared.” She pulled the cell phone from a pocket. “The phone was in her pickup.”

“We searched the pickup.”

“I took the phone. After Trudy’s body was found, and Pappy said her phone wasn’t with her. I knew where it was. She always kept it under the cushion of the front seat of her pick-up. She was concerned about it being taken. She backed up these photos on her computer that she kept at home.”

Mary Ellen opened Trudy’s cell phone and typed in a password. Three of the cell phone photos showed cocaine and pills being packaged in pizza boxes. One photo seemed to show an exchange of drugs and cash for guns being handed over in return. Unfortunately, only a pair of hands was shown handing over more guns. Another photo showed a room stockpiled with guns. Another photo showed a woman holding a rifle. Anderson looked closer at the photo with the woman holding the rifle.

“This looks like the same woman who was arrested and convicted several years back for killing a Federal agent.”

“Trudy said she was afraid something would happen to her,” said Mary Ellen. “She said her life was full of secrets, but she never told me. ‘That’s why we call them secret,’” she said.

“Her premonition of something happening, unfortunately, came true,” said Agent Anderson, “I’m sorry it’s taken so long.

We’re doing our best.”

“Dewey’s ex told me one day that the sheriff and the judge were going to gang up on Dewey. I think she’s afraid of him.”

“The FBI would be lucky to have your granddaughter, Captain.”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Please let me help you. You let me help, and I will do the audition!”

“You drive a hard bargain. I promise I will consider it.”

Anderson looked up from the computer screen. “Do you believe Junior?”

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“Yes,” said Trudy.

“We have no evidence,” said Anderson.

“I will help you,” she said.

“I appreciate that, but...”

“I’m serious, Mr. Anderson...Agent Anderson. Trudy told me about a black car. She said she had never seen a car like it before.”

“Probably a black Escalade...SUV.” “Trudy said it picked up orders at Deadend. Agent Anderson, I can help. I know. I want to help,” said Mary Ellen. “My sister and I were very close.”

Anderson opened his briefcase and pointed to several cell phones. “You recognize any of these phones?”

“This one. Desperado has several just like it.”

“Yes,” said the Captain. “It’s like a growth on him.”

“Wal-Mart specials,” said Anderson. “Pay-as-you-go prepaid and untraceable,” explained Anderson. “$20 and no questions asked. Does Desperado call you?”

“Yeah,” said Mary Ellen.

“On your cell?”

“No. The one he gave me to use. Wal-Mart special. I dropped it in the toilet.”

“On purpose?”

“No. It clogged the toilet up. I flushed before I realized it. I had to fish it out.”

“Funny.”

“It was gross. Desperado was not happy. He gave me a new one. He has a drawer full of them.”

“Let me see it.” Mary Ellen pulled the phone out from her back pocket. Anderson looked at it. “Here. Take this one.”

“They look alike.”

“That’s the idea When you call your brother, is this the number you use?” He showed her a cell number.

“Yes.” Anderson took out the SIM card and put it in the look-a-like phone and handed Mary Ellen back the new phone just like her old one.

“My brother’s paranoid. He always thinks someone’s listening and watching.”

“We’re all being watched...technology.”

158

“Desperado uses a number for a while then deletes it. Burners, he calls them...gets a new one.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Trudy used to say, ‘some days we sin, some days we do right.’

I think this is one of my right days,” said Mary Ellen.

“My lucky day,” smiled Anderson. “Is there a password, do you know – some code word maybe for certain orders?”

“No, not really. ‘Double anchovies,’ is always a big order.”

“Big order?”

“Well, a big order, I think, is usually guns because that’s when my brother always gets the most nervous. Just the word ‘guns’ makes him nervous. He hates me asking about anything but especially about guns...so I told him call them anchovies. I was joking. I hate anchovies. But that’s what he does now. He calls them anchovies. At first, he thought it was funny, but then he still got nervous. I want to do this now, Mr. Anderson. It’s funny because Dewey hates me, wants me to leave. He rues the day he let my brother hire me.”

“Don’t know how much longer until Dewey orders you out.”

“If you can believe it,” said Mary Ellen, “Dewey was once Trudy’s Sunday school teacher. I can’t imagine. He’s a monster.

He gave her her first hit, she said-her Sunday school teacher!

It doesn’t make sense. I don’t know...like auditioning for the Voice...I want to find out who I am, what I can do with my life before it’s gone. Dewey’s cars are all over e-bay,” Mary Ellen said after a moment.

“Dewey’s?”

“Yes, I checked.”

“The problem with the Dewey’s of the world,” the Captain said, “is that enough is never enough. He is at heart a crook and far beyond just being unethical. Doesn’t have a legitimate bone in his body. He’s a murderer.”

“Does your dad know of your brother’s involvement?”

“I think he knows,” said Mary Ellen.

“He has to,” said the Captain. “He’s worried. He’d really be worried if he knew what we know. I feel guilty for not telling him.

Trudy’s murder has changed everything.”

“For the good, I hope,” said Anderson. “Mary Ellen, you don’t want to be like the frog that doesn’t feel the water getting hotter.”

“Until it’s too late?”

159

“Yes. It’s not too late for you,” said the Captain.

“Dewey wants me to go to North Carolina or Ohio. Did my sister ever talk to you?”

“No.” “Trudy had mentioned that Sheriff Goodson knew some things. He told her the rumor was that Judge Pendergast had a thing for me. I first met the judge at Dewey’s ex’s house. I had done some cleaning for her to pick up some extra money. I’d met her at this little workout place. My sister introduced us.”

“You never went out with the judge?”

“God no. I kept him at arm’s length.”

“Makes them all the hungrier,” Anderson said.

“Yeah. He groped me one day at Dewey’s ex’s house. I kicked him in his junk! Dewey’s ex heard me yell and came running. She threw him out of the house. She said the judge had a bad habit of falling in love and doing whatever was necessary to get rid of his competition.”

“I believe the judge was and is married,” said Anderson. “Do you know if he and Dewey’s ex had a relationship?”

“I don’t know. It was a little weird. Trudy hinted that Dewey’s ex had set a seductive trap for the judge. Trudy said she saw photos of the judge and Dewey’s ex while they were making out on the couch. Trudy said he was all over her.”

“Who took the photos?”

“Not me. I don’t know.”

“It sounds like Dewey’s ex blackmailed the judge.”

“Never thought of that,” said Mary Ellen.

“Makes sense,” said Anderson. “Her divorce was in the judge’s court. She wasn’t about to mess that up.”

“I recall years before,” said the Captain, “Dewey was tried on a tax case before the same judge, Judge Pendergast, and he ordered Dewey to pay up.”

“So perhaps Dewey would not have been sad to see the judge being compromised...even though it was with his ex. We can also assume the judge’s verdict in the divorce case was no surprise?”

“Right,” said the Captain, laughing.

“If the judge didn’t rule in her favor, Dewey’s ex might have threatened to make the photos of the judge and her public. The photos could be embarrassing, but she could say the judge forced her to do it. You still see Dewey’s ex-wife?”

160

“Some. I like her. She doesn’t put up with anything. She’s been good to me, especially after Trudy was murdered.”

“What about you and the sheriff?”

“Nothing...no way. He’s nice enough. He told me to watch myself.”

“Are you concerned about your safety up at Deadend?”

“No. They’re all...just...men. But Dewey is the lowest of the low.”

“I’ve known Dewey since he and my son were kids,” said the Captain. “He never knew right from wrong. He’s a fixture here, tight with the old coal families who’ve always controlled the politics and information.”

“Your son’s not privy to what’s on the inside?”

“No. He hates it. Right, Mary Ellen?”

“Yes. My dad’s miserable, he’s had a rough time.”

“My son probably bends the elbow too much. Rich people, like Dewey, are hard to fight. A few can make life hell for the many. They get a political job, and suddenly the rules don’t apply to them.”

“Are you resentful, Captain?”

“No time for that. Dewey thinks...no offense,” said the Captain, “but he thinks the police are stupid. He hates government. I think he hates everyone.”

“The given is,” said Anderson “your brother, Desperado, works for Dewey. We know Dewey is in the guns for drugs trade.

The photos your sister took confirm this.”

“Trudy was very popular when she was in school,” said Mary Ellen. “How do you deal with being scared?”

“Buy more guns. Shoot them before they shoot you. Or turn to drugs, mainly prescription pills...usually illegally gotten,” said her grandfather.

“People need to escape,” said Mary Ellen. “Trudy told me she was leaving. But saying you’re leaving and leaving are two different things. Maybe that’s why she told me things. She didn’t want me to make the mistakes she had made.”

“Drugs let you run away,” said Anderson.

“I suppose - if the drug’s any good.”

“And there are those out there offering a pill for whatever ails you,” said the Captain.

“Trudy knew doctors who would give her pills just to feel good.”

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“I have come up with a plan for Mary Ellen and myself,” said the Captain. “We will show up at Deadend on Homecoming Day. Mary Ellen will be dressed in her homecoming dress.”

“I will?”

“Yes.” “Before you go back up to Deadend,” said Anderson, “I will want to see you.”

“I’ll sing to you,” said Mary Ellen, smiling. “Stairway To Heaven. It’s a song I wrote.”

“Just remember, this is not a game. I can’t emphasize that enough.”

“I know. I’m a good actress.

“Thought you wanted to be a singer.”

“Yeah. But I’ve been acting all my life.”

“I don’t want to be sorry for this.”

“You won’t be,” said Mary Ellen, and put her hand on her pappy’s.

“I know you’ve grown up here, but just remember how treacherous and fragile life is in these mountains.”

Mary Ellen stared straight ahead. She was too young to be involved in this dark story, but like her dead sister had been, and her brother now was, she was now also involved. Like most West Virginians, she preferred her dark stories with a slight twist.

“I’ve just tried to survive.”

“And I want to make sure you do,” said Anderson. “I will be in touch.”

“We will await your instructions,” said the Captain.

162

22 “I’m sure if anyone has some incriminating evidence, it’s Dewey’s ex,” said DEA Agent Berry.

“We’ve questioned her,” replied Anderson. “She’s denied any knowledge of Trudy Heater’s murder, of any drug or stolen car activity, or anything. She also maintained her then-husband was with her when the Federal informant was killed.”

“You think she’s scared to talk?”

“Possibly.” Agent Anderson was then quiet for a long moment. He took a folder out from the desk drawer, but did not open it. “Dewey is a sort of a Teflon man, always one step ahead, pretty much impervious to what anyone thinks. People in town are aware of the illegal activity surrounding Dewey, but there has been no direct proof linking Dewey to guns for drugs - except for the photos that Mary Ellen showed me from her sister’s cell phone and the disk she copied for us.”

“Who knows what else we may find on these files,” said Walt Berry.

“She did well,” said Anderson.

“On the stolen car front, it’s possible,” Agent Berry speculated, “that Dewey buys stolen cars from nefarious auction places. The identification numbers are switched with numbers taken from the junkers. Or he might buy cars that have been totaled in accidents, and then those I.D. numbers are placed in stolen cars of the same make and model from other states, giving the car a ‘clean’ look.”

“And the buyers are none the wiser,” said Anderson, “that they bought a stolen car.”

“Right.”

“What about the sheriff? Does he know?”

163

“That’s a good question. With southern West Virginia being a hotbed of illegal drugs, the sheriff has a lot on his plate. That the sheriff would let the old VIN switcheroo go on is not surprising,” said Berry.

“But any sheriff worth his salt would have been on to that ploy,” said Anderson.

Years before Anderson was back on duty in southern Appalachia, he was aware the then sheriff had turned a blind eye to the local pizza joint on the main street that specialized in cocaine and pill dispensing. Perhaps, Anderson had thought, that sheriff simply had more than he could handle.

“The infamous pizza shop was two doors down from the sheriff ’s office,” said Anderson. “I was told everyone in town knew, but that people had no other way to make a living. People have to eat, you know. It took a couple of years to clean up the pizza operation. It was harder to close down than the infamous New York ‘Pizza Connection,’ where cocaine and heroin had been run through a chain of pizza shops. I had studied that case while in FBI training.”

Anderson’s learning curve had taken time. One thing he had learned quite quickly was to keep his home address to as few people as possible and to take a different route home every few days. He decided that he would assign a couple of agents to keep tabs on both Mary Ellen and the Captain.

“The computer files,” said Agent Berry, looking at the disk Mary Ellen had copied, “show Dewey’s Wholesale Nursery delivered plants all up and down the east coast. Drugs were found packed into the bottoms of the plant containers.”

“The underground economy,” Anderson said. “We should be able to nail him on this.”

“Look at this,” said Walt. “It looks like a financial report.”

Anderson sat down beside Agent Berry. “It says here that Dewey collected $341,937.61 when a pill mill was closed. And here’s another $475,823.75 in cash that was in two different accounts.”

“I assume those accounts belong to Dewey. We should be able to trace these.”

“Unbelievable,” said Anderson. “We can assume Dewey doesn’t need money. I wonder where this money is now,” said Anderson, adjusting the camera. “We will try to trace some of the cash of Dewey and the ex-Mrs. Long,” said Anderson.

“I suspect,” said Walt, “that it could be in an off-shore account 164

by now.” Walt brought up another file on the disk. “This shows money, in the same amounts, being held as assets of what I bet is a shell company. They moved the money to a shell company bank account. Companies need assets, right? Then if they want to buy whatever over here - say a new house - but don’t want it traced back to them, no problem, because the house belongs to the new shell company, and no one knows they own it. They can do this with houses, cars, planes... you name it.”

“Why would they do that if they were getting divorced,” pondered Anderson, “unless they weren’t really getting divorced?”

“Here’s a record of Dewey’s cars sold up and down the east coast and as far west as the Mississippi River,” said Berry.

“Another transportation system to get pills and weed where they need to go.”

“Dewey keeps good records,” said Anderson, looking at the files Mary Ellen had copied.

165

23 After Trudy’s memorial service and Junior’s revelation that he had shot Trudy, Mary Ellen was in no mood to continue in the Voice contest for a chance to go to Hollywood. While waiting for Agent Anderson to contact her, she spent her time mostly in her room reading her mother’s romance novels and watching old movies. Walking made her tired. Even a bath was exhausting. A half-eaten bowl of oatmeal and a half of a banana sat cold on a table as she watched the ending scene from the French film A Man and a Woman. She watched the man waiting at the train for the woman to come off. The woman sees him and they embrace.

Mary Ellen cried.

Later, she sat on her bed staring out the window, seemingly looking afar, her face pressed to the window leaning away from the window just long enough to stuff another oat bran cookie into her mouth. Cookies, as always, were filling the hole in her soul. She imagined herself as some forlorn heroine. Every once in a while, she would look out the window to the sky, what she could see of it from the mountain hollow where their house sat.

She watched an old car move through the ripe flush of fall colors along the empty road in front of her house. Her radio, tuned to “oldies but goodies,” was playing an old song that had been one of her mother’s favorites.

Dream when the day is through, Dream and they might come true, Things never are as bad as they seem, So dream, dream, dream.

166

Mary Ellen sang as a loud, lonely train whistle floated across the Mud River. A toy sewing machine sat on a shelf with Ken and Barbie dolls. Partially seen was the cover of a movie magazine featuring Johnny Depp – the word “delicious” was written on his face. Mary Ellen recognized Trudy’s handwriting. Depp had been a sort of inspiration ever since they had found out that he was born in a Kentucky hollow. A romance novel with a provocative cover sat to the side of the magazines. Mary Ellen’s mother appeared at the door.

“That’s an old song you’re singing,” said her mother.

“That’s me. An old song, pretending I’m in a romance novel...a good one like your Georgette Hyer, Mom. She opened to a page she had bookmarked. She read a passage and laughed.

It was the passage she remembered when she first saw and heard Agent Anderson “... his voice made her feel shivery and alive as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear...”

Mary Ellen closed the book and her eyes and felt the hero’s strong hands caressing her body. Her eyes opened on hearing “Hey? Where are you?”

Agent Anderson had asked her the same question, and she gave the same answer. “Another world.”

“Another World? The soap opera?”

“I don’t know, but yeah, I guess so. Another world, another time,” Mary Ellen said.

Her mother turned off the radio and the Johnny Mercer song – Dream.

“Someone was always in my dreams,” her mother said. Mary Ellen sang quietly.

I just want the right to love you ALL OF MY LIFE, Just the right to take care of you, ALL OF MY LIFE. I just want the right to be near you, always to be thereSharing every care and strife.

Life can be as simple as a nursery rhyme.

Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, all of the time.

“You can’t just stay in your room. You need to get out, do something.”

Mary Ellen shrugged. “I brought you something to look at.

She handed Mary Ellen a magazine wrapped in cellophane.

167

“Ms. Magazine? What’s that? She looked at the cover “Who’s this?”

“Wonder Woman. I have a whole collection of them somewhere,” her mother said. “This was the first issue. It was in the beginning of women’s liberation.”

“From what?” Mary Ellen asked.

“Men.” “You’re funny, Mom. You’re Wonder Woman.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely.” Her mother smiled, reached over and squeezed her daughter’s hand.

“Back then, I didn’t know what Ms. stood for,” said her mother.

“Miserable soul?” said Mary Ellen. “Lonely.”

“Are you lonely, dear?”

“Yes.” Suddenly, Mary Ellen was crying. Her mother hugged her. “I’m lost, Mom. I miss Trudy. I’m a wreck. Who is Gloria Steinem,” she asked, looking at the magazine cover.

“The founder of Ms.” “Did Gloria Steinem ever marry?”

“She finally did, but her husband passed.”

“God. She must have been depressed” “I’m sure of it. She’s a strong woman. She’s lived a long time in the world of white men who have been self-ordained as superior beings. Hence, they made the rules. Her frustration must have been off the chart. That is probably why she founded Ms. She is still going strong, still doing.”

“I wonder if she has satin skin.”

“I don’t know. I long ago canceled my subscription. Your father called it a lesbian magazine. I stopped reading Ms. in front of him. I’m sorry I let my subscription lapse. It had been very important to me when I was your age.”

“Why?” Mary Ellen asked.

“It was just good to know I was not alone.”

“Not alone?”

“With my feelings. I have learned the hard way that a woman can’t be equal outside the home until the man is equal inside.

That’s a Gloria Steinem quote.”

“Is Dad equal inside?”

168

“He’s finally catching on, but you can’t wait that long. Men just don’t get it unless you put their feet to the fire. Remember that.”

“I will.”

“Many women in these parts would tell you the same thing.”

Her mother kissed her forehead and left.

Mary Ellen opened the romance novel again and read aloud.

“Kate let her hands travel the planes of his back to his narrow hips, sensing the power in that lean frame.”

Now missing the strong romantic, emotional attachment she imagined she once had with Eddy, she found her mother’s old romance novels got her through the rough days and then...The Voice. She never saw it coming.

“This just came in the mail for you.” Trudy’s mother reentered Mary Ellen’s room and handed her an envelope with The Voice’s return address.

Trudy opened the letter and read it. After a moment...

“They say this is my second notification. Oh, my God. ‘Do you wish to continue in the competition to determine who advances on for a chance to appear on The Voice finals on national television?’”

“You’re the boss. What do you say?” “...Why not?”

“You could show a little more excitement. Oh, baby, my baby.

This is wonderful!! I could shout it from the rafters.”

“You just did,” said Mary Ellen laughing.

“Your father will be ecstatic.” Just then, Mary Ellen’s dad appeared in the doorway.

“What’s all the yelling about?”

“Mary Ellen has advanced in the Voice competition!”

“I wasn’t sure about this Voice thing,” Mary Ellen’s dad said, “but opportunities like this don’t come along every day,” he enthused. “Music will take away the pain,” her father said, giving her a big hug. “You’ll make people feel good.”

“And you, Daddy?” asked Mary Ellen.

“I’m over the moon. The whole town will be over the moon.

Trust me.”

Being homecoming queen would be enough, Mary Ellen told her father and mother, still maintaining it was a sympathy vote. She told herself she wanted to take a different path than her brother and sister. Her senior essay had read: 169

“West Virginia women are strong, but they have let the men have their way at the voting booth. Why should West Virginia women vote? Women’s income and employment rank 51st— which includes Washington, D.C. The income gap between men and women in West Virginia is the largest in the country. West Virginia ranks 48th, in social and economic autonomy and health and wellbeing for women. Women in West Virginia are the most likely in the country to die of heart disease or lung cancer and to have diabetes. West Virginia women have the lowest level of education in the country. The status of West Virginia women in a state made up of strong women is abysmal. Rise up, women!

Vote!”

Mary Ellen didn’t think she would be comfortable in a place like New York City or Los Angeles. Those places were too fast, too sophisticated. Nashville might be ok because she loved music and had a secret dream of taking her mountain songs around the state and maybe one day to Nashville. Of course, she thought, there had to be people from West Virginia and Kentucky who lived in far-off cities. And there was the chance of a partial scholarship at Oberlin.

The mountains were part of her make-up and would always be a big part of who she was. She just somehow knew this to be true. As Homecoming Queen, she felt like an actress playing a role. “Just pretend, Mary Ellen,” her grandfather told her. “You will be a wonderful Homecoming Queen. After the parade, we can carry out our little adventure. Agent Anderson likes it. You will be the star actress.”

“I will ham it up!”

“Yes, you’re very good at pretending.”

“Well, I don’t pretend to be a virgin. I’m doomed to graduate high school still a virgin,” said Mary Ellen.

“That’s not a bad thing,” her grandfather said.

Oh God, he sounds just like Agent Anderson, Mary Ellen thought.

170

24 Mary Ellen’s Homecoming Queen dress was being rigged with a camera and wire. She was very calm as she watched a technician make adjustments to the camera.

“This camera is so small, tiny, you won’t be aware of it,” said Anderson, “and importantly, nor will anyone else. You can wear it to the Homecoming parade. If either of you has any worries, you call me right away. All you’ll have to do is sing your song.

We’ll be listening, and we’ll be very close. Your grandfather will be riding in the car with you.”

“I will never leave your side, my Queen,” said the Captain.

“Any call from me,” said Agent Anderson, “will vibrate under your dress. You don’t have to do anything. We will be listening.

Again, Mary Ellen, remember, it’s not a game. What makes people like Dewey so dangerous is he has no conscience.”

“We’ve got a deal,” Mary Ellen said. “If I get called back for The Voice, they’re gonna fly me out to Hollywood for the finals.

Never been on an airplane.”

The local newspaper’s earlier speculation that Mary Ellen might not be attending the finals in Hollywood had cast a bit of a pall over the town. The town, with the mayor’s encouragement, had been so sure of Mary Ellen’s making the finals it had been secretly planning a celebration. While Mary Ellen would be in Hollywood for that week, a large banner would be hung across the main street. The streets would be cleaned, the buildings painted, and flower baskets would be hung from the light posts along the main street.

“Again, remember, this is not a game,” said Anderson.

“I told you, I’m a good actress. And Pappy’s going to escort me.”

171

“We’ll be with you all the time...just a few seconds away. A black window-tinted SUV will come through the drive-thru, asking about a drug delivery. That will be our car.”

“Nancy Pringle,” said Mary Ellen.

“No. That was just a test run.” *** That weekend, a beautiful golden southern Appalachian fall day, Mary Ellen appeared, posing at Deadend’s doorway, making an entrance holding her grandfather’s arm. He brushed a few leaves from her dress, a pastel floor-length Vera Lang copy homecoming gown. The sparkling plastic tiara that lit up via a battery pack sat crooked on her head. Large sunglasses covered her face. She held a drooping bouquet of flowers and a copy of People Magazine. She wore a new pair of sneakers and appeared stoned, her eyes wincing with a pounding headache – the consummate actress. The mayor, coach, and Doc greeted her with genuine admiration. She played the vamp to perfection. The Captain introduced her and handed out song sheets.

“The Bell of Last Chance.”

“Our Queen,” said the mayor. He started to sing, ‘Here she is...Miss America’-our homecoming queen!

“Hail the queen!” said Doc. The coach announced the title of the song the men were about to sing. They had been rehearsing the song since the Captain had informed them that Queen Mary Ellen was going to make an appearance. The men all joined in, including Desperado, singing a down-home southern Appalachian Broadway number. “Puttin’ On The Style.” The men formed a line to welcome the queen as the Captain presented her. As they all sang, Desperado swept the sawdust path in front of Mary Ellen as she staggered her entrance giving a queenly wave and smile as the men sang.

Sweet sixteen, pretty queen, loves to date the boys, Laughs and screams and giggles at every little noise, Turns her face a little, turns her head awhile, But we know she’s only puttin’ on the style.

Movie star in Hollywood by the swimming pool Never gets her feet wet – that lady ain’t no Fool, Sittin’ in a bathing suit, dark glasses and a 172

Smile, She don’t know that we know she’s puttin’ on the style.

All applauded.

“Didn’t know we could sing, did ya,” said Coach.

“What the hell’s going on?” asked Dewey, entering from the back room.

“We are welcoming our Homecoming Queen. Join us,” said the Captain.

“I don’t give a good shit about a Homecoming Queen,” said Dewey, appearing rather drunk.

Mary Ellen bowed and fell to the floor, seemingly drunker than Dewey. The men helped her up to her feet. The Captain brought her a chair. Coach picked up her flowers and sunglasses as Doc straightened her tiara. Dewey stood by with a rather stupified look on his face.

“You make us look good, honey,” said the coach.

“Don’t expect miracles,” said Desperado.

“I almost fell off the back of the mayor’s pickup while waving, didn’t I, Mayor?”

“You took a tumble, my Queen, but we were all rooting for you to climb back up on your throne.” Mary Ellen sneezed.

“God bless,” said Doc. “Were you all at my sister’s memorial?”

“Yes, indeed,” said the coach. “Don’t you remember?”

“I didn’t notice. I had no idea who was there.”

“A sister in mourning has obligations, as does a homecoming queen,” said the Captain.

“And, let’s not forget, budding Hollywood star,” said the mayor.

“Yes - the Queen’s a busy lady,” added Coach.

“Homecoming’s over,” said Desperado.

“Once a queen, always a queen,” said the Captain, giving Mary Ellen a hug.

“Did I ever thank you, kind sir, for your lovely talk at my sister’s funeral? That was you, wasn’t it?”

After a beat, the Captain said, “Yes, and no thanks required, my Queen.” He gave a slight bow. “Let’s have a toast to our homecoming queen,” said the Captain. “May she be blessed with a kind, well-situated mountaineer. Let him be rich, generous, pleasant, and honest.”

“Oh, I’d like that,” said Mary Ellen.

173

“You owe me money, Queenie,” said Dewey.

“You’re looking at it,” said Mary Ellen, holding out her gown.

“That money was your bus trip out of here and a week’s stay at a hotel!”

“Sorry, Dewey, but this package is not cheap.” Mary Ellen took a couple of steps away and raised her arms. “My dress, my hair – cut and color, my tanning session, my nails. You like the polish?” Mary Ellen held her hands out for Dewey to see. “Don’t you like the black nail polish?” Mary Ellen held her hands close to Dewey’s face. “It was Trudy’s favorite,” said Mary Ellen, with such sweetness.

“Look at those shoes?!” said the mayor.

“Stuart Weitzman,” said Mary Ellen, sticking her foot out so all could get a good look at her shoes. The men looked at each other. “Men are clueless,” she said. “New York, Broadway! You’d love the ads.”

“You bought shoes in New York with my money, Queenie?” slurred Dewey.

“Please. It’s “Your Majesty,” said the Captain.

“Yes,” said Doc. “Thank you, sir,” said Mary Ellen.

“You owe me two grand, Desperado,” said Dewey and did an about face and staggered out.

“I just got hives all over my body thinking about what Dewey will do to me - thanks to your majesty,” whined Desperado.

“I’m not afraid of Dewey,” said Mary Ellen.

“Have you lost your mind?! You know what happened to Trudy. This homecoming queen business, The Voice shit, it’s all gone to your head. Jesus!” Desperado was now sweating profusely. He started itching. “Jesus, Jesus, I’ve got a rash.”

“Our majesty’s a hell-cat,” said Doc. “I don’t need this abuse,” said Desperado. “Will you please stop?”

He pulled a small zip-top plastic bag containing balls of tinfoil wrapped-crack from a pizza oven. He put the bag in a pizza box.

“You were great in the parade, darling,” said Doc. “The queen and her court.”

“My head was hard - felt so thick.”

“Throwin’ those chocolate kisses to the crowd was a little cheesy,” said Desperado.

174

“He’s just mad ‘cause he didn’t get any,” said the coach.

“What’s a homecomin’ queen supposed to do?” said Mary Ellen. “I was lit up like a Christmas tree. All I could see were these bright colors. No talent required.”

“Is she acting?” asked Coach.

“If she is, she’s got me fooled,” said the mayor.

“She’s got more talent in her little finger than anyone in this town,” said the Captain.

“Keep your voices down, please,” said Desperado, and then he opened the intercom. “Here you go...How’s the Virginian horse-country gentleman doing these days...care for a anchovy or two? Don’t be shy, Frank. My stuff ’s cheaper than a six-pack.

No sale’s too small. Buy three-dozen bags, get two anchovies.

Bullets a dime each beats Wal-Mart.”

“I like your tiara - your majesty,” said Doc. “You may wear it, dear sir.” Mary Ellen removed her tiara, with its battery pack, turned the tiara lights on, and calmly placed it on Doc’s head. Then she sneezed.

“God bless,” said Doc. She sneezed again. “God bless. They come in threes.”

“You need to give me something, Doc.” Drive-thru bell buzzed again. Desperado is ever sweet over the intercom. “Hey, Patty. Is Frank behaving himself?”

“Never. Give us the works and throw in a party pack, will you,” came a sweet, high-pitched voice through the intercom.

“Sure.”

“Good,” said the sweet voice.

“Right,” replied Desperado.

“My leg’s killin’ me,” said the coach.

“We need another pepperoni roll, Desperado.”

“I’m busy. Can’t you see? Dewey’s going to kill me, I don’t get these orders out. Livin’ here’s a test.”

“As long as we’re takin’ the test together,” said Doc, “we’ll be fine.”

“Don’t know how much a person can endure,” said Desperado, placing the pizza box with the works in the drive-thru window, and another car drove off. A minute later the buzzer rang again on the drive-thru. Desperado jumped. He was on edge, and Mary Ellen was sure he was headed for the same fate as Trudy.

“I’m not fitted for life here any longer,” said Desperado.

175

“Up my way, no man or woman is,” said Doc. “Hold on! Quiet,” said Desperado, inching his way to the window. The drive-thru bell rang again. Desperado retrieved a pizza from the oven. He put it in a pizza box and laid the box on the counter.

The bell rang again. “Hold your horses. I’m comin’,” said Desperado. He opened the drive -thru window. “Yes?” “Here to pick up my order,” came a deep voice behind the shaded driver’s window.

“Looks like a black... Mercedes?” Desperado whispered.

“Not from around here. Motor City boys?” asked Mary Ellen.

She looked at her grandfather.

“Don’t forget my double anchovies,” came the voice, very deliberate with the ‘double anchovies.’

“I’ve never seen a black Mercedes except in People Magazine,” said Mary Ellen.

“My Queen, I think it is time we vacate the premises,” said the Captain.

“Your order’s ready, sir. Double anchovies. Coming right up,” said Desperado and quickly and carefully laid two handguns in a box and put a fresh, beautiful weed pizza on top of the guns. He did the same for a second box of guns and pizza.

Mary Ellen straddled up close to Desperado and positioned herself so the hidden camera could see what she saw - Desperado’s setting two guns into a pizza box. The Captain gently took Mary Ellen’s arm and guided her toward the door.

“Beautiful!” Desperado exclaimed as he passed the pizza boxes back through the window to the unseen someone who in turn placed a brown UPS package in the drive-thru drawer.

The transaction complete, Desperado held the brown wrapped package over his head and did a little dance. He put the brown package in a cabinet. “Fantastic. A home run!” He was overjoyed.

“Cheap guns here, cheap drugs there,” said the mayor, in a quiet, sad tone. “We’re the clowns.”

“Entrepreneurship flourishes,” said Coach.

“Double the pleasure, double the fun,” said Doc. “Are we really just dumb hillbillies? What happened to our fierce independence? Have we struggled and fought all these years to simply pay witness to a drug for guns deal?”

“We’re witnessing blood money,” said the Captain.

176

“Hey, I hold the line on selling A-K 47’s to drug gangs, all right? What the hell do they need an A-K 47 for anyway?”

“You’re a good man, Desperado,” said Coach.

“Pizza’s on the house,” said Desperado, setting a large pizza on the table. “With my special homemade sauce.”

“Before we eat,” said the Captain, “let’s all hold hands and bow our heads. Will the Queen say thanks that we are all alive and relatively well in West by God Virginia?”

“It would be my pleasure, Pappy. Dear Lord, we thank you for the bountiful harvest that is to come. May your goodness and strength help us meet the coming day. May we come together as family and build a home where we all want to live. As Queen, I bless this pizza. Amen.”

Just then, the buzzer rang on the drive-thru window.

Desperado jumped up and hurried to the drive-thru window.

“Can I help you?”

“The worse we lose, the busier Desperado is,” said the mayor.

“My order...Large whole wheat veggie with pineapple”-came a very dark Darth Vader voice over the intercom. “No cheese... with double anchovies.”

“Ah... You already picked up your order,” said Desperado, confused.

“Not me, pal.”

“You sure?”

“What part of ‘not me, pal’ did you not understand?” Mary Ellen saw the stricken look on her brother’s face, and when she looked at her grandfather, his look told her there was trouble. “I crossed two state lines to get down here. I’m tired and hungry,” came the not very pleasant voice over the intercom. “Dewey told me my anchovies would be ready.”

“Did he now,” said Desperado, bluffing. “That’s pretty interesting seein’ as how he didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“You give my anchovies to somebody else?” asked the Darth Vader voice.

“No...I, I can get your anchovies,” said Desperado. “I swear. I just need some time,” said a nervous Desperado into the speaker.

“Import-export business is a delicate balance,” whispered the mayor. “Things could turn sour, men. Be prepared.”

“Now what do I do?” asked a panic Desperado, his ashen face twisted in agony.

177

“It’s a black car,” whispered Mary Ellen to the Captain, who stood up and peaked out the drive-thru window.

“I suggest we locate ourselves in the back room, my Queen,” said the Captain.

“Yeah, it’s black,” said Desperado.

“So are funeral cars,” said Coach.

“You ever even see one black Mercedes in this town? Gotta be the same one,” said the mayor.

“You better do something, Desperado,” said Mary Ellen, calling back over her shoulder.

“I’m thinking! Something’s not right,” said Desperado. He took a deep breath and spoke back to the speaker. “I think you already picked up your order.”

“Not me, pal.”

“Yeah, well someone who sounded like you!”

“Listen to me, carefully...I don’t appreciate being messed over, especially after driving fifteen hours so shut your prissy mouth and get me my order.”

“I gave you your order,” said Desperado in desperation.

“You’re not hearing me, pal.”

“Give him another one,” whispered the coach.

“I only got one gun. Dewey didn’t give me anymore,” he whispered.

Then he turned back to the intercom...and Darth Vader, “I’ll get your order. Just hold on.”

Desperado quickly readied another guns for drugs order except with only one gun.

“Where do you think you’re going?” asked Desperado, seeing the Captain, and Mary Ellen going toward the back room.

“I’m getting our Queen to safety,” said the Captain.

“I have to pee,” said Mary Ellen.

“Yeah, well, I’m peeing my pants right now,” said a pained Desperado.

The Captain told Mary Ellen to get into the bathroom and lock the door.

“You guys carrying?” Desperado asked the men.

“No, no,” said the mayor. “They’ll probably kill someone, and our guns would be traced back to us,” said the mayor...not really joking.

178

“Damn,” said Doc. “That’s what we get for doing it all legal.”

Desperado put the one gun he had in the pizza box with a couple of large pizzas on top. He closed the box and passed it through the drive-thru window drawer. The Mercedes started to pull out, but quickly stopped, “I crossed two state lines to get down here pal only to be shorted four guns!

“Come back tonight and I will have the rest of your order,” said Desperado. “Don’t forget my payday,” yelled Desperado.

“You gave my double anchovies to someone else! What makes you think you deserve a payday?”

“I said come back later.”

“I’m not real happy with you, hillbilly!”

“I’m not too thrilled with you, asshole!”

With that, gunshots shattered the drive-thru window. The men hit the floor. Then there was the squeal of tires.

“He shot at me,” said Desperado, slowly getting up. “Jesus...

Jesus! Am I shot?”

“Are you all right, my Queen,” called the Captain from outside the bathroom door. Mary Ellen replied a calm ‘yes.’

“I’m not all right!” said Desperado. “I could be a dead man.”

He checked his body and then crawled across the floor and put a ‘closed’ sign on the outside of the door. He closed the door and locked it.

“Your dream of gettin’ rich murdered again, my boy,” said the Captain.

“Shut up,” said Desperado. “You don’t have two nickels to rub together.”

“Now, now...we need our wits in such a time,” said the mayor as the men crawled out from under their table, joining the Captain. “Desperado, who picked up the anchovies the first time?” asked the mayor.

“How should I know? Jesus!”

“You said it was a black Mercedes,” said Coach.

“Could there not be two black Mercedes?” asked the mayor.

“I would suggest that two black Mercedes in this state while far-fetched, may be in the realm of possibility,” said the Captain.

“Easy street just got a little harder.”

“Shut up, shut up,” screamed Desperado.

“The world’s on our doorstep,” said the Captain.

179

While locked in the bathroom, Mary Ellen received a text message from Agent Anderson: ‘Dewey expecting delivery at Deadend. We are sending another car in first. You must leave because when the real car arrives...there may be trouble.’ A little late, she thought, but texted back that there had been a shooting but assured him that she and her grandfather were fine. He texted her back that he was on his way and thanked God they were not hurt.

There was a rattle at Deadend’s door.

“God help me. I’m a dead man. It’s Dewey!”

“What’s with the “closed” sign?” asked Dewey coming back in. “Can’t make any money when I’m closed.”

“Ah, guess I forgot to turn it around.”

“Just us old fogies still here with nowhere to lay our heads,” said Doc. “I’ve been washing up here till my water is good. My ice cubes were green the other morning.”

Dewey looked around and shook his head in disgust when he saw the tablecloth half pulled off the table. He stumbled drunk across the room and tried to adjust the tablecloth but gave up and yanked it off.

“What the hell happened here?”

“Motor City boys happened,” said Desperado.

“When?”

“Just a minute ago. Didn’t you see them?”

Dewey looked at the shot-out window. “They did that?”

“Yeah,” stammered Desperado.

“You gave them their order?”

“Yeah, but...”

“But what?” Dewey looked around at the others.

“We were just bystanders, Dewey,” said the mayor.

“Apparently, there was a misunderstanding,” said Mary Ellen coming out of the bathroom to her brother’s defense.

“You’re still here!?” said Dewey, turning to Mary Ellen. “What kind of misunderstanding?”

“Desperado can explain, can’t you,” said Mary Ellen.

Desperado’s face went white as a sheet.

“Ah...Dewey, did you have two groups coming? I thought maybe it was Columbus and Detroit, you know, both.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Dewey.

“There’s was another Mercedes,” said Desperado. “I mean the first one...”

180

“The first one?”

“Yes,” said Desperado.

“Let me get this straight,” said Dewey. “There were two Mercedes?”

“Yes. The first one dropped off a package for you.” Desperado went behind the counter and retrieved the brown package he received from the first black Mercedes. Smiling weakly, he handed the package to Dewey. Dewey held the package up like he was weighing it.

“All my chickens better have 28 feathers.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I don’t like to be diddled.” Dewey slowly opened the package and looked inside. Then he dampened his finger and dipped it into the contents of the package - then put his finger to his mouth.

All were silent, eyes glued on Dewey. Suddenly Dewey dumped the contents over Desperado’s head. “Flour! Fucking Pillsbury flour!” Dewey was raging. “So, doughboy! I would like to hear a full explanation!” Dewey closed in on Desperado. “Now!” “It was a black Mercedes, I swear, here for the same pickup.

And I didn’t have enough, you know, guns to fill the order, so the second Mercedes...”

“Second one?”

“Yeah. There were two different Mercedes, right guys?”

“Far as we could tell,” said Doc. “Like the mayor said, we were just talking about nothing, and all of a sudden the place was being shot up. We’re lucky we weren’t hit.”

“Is that so,” said Dewey. “Who was in the first Mercedes?”

“I don’t know,” said Desperado. “I just assumed it was the Motor City boys. They called in an order.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. It was after the sheriff dropped by.”

“You never assume, you idiot!!”

“The order came over the phone.”

“I told you not to take phone orders anymore, didn’t I?” He slammed Desperado up against the wall.

“I told you, I assumed it was the Motor City guys.”

“You assumed! What were my instructions? What did I tell you?...Don’t take anchovy orders over your phone!”

“I didn’t.”

“Who did?”

181

“I did,” said Mary Ellen. Desperado was in the bathroom and his phone rang so I answered it for him.”

“You did, did you,” said Dewey with an eerie calm.

“Yes. This is a business,” Mary Ellen said. “We were just going to eat when the Motor City boys came for their order.”

“Motor City boys?”

“Yes,” answered Mary Ellen.

“Did you know, girl, who was in the first Mercedes?”

“No. I just assumed...”

“Oh, you did...like brother, like sister. Your sister assumed also,” said Dewey and kneed Desperado hard in the groin.

Desperado dropped to the floor. “Do you think F.B.I. agents just might be sitting in their black car down around the first turn on the mountain having a picnic by now with the Motor City boys?” Dewey had his fist in Desperado’s chest. “Let me think You gave double anchovies to the wrong customer! Your sister answered the phone and set the scam in motion. You think?”

Dewey turned to Mary Ellen. “What about it, girl? You know something we don’t?”

“I assure you, she doesn’t,” said the Captain.

“What did they look like?”

“Who?” asked Desperado.

“Whoever was in the first black Mercedes, numbskull!”

“The windows were tinted.”

“So when did the second Mercedes show up?”

“Just...a little bit later.”

“Yeah,” said coach. “You must have passed them coming up the mountain unless they went down the other side.”

“Why’d they shoot out the window?” asked Desperado.

“Because they were pissed, you idiot! It’s too fuckin’ bad the bullets missed your ass. They got shortchanged on the order I promised them. By now they’ve called their lawyer and a couple of hit men to come down here and blow our heads off.” With that, Dewey turned on Mary Ellen. “You just signed our death warrant, girl!”

“I...I swear Dewey,” stammered Desperado. “Ah...they said large whole-wheat veggie with pineapple, no cheese, and double anchovies. I didn’t have double anchovies. I didn’t have any anchovies...no more guns.”

Dewey commenced walking around, circling Desperado and Mary Ellen, wadding up the Pillsbury flour package while 182

looking at the bullet-shattered window. Then he went behind the counter to check the walls where the bullets hit, taking his penknife and retrieving a couple of bullets from the wall.

“Ever hear of Atlantis? Beautiful place,” said the Captain as he approached Dewey.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. What brings you up this way?”

“Peace brings me here. Having an outing with my granddaughter, the Queen. And I had a desire to see my grandson, Desperado - reconnect, you know. Was going to ask him if he wanted to move in with me. It’d be helpful for me.

‘Course, I know he’s independent. He’s his own man, I know.

Anyway, just thought I’d ask him.” Desperado looked at the Captain – not believing what he has just heard. “Just been sitting on a stool...after a long trip up the mountain... out of the turmoil, still fighting the misery of finding my granddaughter Trudy’s body. You knew her, didn’t you?” The Captain did not blink as he stared Dewey down.

“What if I did? Like Desperado here, you’re lucky you weren’t shot,” said Dewey, as he walked over to the pizza oven, reached behind it, pulled up a floorboard, and pulled out a gun. He loaded three bullets into the gun.

“Desperado’s scared,” said the Captain. “Look at him. He’s trembling, look at those eyes - like my granddaughter Trudy’s eyes, I’d imagine. Right before she was shot. Life was not kind.”

“No,” said Dewey. “I could be on the street tomorrow...back where I started. You think people pay attention to ‘kind?’ Sink or swim, baby. No one cares if this place tumbles into chaos tomorrow. World don’t know we exist, so why fight city hall.

People are deserting, left and right, a sinking ship. There’s not a damn thing we can do about it. You love the game or fear the street. Good reason to fear. Whole trains get swallowed up out there, lost, never found. Most people are morons. Yet we care what they think. Beats the shit out of me. Let them think whatever just so I got control.” Dewey pointed the gun inches from the Desperado’s head.

“No! Shoot me, shoot me,” screamed Mary Ellen.

“Now, now,” said Doc. “We all have each other’s back. Right?

No pretensions ‘round here ‘cause the writin’s on the mountain.

It was long decided by the stars of this trillion-dollar coalfield.

Hell, I was just a glint in my daddy’s eye! They’ll pull every last 183

lump of coal out of here till it’s gone! Till we’re all whittled away bit by bit,” said Doc, managing to place himself in front of Mary Ellen.

“Yes! Coal seams getting’ thinner every year, and people outside these hills want clean air and water,” said Coach, eyes darting trying to gauge Dewey’s anger.

“Screw ‘em,” said Dewey. “Doesn’t matter, we’ll all be gone!”

“It doesn’t have to be,” blurted Mary Ellen. “Don’t be angry, Dewey.”

She walked around Doc and over to Dewey, inching closer and closer. “I bet a lot of people would tune in to see a cute perky, plucky, white hillbilly Homecoming Queen, like me, get wasted.

Bet there’s money in that.” At that moment, Mary Ellen grabbed several grams of bagged dope from a shelf under the bar - toreopen the bags and threw them at Dewey - white powder going everywhere, including Dewey’s face. “Whee!”

“Are you crazy? Jesus,” screamed Desperado and tackled her.

“I told you about her,” said Dewey, dropping his gun on the counter and wiping the powder from his face. “It’s in my eyes!”

Desperado frantically busied himself cleaning up the powder.

“Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! There goes thousands? My blood will be on your hands,” he hissed at Mary Ellen.

“And whose hands are soaked with Trudy’s blood?” asked Mary Ellen, and commenced singing and dancing around Dewey - catching sight of Dewey’s gun on the counter.

“Preacher in the pulpit shoutin’ with all his might, Glory, Halle-lu-jah! The people in a fright, they think that Satan’s running – up and down the aisle, but it’s only the preacher puttin’ on the style.”

The men helped clean up. Desperado grabbed the vacuum from the coach. “You’re sucking up money!” Desperado tried to empty the vacuum. He hissed to Mary Ellen - “I’m dead, I am dead! We are dead! Do you hear me, henpeckers!? Dead! All of us!”

“You can’t talk your way out of the grave,” said the Captain.

Desperado desperately gathered up the powder.

“Yeah, and you can’t put shit back in the cow,” said Dewey, putting a wet rag over his eyes.

“People would love this. Whee,” yelled Mary Ellen, throwing more dope in the air and toward Dewey’s face.

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“You are sick! Sick,” shouted Desperado. Dewey staggered toward Desperado. “Please Dewey, don’t kill me!”

“I never want to lay eyes on that bitch again, or she’s history, like her sister.” Dewey was so out of control that he never suspected the camera that Agent Anderson had adorned into Mary Ellen’s dress. She inched closer to make sure the camera would see Dewey’s gun on the counter with all the white powder.

Then she threw herself across the counter on top of the gun.

“This is my covenant, my dance,” Dewey shouted, “even if it’s the last one,” mumbled Dewey, while rubbing his eyes. “No one’s interrupting and certainly not a smart-ass Homecoming Queen.

I’m in control like the man on the hill. He is the king!”

“Was,” said Doc. “Maybe, but he came down off the hill, when I was just starting out threw me a bone, had a Bud Light with me, got to ‘know me’. Showed his tender side. But don’t turn your back on him ‘cause he’ll fuck you.” Dewey wrapped his arms hard around Desperado. “Right, Desperado?”

“The king will need to get the people on his side, you understand. Now that he’s been convicted of running coal at all costs including those twenty-nine miners’ lives,” said the mayor, quietly to Doc and Coach.

Suddenly Dewey started crying, then - sobbing. “Damn! This stuff is burning my eyes!” He pushed Desperado to the floor.

“Hell, the king even opened a corner for strays. What do they call it? A rehab hotel - one of those adopt a pet places. You’re my pet, Despo.”

“Doc, do something,” whispered Mary Ellen.

“You’re young, honey,” said Doc to Mary Ellen. “We’re old,” he said, opening his bag and pulling out a small bottle. “This is it. Last Chance. This waterin’ hole’s the only place left to rest our heads.”

“This place is like my wife, “Can’t live with her - can’t live without her,” said the coach.

“Here’s where we lay away the pains and woes, get away from all the chaos,” said the mayor.

“Yep,” said the coach with a forced jolliness. “It’s a relief to have a cold beer with some friends after being through what I’ve been through,” said the coach.

“Here Dewey. You need to lie down. Swallow this and your eyes will clear.” Doc forced a little pill in Dewey’s mouth.

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“Hal-le-lu-jia!” shouted Dewey, “I’ll see again!”

“Yes...Amen,” shouted the men.

“I’ll see again! There’s rapture in these hills! This little garden spot’s seen it all,” yelled Dewey.

“When God was more than just a word!” said the Captain.

“You heard it all, right here in Deadend,” said the mayor.

“Last Chance!”

“Before all the sorrow and pain are no more, I’d like to be on the television! Like you Mary Ellen, I want to be the Voice,” said coach.

“So do I,” said the mayor.

“We all do,” said Doc. The men gathered close, protectively, around Mary Ellen.

“I wonder how the movie ends, gentlemen,” said Mary Ellen.

“Captain, get the Queen out of here,” said the mayor, “we’ll take care of things.”

Desperado saw Dewey’s half-crazed look and, once again, his life passed before him.

“Homecomin’ queen bares all,” shouted Mary Ellen as Doc and coach escorted her to the door.

“Do you hate me, Mary Ellen?” asked Desperado “The timing of your question is not good,” she replied.

“Stabbed in the heart.”

“You’re so melodramatic, Despo!”

“Please, no one gives a damn about a dead hillbilly.”

“Got news for you, brother,” she said, turning back, “No one gives a damn about a live hillbilly!”

“You got that right, girl,” said Dewey, turning close to Desperado, hissing in Despo’s ear, “She doesn’t die a natural death...” Desperado looked confused.

“Go lay down, Dewey,” said Doc. “It’s the only way your eyes will clear.”

“What did I tell you ‘bout her,” Dewey hissed. Desperado tried to run, but Dewey pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. He put one handcuff on Desperado’s wrist and the other he managed to put on his own wrist.

“No, please, no,” stammered Desperado.

“You’re my seeing eye dog. When I win, another sucker loses.”

Like your sister, She’s damaged goods. She’s got to go.” Dewey suddenly realized his gun was not where he left it. “Where the hell’s my gun?”

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“What gun?” asked Desperado.

“My gun, you ignoramus,” yelled Dewey. “Where’s my gun!?”

“I don’t know.”

“This place is in the toilet, thanks to your sisters,” said Dewey as he frantically looked around for his gun. “Where the hell is my gun? My gun! Where is my gun,” yelled Dewey again as he barged through the front door. Pulling Desperado with him, Dewey got in front of the Mayor and the Coach, and shoved them back into Deadend.

“Would you care to explain, Dewey, how you can be so heartless?”

“Easy,” said Dewey. “Read the news. We’re all heartless. Our hearts have been cut out. I no longer have a heart.”

“You never had a heart. Can you have just a hint of mercy?” asked the Captain.

“No mercy, I told them, no mercy. I told your sister, Desperado. No mercy. Your sister used me. Behind my back, she made a bedroom deal with Charley to cut me out. To make sure I would be gone, she opened her mouth to the sheriff. Left me with no choice. I needed a break too. No mercy, no mercy for squealers. She had to go.” With that Dewey fell against the wall.

“We take care of our own,” whispered Doc to the mayor and Coach. “Quick. Let’s get him into the back room.” He, the mayor, and coach exchanged a quick look. They then moved between Dewey and the others. It was a stand-down. They took Dewey’s arms and pulled him, with Desperado in tow, into the back room and dropped him on the cot.

“He’ll be awake but foggy for a while,” said Doc. “I’ve been blessed and cursed to live in such a wonderful and frustrating place,” said the Captain. “The mountains humble me, inspire me, make me a smaller, but, I hope, a better person.” He leaned over Dewey. “Your greedy selfishness and brutality, Dewey, have never appreciated the mountains, or my granddaughters. I realize what it is that I’m coming to terms with. I have lost faith in man.” The Captain’s anger was palpable. “A narcissistic code where a young woman’s life was no more than a piece of meat... to let animals have their way with. Trudy Ann Heater’s life was snuffed out because she was caught in the web of obstacles with nowhere to turn!”

“The rules were obsolete, of no use,” said the mayor. “Come 187

on, Captain. Desperado will keep Dewey company.”

“I think Trudy decided to make her own rules,” said the Captain, staring hard at Dewey who had a silly grin on his face.

“Trudy learned how the game was played. She charmed the big weed farmers, and with Charley’s backing, she could give them a much better deal. And it would be legit thus keeping the DEA off their backs. That deal was yours to make, Dewey. But you were too greedy. You never could help screwing your friends and associates. It’s all about money. Our mountain society has always been fragile. Trudy’s murder was just a mere distraction for you.

Right, Dewey? Her murder was just enough of a distraction to prevent people from seeing the whole issue. Our problem is much bigger than one person’s moral wrong. It’s a country’s shifting moral ground. I worked in an animal house once—all these dogs penned together, like men in a concentration camp.

I swear, every once in awhile, one of those dogs would read my eyes—miserable. Like your eyes, Dewey.”

They all looked down at Dewey. His eyes were far away, dead eyes, the eyes of a miserable man, eyes full of contempt, arrogance and ignorance, full of misery, despair, and hopelessness.

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25 A half-hour later, Pastor Joe was at Deadend. He was generally the first person you called if you were in trouble. He got a lot of urgent calls. He was grace itself, and when he laid his hands on you, you felt a comfort that things would be fine. The sinister would be replaced with the good. If your faith took a vacation, Pastor Joe assured you that it would return. He wasn’t a “healer.”

He was more of a peaceful revolutionary. It had been tough for Pastor Joe out on the front line trying to save what was left of the latest generation of mountain people in the face of violence, drugs, and turmoil. So many had been lost, so many had given up, but Pastor Joe would not retreat or surrender. He tried to instill a desire into the young people to find their path over the mountain of inequality. It was hard because all they saw was a dense forest. The men looked up as Joe came in.

“Hello Pastor Joe,” said the mayor. Glad you could make it.

We know this is a little out of your territory.”

“On the contrary. There’s no place more I should be. That is one of our problems. Religion can be pleasurable, even fun.

That’s what Shaw said.”

“Shaw?” asked the coach, puzzled.

“George Bernard Shaw. He was a writer.”

“Is that right? Learn something new every day,” said the coach.

“He wrote plays,” said the mayor.

“Yes, he did,” said Pastor Joe. “He said the only problem with church on Sundays is the service. I remember as a boy going to church. When I wasn’t scared or bored, I was supposed to be happy and holy and glad that I was not a wicked little boy playing in the woods.”

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“Dewey is here, in the back room. He’s a groggy drunk,” said Doc. “He and Desperado are handcuffed to each other.”

“That’s what I hear,” said Pastor Joe. “I mean literally,” said Doc. “Anyway, we welcome the pleasure of your company in this drinking establishment of ill repute.”

“Remember, Doc, Jesus changed the water to wine so that all could have a drink. Getting out into the raw and wild world of Deadend is good for us ‘men of the cloth.’ More pastors should do it. I’ve spread the word of God to many places like Deadend and haven’t been shot yet.”

“We’ve been using the premises as a gathering place to contemplate the problems of the world,” said Doc. “We’re not much good at solving them yet, but we have gotten a close up of the problems of our little community.”

“The question is what do we do,” said the mayor.

“This pastor prefers to get out from my nice church as often as I can to be a true witness for God.” “Can I serve you some refreshment, Pastor? How about a beer?”

“Thank you, Mayor. When in Rome, do as the Romans do,” said the pastor, as the mayor sat a beer down in front of him.

“As you may have heard, my congregation has decided that they would be better off without me. It’s a sign of the times. Even a pastor may question his faith. I have asked God for guidance.

Even some churches are closing their doors.”

“What, may I ask, is the reason for their discontent?” asked the mayor.

“I made the unpardonable sin of letting the sheriff and some state troopers use the church bus to round up some corruptibles.

You may call them thugs. Long ago, I made the decision that, as a community, if they are incapable of mending their ways, then they have to go. I must say that once the federal district attorney and the FBI finish their investigation, there may not be much of a congregation left. But I have an abiding faith in the strength and character of mountain folks, such as you men. But all aside, gentlemen, there’s no pleasure in what I have to tell you. Sheriff Goodson was gunned down last night. He’s dead.” The men sat in stunned silence. “Ironically,” continued the pastor, “this was what we wanted to talk about - Satan at work. As always, Satan has blind-sided us again by pulling some wool over our spiritual eyes to blind us to the truth, which is the only thing that will set us 190

free. So, as children of God, let us examine ourselves, talk about the meaning of these sins.”

“The sheriff was a good man,” the mayor said, finally. “I told him he had better be careful.”

“The best sheriff we’ve had,” said Coach.

“He was shot point-blank in his squad car,” continued Pastor Joe. “He was eating a sandwich.”

“Jesus,” said Doc. The men could only shake their heads. “He had pledged to crack down on the rampant prescription drug abuse.”

“Don’t know who shot him, but I’ll wager it has to do with drugs,” said Pastor Joe. “They’ve been dealing opioid pills right on the street a few doors down from the sheriff ’s office,” said the mayor. “So now what do I do? Does his wife know?”

“Not that I know,” said Pastor Joe. “I went by the house. She wasn’t there.”

“Well, I won’t make any statement until she knows,” said the mayor. “I can’t imagine...It’s doesn’t make any sense.”

“Let’s hold hands, men,” said Pastor Joe. They did. “Help us, Lord, give us strength and show us how to hold on to decency, and let us remember the love and service that Sheriff Goodson gave to our town. It is hard to find the words. It is too soon. We have lost a good friend. We give him thanks. Let his death and all the others not have been in vain. Amen. Whoever did this simply walked up and put a bullet in his head,” said Pastor Joe. “It was the pills,” said Doc. “Sheriff was cracking down hard, though some didn’t believe it. He was working with Agent Anderson. They had more indictments in the last three months than we’ve had in three decades.”

“Dealers been takin’ a lickin.’” said Coach. “This will slow things down to a crawl. Hell, that deputy was killed not long ago.”

“Yeah, and another one shot up bad. He still hasn’t recovered,” said Pastor Joe. “It’s like Mexico,” said the mayor. “Country’s under siege.”

“It’s the wild west,” said the coach.

“Sometimes, anymore, it can just be a little disagreement, but they pull out their guns and start shooting. I’ve never seen living conditions like this,” said Doc. “I’m going to keep preaching. But sermonizing has no effect.

I think I have to...I don’t know.”

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“Church has seemed more interested in boosting membership rather than the nitty-gritty of saving people,” said Doc. “Can’t disagree with you, Doc,” said Pastor Joe. “We’re too passive. Jesus was uncompromising. He would never sit back and not want to know. He would fight against the spread of sin, the temptations that torment many of our young today, leaving them in fear and misery. He would preach respect and empathy for each other. I had to make a stand, and now I have been asked to leave. But I would not do anything differently.”

The men had been aware of the situation. It was no secret that some church members were upset that Pastor Joe had helped the late sheriff by providing the church van to pick up some members of a drug gang. He had made this arrangement with the sheriff ’s office before on another drug raid, and no church member had complained.

“Guess you hit a little too close to home this time, Pastor Joe, for some of your members,” said the mayor.

“You may be right, Mayor. The Bible’s a fascinating study, but not easy. God is a source of help when everything else fails. I pray about our troubles at the church every night. I can’t sleep, but God will answer our prayers. I hear the gun going off in my head that killed the sheriff. It’s only us who can step up.” He looked at each man, and then: “We must ask what would God have us do.

We can make changes. We may not be able to hit gold, but we can live on a moral road. We each have to decide how far to go for success. Dealing drugs for guns, with no remorse, is stepping over the line. All of us have sit by and let this happen, but it’s not too late.”

“No, we trust not. I think Coach, Doc and I agree that we can’t be passive anymore, especially now that the sheriff has been shot.”

“We can reach down and bring out the goodness that is in each of us,” said Pastor Joe. “But we may have to break some rules.”

“Rules? What rules?” said coach.

“The more rules,” said the mayor, “the better the odds for corruption.”

The men, along with the Captain and Mary Ellen, stood still for a moment.

“How long can we see no evil, men, hear no evil?” asked the Captain. “How long can we keep our lips sealed?”

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“This is a search for basic human goodness, for basic rights,” said Pastor Joe. “I never thought I’d see the day, never saw it coming to this,” said the mayor.

“The Captain’s right,” said Doc. “The time has come, gentlemen, to do more than talk. Each of us wanted to be more, not just bullshiters, beer drinkers. When we were young, we didn’t want just to be domesticated, play with the kids. We wanted more, fight the good fight. Now, we have the fight of our lives.”

“Sounds like you’re running for the mayor’s job,” said Coach.

“We don’t like people looking over our shoulder telling us what to do,” said the mayor. “We’re afraid of change. So what do we do?”

“Deadend looks creepy and vacant,” said Mary Ellen. “It’s pretty shabby.”

“It is,” said the Captain. “Uninhabitable, no trace of life.”

“The northern part of the state is laughing at all us backward, and they say it’s our fault the state’s reputation is in the toilet,” said the mayor. The men looked at each other. “We got some hard decisions to make. We can’t keep putting people in harm’s way.

We’ve got to step up, find the light! And once we do, we might find out we like it. Like Mary Ellen’s singing - once she found her voice, she found something to like, something she could do. She let her voice sing.”

“Thank you, Mayor,” said Doc. “We have to find our voices.”

“Wha’d Lincoln say? ‘We have to think anew and act anew’” said Coach. “We got to break some old rules. Get rid of the clowns.”

“People like Dewey have been at the forefront of everything that’s wrong,” said the Mayor. “Backroom politics! These guys control most everything. In the old days, New York hoods owned all the pinball machines. Today, guys like Dewey control the jobs, the drugs, and you either play ball with them or keep your mouth shut. We’ve let things go because it’s easier and not dirty or uncomfortable - but at what cost, I ask you? It’s crazy. Good people are out of luck. Dewey’s a crook, if not a killer.”

“We’ve all been shaped, I’m afraid, by a system that in the first place has been rigged against most people in this state,” said Doc. “None of us are perfect,” said Mary Ellen.

“That’s true,” said Pastor Joe. “We all have things to repent for.”

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“The apocalypse is on the horizon,” said Coach.

“It’s there,” said the mayor. “We just keep denying it.”

“We can’t do that any longer. Wars have been fought, and people have died. We need to behave better,” said the Captain.

“We all grew up in coal country. We need to move on,” said Doc. “The state needs to move on. Mayor, you’ve been devoted to this community, to your friends and family. You took care of your father after your mom passed. You were a good son, and you have served your community well, and Coach, you’re my hero. You’ve shown resourcefulness, faith, generosity.”

“Win a couple of games, and I’ll wash your feet,” said the mayor. “Doc, thank you for your kind words. You have been the best doctor we could have. You have been true, unlike some, to your Hippocratic oath of ethical standards and preserving life... as we know it in these mountains.”

“Appreciate it, Mayor. All I want to help do is restore this place to how it was when my folks lived here,” said Doc. “The ghosts of our ancestors will be watching us.”

“Knowing you men, as I do,” said the mayor, “they will be proud of us, as I am proud to walk beside you.”

“We need to build ourselves a new temple,” said Pastor Joe. “But first, we have to destroy the old one,” said the Captain.

“Change, gentlemen, we must not be afraid of change. We have to change, boys, make things different,” said the mayor. “It’s time. We’ve been guilty of sitting on the sidelines, minding our own business, so we can’t be surprised. If we plead ignorance, then we are complicit. We got a fight on our hands. It’s no longer us against them. It’s us against us. This can only end for the good or bad. But it will end. We can see to that. There can be a good ending. Agreed, men?”

“Like hearing my granddaughter’s singing,” said the Captain.

“Like when reaching the mountaintop, we can see the light.

And, if we are lucky, we will feel the rapture.” The men nodded, acknowledging that desperate people resort to desperate solutions.”

“I think the time has come,” said Pastor Joe, “to make ourselves a little covenant.”

The men all nodded, knowing what had to be done.

“Mary Ellen will notify Agent Anderson,” said the Captain.

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26 In the back room, Dewey finally managed to get off the cot, pulling Desperado up with him.

“Your Homecoming Queen sister is history.”

“You can’t force me,” said Desperado.

“We’ll see,” said Dewey as he reached under the cot with his free hand and pulled out a small handgun.

“Please! Mary Ellen had nothing to do with your ex or anything. The judge tried to rape her.”

Dewey walked over and flipped on the TV. The Bold and The Beautiful came on. The show always took Dewey to a place where he could forget. Let it all go.

“Sit down. You’ll enjoy this show. The new guy playing Ridge Forrester did it for me. I watched that other guy since the show started. I even watched it in the joint. Despite that, I didn’t enjoy my stay. I have no intention of returning.”

They watched the show. Afterward, Dewey told Desperado that he was giving him a chance to wipe the slate clean.

“Everyone needs a sucker. You’re mine,” Dewey smiled.

“Junior’s yours.”

“Junior?”

“Why not?”

“He won’t do it. Mary Ellen’s his friend. Besides he’s in jail.”

“If Junior’s not available, then I guess it’s your turn to man up!” Dewey leveled the gun at Desperado’s head. “Your choice.”

“What kind of choice is that?”

“A getting fucked choice.” Dewey looked at the handcuffs.

“We’re in this together, Desperado. The judge thought he could play with my wife. What was I supposed to do? Take it like a man? Forget about it? My ex had the judge in her pocket because 195

his brains were in his crotch. He wanted it all. So my wife and I made a little arrangement. She was more than happy to let the judge jump her bones because she knew she was going to hit the jackpot. I wasn’t happy about it, but I wasn’t sad. The tax law let us save money if we were divorced. Then we set up our own little haven. Like all of us, Desperado, like West by God Virginia, you should’ve considered your choices before you got into this. Aim before you fire. You stand on your own two feet. Say and do what you think and screw everybody else.”

“Oh no, no,” cried Desperado.

“People all over this state are crying now. The bell has rung.

Like everybody else, you’ve made your bed. Why don’t we just put it on the table? You just find the pressure points, then you put the squeeze on. If I win enough, your ass is out on the street. I served some short time with one of the founders of the great patriotic company - Freedom Industries. Made some good money with them. A couple of them are friends, but nobody gives a crap about them, or the judge - or you. Take the gun.” Dewey put the gun in front of Desperado.

“I can’t.”

“Then you’re dead.” Dewey put the gun closer.

“Shoot my sister?”

“You don’t shoot her, I’ll shoot you,” said Dewey, cold matterof-fact. “Right now.”

“Please,” pleaded Desperado.

“No pity card. Everybody has a sucker in his pocket. I was Charlie’s sucker. You’re my sucker. You can’t cut it, move it, Desperado. This is the Alamo...southern West Virginia. You’re Davy Crocket.”

“He was killed at the Alamo.”

“He died a hero. That’s what’s missin’ today. Show me a leader that’ll do that, and I’ll wipe his ass. It’s the same old, same old.

You’ll never hear anything new in this place. You take care of your sister, and I’ll overlook the two thousand she spent on her queen-for-a-day outfit. I’m givin’ you the chance to wipe the slate clean. Now, lets go tell the Homecoming Queen that you want to see her, tell her you’ve got some good coke.”

“She’s not interested. Please. I’m begging you. Please. I don’t ...need this,” said Desperado.

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*** The Captain’s truck was parked off the main road up a side dirt lane a half-mile down the mountain. Agent Anderson and two other agents were parked nearby waiting for Dewey’s car to go by. The Captain and Mary Ellen sat in the Captain’s pick-up several yards behind Anderson’s car. Behind the Captain’s pickup in another car sat the Mayor, Doc, and Coach Mary Ellen’s cell phone signaled a message from Agent Anderson. Dewey’s car had just gone by with Desperado in the passenger seat. They all knew Dewey was desperate. He was an angry man, and his mind was disabled which could only lead to more self-destructive behavior. First rule of the good old boys is always have a fall guy close, someone who is paid enough to make them willing to take the fall. The Captain stayed a safe distance behind Agent Anderson’s car, which was following Dewey’s car down the mountain. At the bottom of the mountain, Anderson’s car turned off and stopped. The Captain pulled in behind Anderson’s car. Mary Ellen and Pastor Joe quickly jumped out of the Captain’s pick-up and got into Anderson’s car. The Captain, with the Mayor, Doc and Coach following, did a u-turn and continued after Dewey.

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27 Sheriff Goodson’s murder was national news. Agent Anderson had been interviewed by every major news agency. The pro-gun and the anti-gun people were out in force. At the funeral, where over 400 law enforcement officers attended from all over the country, the sheriff was hailed as a hero for fighting drugs. It was the latest in a string of shootings aimed at law officers and judges across the country. Hundreds of state troopers, sheriff ’s deputies, city police, and other emergency responders said goodbye to a man who they said had died serving and protecting the people.

The locals were sure that drugs were behind his killing. The sheriff had filed more drug indictments in his time than the previous sheriffs altogether. Usually, though, it was the sheriff ’s men who were more on the front lines. They were the ones who had to knock on people’s doors.

“We’re all in this together,” said Anderson.

“Yes, I’m always relieved when you come home,” Anderson’s wife said. “It’s hard.”

“Teaching is hard.”

“It has its moments. Goodson had children.”

“Yes, two, I think.”

“It’s horrible.”

“That’s what most people feel, especially the law enforcement community. So many have called in from around the state to offer whatever help is needed.”

Some people were wearing black armbands. The town was in mourning. Suddenly though, the emperor had no clothes, and no one could put Jack together again. People were being told it was all a front, a façade. Sheriff Goodson, the hero, was said to have bought painkillers from an acquaintance of his. Agent Anderson felt betrayed for a moment.

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“Good people can have problems sometimes,” said Anderson’s wife. “It’s not easy down here. We all, at times, need a painkiller.”

“My fear is we may just be scratching the surface.”

“It’s crazy. It doesn’t make any sense. He was a good man. He did a lot in the short time he was sheriff.”

“Goodson was elected on a promise to clean up the drug problem.”

“He was doing that,” said Anderson’s wife.

“Yes. He, like so many, may have had a problem. Maybe he took some pain pills. I don’t know, maybe he smoked some grass.

But you’re right. He was working to clean up the place. He was dedicated, wanted to shut down the phony pill mills and the gun trade. Sometimes it’s too much,” said Anderson. “Storm clouds are hovering over my head. I believe that’s exactly how Mary Ellen Heater feels. She has been a big help to our investigation.”

“The sheriff ’s killing is forcing your hand,” Mrs. Anderson said.

“The investigation is coming along...or was. We are closing in,” said Anderson. “We’re close. The sheriff was making a dent.

He was knocking on the door. This Dewey, besides pushing drugs through several dealers and doctors, is trading guns for drugs, pulling in around $35,000 a month! His name came up years ago in an investigation of a drug ring in Charleston. Nothing came of it despite a sting operation that netted a lot of cash and guns - also three members of the gang. But Dewey was never mentioned.”

“That’s not unusual?” asked Anderson’s wife.

“Unfortunately, no. The sheriff had mentioned to me a few days before he was shot that Dewey’s ex intimated that she would be willing to testify that Dewey was involved through his used car business with various nefarious deeds such as money laundering, pill distribution, phony prescriptions, guns for drugs, and murder.”

“A real upstanding guy.”

“Yeah. But why did she go along with a fake divorce? Twice.”

“Maybe it all got too much for her. Wasn’t her phoned tapped?

And, as I recall, you said she had been run off the road by a coal truck.”

“That happens to someone about every day. I do think she is scared. She has always stayed above it all, but she has enjoyed the money. She lives a life that she couldn’t come close to affording with her salary. I think there are bigger fish in the pond. Down in 199

Charleston, a name keeps popping up... one Charley Wise, who Trudy Heater worked for. He has a public relations business.

He’s well known around the Capitol. According to the DEA, before she was murdered, Trudy, was working with Wise as a gobetween with some of the potential weed farmers. Once weed is legalized here, Wise’s gamble will pay off big. He’ll be far ahead of the competition. Apparently, he enjoys the game.”

“Sounds like he’s good at it.”

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28 Not long after the sheriff was killed, another Federal informer was shot to death. There had seemingly been a total breakdown of decency. Many people had no alternative but to flee. Agent Anderson was more troubled than he had been when he and his wife first returned to the mountain state. How could he give people confidence that they could walk the streets without fear or without coming upon a drug deal going down? Could children play outside? Anderson was stymied as to how to make southern Appalachia more livable and safe. Later that day he paid a call to his friend Pastor Joe Harris to ask him about a recent hate crime against a mosque. The Muslim community had filed a charge with Anderson’s office, and Anderson was hoping Pastor Joe could give him some insight.

“I was chagrined, of course. This was not the church way to welcome one and all. Fear. Fear, fear, fear,” was the pastor’s only answer. “A pastor friend of mine was defrocked by the Methodist leaders for presiding at his gay son’s wedding. Fear. The sheriff ’s killing, coming not long after Trudy’s death, has left our town in mourning. But I’m afraid we’re getting used to such things - we find a way to make horrible things bearable.”

“When the sheriff labeled his anti-drug war “Operation Zero,” it made all the local headlines,” said Anderson. It was modeled after the program in New York City that I had told him about - where the smallest infraction meant a healthy fine or jail time. He did some good work. Because of him, a lot of pills were off the market and that was good. It’s a shame.”

“It would have helped if he had had eyes in the back of his head,” said Pastor Joe. “Am pleased to let you know that I have been assigned another church, not far from here. If God closes one door, He opens another.”

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“May God open a few doors for me,” said Anderson.

“He will. There are a lot of things you or I can’t accomplish,” said Pastor Joe, “but we try...better than sitting on the sidelines.

I do know my people, and I know this place. It’s tough. I want to make sure people’s stories, like Trudy’s, are heard. I baptized her and her sister and brother. If we can foster love and kindness and togetherness, we can make it - turn this place around,” continued Pastor Joe. “We are all God’s footmen, all of us - rich and poor alike. A good God does not despise us though we may disappoint Him. Church can be a joy unless we are brow beaten to enter it every Sunday. I’ll be happy to go fishing for a couple of months.

You have many challenges, Wayne. Sometimes it’s hard to feel like you are getting anywhere, but you are making a difference.”

“We’ve had some success.”

“You’re being modest. The corrupters are feeling the heat.

They know you’re coming.”

“Yes, but I’m running 10 to 15 drug cases at a time, Pastor.

It’s frightening. We just arrested over 20 individuals on charges related to the distribution of oxycodone in the southern counties.

Been more than 50 arrests in the last two years including, recently, an auditor who let coal company contractors understate their payroll. That fraud cost insurance companies millions.

One coal company used a local bank to withdraw less than $10,000 each time in order to avoid the bank having to report to the IRS. I’m up against the wall. With Mary Ellen’s sister, the federal informant, and the sheriff having been killed, I’m afraid the southern Appalachians have turned black again. The dealers are still flocking because the money’s good,” Anderson sighed.

“An estimated 40 percent of the nation’s pot crop is grown right here in southern Appalachia. I don’t have enough people to chase down all the pot growers. It’s a waste of resources that could be used going after the pill mills run by doctors. I hate collaring drug users anyway - the jail terms they could serve, some repeaters qualify for a life sentence! It’s a roll of the dice depending on the prosecutor.”

“We’re all men on a mission, Wayne, and in these mountains, people play their cards close to the vest. I think the sheriff ’s running for election on a new leaf platform to get the pill mills shut down was what got him killed,” said Pastor Joe. “His killing has taken the wind out of people’s sails. Many in the town 202

considered him a good and honest man. Children loved him, and he loved them, wanted them to grow up and do good.”

“Right before the sheriff ’s death, he and I had announced the latest in a series of drug arrests, mostly pills, stolen and phony prescriptions. Was that the reason he was killed? There’s no shortage of people who wanted him to go away, including a woman who was just sentenced to three years in federal prison for selling 100 30-milligram oxycodone tablets to one of the sheriff ’s informants. The sheriff had a doctor under surveillance because of the large number of prescriptions he was writing. Did he kill him? I don’t think people expect things to change. They’re tired of hearing about corruption. The image of the pizza parlor drug front that set forty feet from the sheriff ’s office did not bode well for reform.”

“It did provide some laughs for folks. It’s part of the lore. The folks at church now talk about the place on the mountain.”

“Deadend.”

“Some church members think you have a plant in the congregation.”

“Pastor, we go after a person wherever that leads us. We work a lot of cases. Some go slower than others, but they’re not closed until a suspect is arrested or dead. The guns that end up being used in crimes in other states - those cases, many times, come back here. We have to trace the gun. Or if the dealer goes west to California, we have to take charge of that case if he was distributing and selling here. Can be pretty boring - like staking out a pizza joint or pain clinic. Then another person is found dead - either murdered because a drug deal’s gone wrong, ala Trudy, or another overdose. I’m not going to give in, though I have no feeling about weed. I don’t condemn casual users or addicts.

I’m in favor of giving non-violent addicts the chance to pursue treatment. Helping people who are trying to help themselves or others from abusing drugs is better than sending them to jail.”

“If Kennedy had lived, maybe the people around here would be doing better.”

“At least they might have had a chance. Mountain people, if anything, are proud,” said Anderson. “My dad had what he called a thriller – Theodore White’s The Making of the President,

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1960. White said West Virginia politics were “the most squalid, corrupt and despicable” in America. It’s ‘hot money - under-thetable money, open money.’ Dad suspected the Kennedys were in familiar territory. They could easily deal with the strong-armed tactics of the lobbyists. They weren’t impressed with the coal company money. Today, I don’t know. The Kennedys were elite, and people down here are not fond, to say the least, of elites.”

Anderson’s cell phone rang.

“My office,” Anderson said to Pastor Joe. Anderson listened for several moments. “All right, I’ll be there in a half hour.” He disconnected. “You won’t believe this or perhaps you will. Judge Pendergast? He was just found hung naked from a tree.”

Pastor Joe lowered his head in prayer.

The word spread quickly about the judge’s fate. People closed up, locked their doors, and avoided eye-to-eye contact. Agent Anderson might as well have been on Trump’s list of banned refugees. He was persona non-grata because he was asking troubling, probing questions. He had been pressing to arrest the judge and charge him with massive corruption. To Anderson, the judge was a ‘third-world dictator’ who had allowed the law to be clouded by loyalties, misguided ambition, perversion, and pride.

However, to Anderson’s frustration, no one had been willing to press charges against the judge. Everyone knew somebody or would know somebody, if not themselves, who would be appearing in the judge’s courtroom on one charge or another.

They did not want to get on his wrong side.

“Dewey and the judge have made their own beds, so to speak. I don’t have any idealized notion of mountain morality or certainly the politics here. There are people around a hell of a lot worse than the judge, but he was a judge for God’s sake. He corrupted the office. You can’t make this stuff up. Can you?”

“No.” “So it must be true,” said Agent Anderson, shaking his head.

“People like the judge can’t see beyond their own self-interest.”

“Self-interest? He was a horny man.”

“Why, Pastor Joe,” said Anderson with a smile. “There was the time Sheriff Goodson was approached by Judge Pendergast to trump up a charge against a husband who was in the way of the judge’s advances on that husband’s wife. That melodrama made news across the country.”

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“I heard about it. Everyone did. At first the judge, reportedly, plotted to have drugs planted under the man’s pickup, a red one.

But the drugs were planted under the wrong pick-up. I found that humorous,” said Pastor Joe. “Too many red Toyota pickups in southern Appalachia.”

“Love gone wrong,” said Anderson. “The judge was about to be indicted. None of the judge’s schemes worked, but I guess it was one the perks of the job.”

“Framing people? Corruption? Bribes,” said Pastor Joe. “All of the above.”

“Very ugly. Forgive me, but it’s good he’s gone.”

“Yes,” agreed Anderson. “So now the $64,000 question, along with who shot the sheriff, is who hung the judge.”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Pastor Joe. “I should think not,” replied Anderson.

“But I have my suspicions.”

“Yes, and so do I,” replied Anderson.

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29 Agent Anderson and Henry pulled into Deadend’s red-dog parking lot. A couple of minutes later, Henry gave a soft knock on the door. They waited a minute. Then Anderson turned the knob, and the door opened. They walked in and were greeted by the mayor, Doc, and Coach all with guns pointed their way.

“Henry! Agent Anderson,” the men exclaimed.

“Haven’t seen you, Henry, since you gave that wonderful talk at Trudy’s funeral. Not good to be a stranger in these parts.”

“Why the guns? You were expecting Dewey?” asked Henry.

“We thought it might be him,” said Doc. “But, lately, you never know who will come knocking.”

“God knocks first around these parts,” said the mayor.

“You never know. Could be some backward, obese, impoverished, uneducated, pot smoking, isolated right-wing Tea Party hillbilly meth-cooker with a deep hostility toward nosy outsiders,” said Henry.

“You covered them all,” said Coach, laughing. “Good to see you, Henry.”

“Why do we have the pleasure of your company?” asked Doc. “I didn’t come to ask you all over for dinner. Of course, if I knew you wanted to come, you’d be welcome,” said Henry.

“Why don’t we all take a seat, and I’ll bring some beers,” said the mayor. “That is if we’re not under arrest, Agent Anderson.”

“Not yet,” said Anderson. “Beer will be fine. Gentlemen, appreciate your help putting Last Chance back together.”

“I’m still glad I’m of this place,” said Doc. “We all are. We love where we live,” said the mayor.

“Gotta make your own breaks though,” said Henry. “Got a job once in construction because a man remembered my exploits on the football field.”

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“You‘re the one and only football star we’ve ever had,” said Doc, excitedly. “How come your picture’s not in the school trophy case?”

“I’ll take care of that, Henry,” said the mayor.

They all shook Henry’s hand.

“Henry, our daddy’s used to kill hogs together,” said Doc. “Don’t think they really knew each other, didn’t see each other a whole lot, didn’t socialize.”

“No. Hillbillies and niggers have always been on our own. In the same boat,” said Henry. “Not a sliver of difference between us.”

“We’ll drink to that,” said the mayor. They all raised their glasses.

“When you think about what a booming place this used to be,” Anderson rued, “and how it is now, you truly understand the challenges we face.”

“The ‘survival of the unfittest’ concept has sort of cut down on the population,” said the mayor.

“You’re the last person I thought would still be here, Henry,” said the coach. “How come you’re still around here?”

“Well, I could ask you the same question,” said Henry.

“There are a lot of people who would like to see me gone.”

“Speaking of Dewey,” said Doc. “Dewey, my friends,” said Henry, “is a storage tank with holes in it! Cheap exploitation! No rules, no regulations, and to hell with everything and everybody to the bottom line - like the late Judge Pendergast. We’ve got to be pro-active. Isn’t that what they say? Gentlemen,” continued Henry, “this is my first time in this establishment since I was removed. Once I had great plans for this space...not grandiose plans, just a simple downhome place. I bought the chairs you’re sitting on, the tables.”

“Henry, would you still be interested in running Deadend? I mean as a part owner,” said the mayor.

“Listen, I’m a realist. There are people like Charley Wise, the suit with the smarts who will make a bundle in real estate when weed is legal here. Then there’s the in-your-face Deweys - hucksters, and slimebags. I’m tired of being plowed under by the Charleys and Deweys. This black mountaineer was trying to make it with this place in the white mountaineer world. West Virginians, like myself, like you men, have sat on the sidelines and let it happen. Would you sell off the state’s water rights?”

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“No, sir,” said the mayor.

“Charley and Dewey would,” continued Henry, “if the price was right. I propose a toast.” They all raised their glasses. “May we wise up and not bury our heads in the sandy beaches of the west and east coasts. May we not decry the little things we require to stay healthy and wise – if not wealthy - and may we love each other...wherever we are in this world.”

“Henry,” said the mayor, “Thank you. There can be no more excuses. Afraid the kind of love you’re talking about though is going to take a while. Right, Mr. Anderson?”

“Going to be lonely and get even more lonely at testimony time. Enemies will be made. Exploiters must pay the price for their corrupt, selfish ways. But there is no price steep enough to cover poisoned water or poisoned air,” said Anderson, “or, taking a young woman’s life, or the sheriff ’s life, or that of the federal informer who was trying to do good.” The men nodded their heads in silent agreement. “The price West Virginians have paid is dear. Every effort to help prepare us for a life after coal has been flat-lined. So people get desperate and bad things happen, even to bad people ... like the judge.”

“I don’t know, Henry, that we can ever have any reconciliation with all the things you’re angry about,” said the Mayor.

“I don’t mean to take it out on you men,” said Henry. “Like your blood, my blood is in these mountains. I no longer have a desire to leave. I will be happy to listen to any offer.”

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30 A week later, the Captain entered Deadend’s front door with Mary Ellen and announced, “Dewey’s dead! Met a most unpleasant end. Dewey is history, finished...gruesomely dead.”

“Don’t try to cheer me up,” said the mayor in a flat tone.

“Didn’t know Dewey was sick,” added the coach, casually.

“He was sick all right, very sick,” said Doc. “Wondered why he wasn’t at the game,” said Coach.

“He saved himself the misery,” said the mayor.

“Dewey’s really dead?” asked the coach.

“Captain, about Dewey’s demise, are you certain?” asked the mayor.

“Oh yes, close up and personal. I was deep up the mountain, scouring mushrooms when I happened upon Dewey. Was on my hike. It’s the end of October and the fall festival of color. I did not want to miss it.”

“Well, good riddance to Dewey,” said the mayor.

“He was lying face down with a bullet in his head.”

The men looked at each other feigning surprise. It was the final rehearsal of a well-rehearsed dark play. “You sure it was Dewey?” asked the coach.

“Unmistakably, it was Dewey,” the Captain said.

“Weird,” said Doc. “Yes it was,” said the Captain.

“Lived by the sword, died by the sword,” said the mayor.

“Maybe a woman scorned.”

“Dewey was feeling pressured,” said the mayor. “The judge and the sheriff were both involved with Dewey’s ex-wife.”

“So now, Dewey, the judge and the sheriff are all dead,” said Doc. “Any of you have any ideas as to who may be responsible?”

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“Well,” said the Mayor, “Dewey hated the judge. A man can only take so much. Of course, Dewey had, I suppose, a number of enemies himself.”

The other men quickly agreed. Just then, the door opened and in walked Agent Anderson with Henry Mann and Mary Ellen.

“Have you heard,” the mayor said right away, “Dewey’s dead.

Captain here found him.”

“Yes,” said Anderson.

“Thank you, Lord, thank you, thank you. Drinks on the house,” the mayor said in unabated joy. He served up the drinks.

“Here’s to Dewey. Christmas has come early.” The men smiled and clinked their glasses.

“So,” said Agent Anderson, “Dewey’s ex told us that the judge and sheriff were plotting together against Dewey. Dewey could have hung the Judge and shot the sheriff. He certainly had motives. Or did someone, in revenge for the sheriff ’s being killed, shoot Dewey and hang the judge?”

“Did Dewey’s ex have them all killed?” asked the coach.

“She has an iron-clad alibi for the timeline of each death,” said Anderson. “She told us she was in her office for two of the deaths and for the third, she was out of town for a three-day school supervisor’s conference in New Orleans. Witnesses confirmed this. We have questioned her, and she has confirmed to us her relationship with the judge and also with the sheriff. She had told us earlier that a drugs-for-guns pick-up was to take place here at Deadend. She said the judge and sheriff had conspired to send a look-alike car - a black Escalade SUV, with darkened windows ahead of the Columbus and Detroit boys in their black Escalade.

As you know, the Detroit and Columbus boys were not too happy to learn their order had been given away to another party and commenced to shoot up the place. We were lucky none of you were hurt. I’m sorry you had to endure our mess, and I appreciate your willingness to testify. The very mad Detroit and Columbus boys were convinced to tell everything they knew about Dewey’s pill, guns, and weed operation, with a little heroin on the side.

Along with Desperado’s confession and testimony and Junior’s testimony, Dewey knew he faced the strong possibility of a very long prison term.” *** 210

In March, Agent Anderson announced that the judge’s hanging and Dewey’s shooting were unsolved. However, it was determined that the sheriff was sitting in his patrol car eating his lunch when he was confronted by Dewey. There were signs of a brief tussle and a shot being fired killing the sheriff. The handcuffs, Dewey used to make sure Desperado didn’t go anywhere were taken from the sheriff ’s patrol car. The gun that Mary Ellen had taken during her Homecoming Queen performance here at Deadend was found not to be the weapon that killed Trudy.

However, the gun that was later found in Dewey’s car proved conclusively to be the gun that fired the bullets taken from both the sheriff ’s body and Trudy Heater’s body. Desperado, who had managed to escape Dewey, was awaiting trial.

As to the future of Deadend, the mayor told Henry that a group of investors, including himself, Doc, the coach, and the Captain wanted to help finance Henry’s reassuming control of Deadend, with the largest contribution, coming, with a nudge from Agent Anderson, from Dewey’s ex. Charley Wise was also subtlely pressured by Agent Anderson to give up ownership of Deadend and surrounding acreage and to also make a cash contribution to Henry’s venture.

Henry later told all at a small celebration at Deadend (including Charley, Agent Anderson, the Mayor, Doc, Coach, Dewey’s ex, along with Mary Ellen and her parents and grandfather) that he appreciated their confidence in him. He assured them that it would be a clean, comfortable wholesome establishment where all would be welcomed. Mary Ellen suggested they cap off the celebration with a hike across the ridge of the mountain - the stairway to heaven. And so off they all went. It took them the rest of the day. It was dark when they returned tired and hungry to Deadend, but the moon was full and bright.

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31 In May of that year, Mary Ellen’s mother called the mayor with the news that Mary Ellen had successfully navigated the last preliminary audition and had been invited to Hollywood for the Voice finals. The mayor spread the word. Everyone was excited, though there were some skeptics that held that Hollywood was just like everywhere else - everything’s for sale, and everybody’s on something.

“They got their own ways, the Hollywood way, their own stories, their own secrets,” said Doc. “Sea to shining sea,” said Coach.

Mary Ellen went to Hollywood. She was given a big sendoff. Television reporters from Charleston and other cities across the state came to interview her. If coal had a grip on the state’s psyche, Mary Ellen had a grip on the people’s hearts. She didn’t feel trapped in the mountains. She honestly believed she could fulfill her ambitions in West Virginia. True, after Oberlin, she might go to Nashville or even to the FBI Training Academy. But first, she went to Hollywood and sang her heart out. She was praised for being “real.” As the town knew, it was hard not to root and cheer for her. The people had great affection for her.

The mayor was jubilant. He had seen a team of dogged lawmakers cooperating with each other and were on the way to an astonishing feat: the number of drug abusers was cut in half, the word that drug dealers would be dealt no mercy including corrupt doctors and pharmacies had spread. The town was being rejuvenated. Local governments had cleaned up their act.

Bribes, payoffs, and kickback schemes were on the decline. More importantly, the people’s indignation had reached a point where 212

they demanded that the corrupt things be stopped.

A planned showing of Mary Ellen’s singing appearance on The Voice was set for Town Hall. The mayor set up televisions in the community center for those without television or for those who just wanted to watch together. The mayor had posters printed up and put around town.

“This is a sign from heaven,” said Pastor Joe. “The greatest need for ministry in our nation is right here in the Appalachian Mountains. People will read about Mary Ellen, see her on television. Salvation is here in the form of a beautiful young girl with the voice of an angel.”

The mayor announced there had been a million-dollar donation to the town from Dewey’s ex. The money was to be used to spruce up the town. A parade was in the works to welcome Mary Ellen when she returned triumphantly from Hollywood.

Buildings were painted and repaired. The streets were newly paved. State and American flags were hung from the lampposts on Main Street. The town had pulled together, got up off its knees, brushed itself off and was ready to start all over again. Pastor Joe had been given a reprieve and had been invited to return to his church. He accepted.

The people would carry on. They would work, hunt, fish, eat, play the banjo, sing, and raise their families. Mary Ellen’s willingness to follow her dreams was an inspiration. Her journey gave the town a little more courage and heart to face their hardships - to fend off those who maintained that the poor and vulnerable have no one to blame but themselves for their plight - when the country, that once put a man on the moon was now fighting to keep its head above water.

“This town deserves an award from one of our big national organizations,” said the mayor. “We are going to work hard to welcome Mary Ellen home, the hometown girl with a big city voice. We are also going to work hard to make everybody welcomed here. This is gonna be a great story!”

“She’s going to put us on the map,” said the coach.

“She was awesome,” said the mayor, joining the others at the Town Hall in a standing ovation for Mary Ellen when she finished her song. “It was very emotional. You could feel the emotion in her voice as she performed. I was so proud of her.”

Making it to Hollywood was an achievement. Win or lose, Mary Ellen was going back home, and she would be delighted 213

to do so. She had made a strong showing on The Voice. In the end, she was not the winner, but as runner-up, she attracted enough attention to make a music career possible. Nashville was no longer just a dream.

West Virginia was Mary Ellen’s home, and appearing on national television had not changed that. The place was in her soul. On her return, in the parade honoring her, she was perched in a convertible with the high school marching band leading the way. West Virginia and American flags lined the street through the town of Last Chance. Two hundred posters were made available for Mary Ellen to autograph. The mayor, Henry, the coach with his team, Doc, coal miners, Agent Anderson and his wife, and Dewey’s ex - they were all among the hundreds, practically everyone in the county, who had turned out to welcome Mary Ellen home. Nothing mountaineers love more than another mountaineer doing well out in the world. They loved her despite her not winning. Mary Ellen gained a new appreciation of home, a new perspective, a realization of how much she loved West Virginia. She understood that her town, Last Chance, had been waiting a long time for redemption.

Mary Ellen hadn’t won, but the town’s anticipation had brought renewed life to Last Chance. Dreams, even if not fully realized, can provide a spark of renewal and the courage to continue to be. The people of Last Chance would find their own dreams and the energy to tackle the problems with a new sense of energy and determination. Mary Ellen had taken things into her own hands, and this had ramifications for everybody. The people stood together. Perhaps each person caught a glimmer of how they could contribute to the whole of their town - thus becoming more of who they were. Who they were and what they had to give was what the state, and, for that matter, what the country needed.

Trudy’s death had made Mary Ellen stronger. She would persevere. She was smart and generous and her community loved her. Three years later, she successfully campaigned to have the charge against Junior dismissed, and with money she received from a recording contract, she provided for Junior. He, in turn, gave Mary Ellen a number of drawings he made of her 214

Homecoming Queen days and also of her appearing on The Voice.

He wanted to document with his drawings her every move. She had him examined at the Greenbrier Health Clinic where it was determined that Junior had long suffered from dyslexia, which had made reading, writing, spelling, and speaking a bit harder for him, but it also gave him a means of expressing himself through his art. Mary Ellen understood how wonderful it was to be able to express your feelings because that is what her singing had done for her.

The mountains would be Mary Ellen’s story whether she left or stayed. She forgot the clamor about how her life would go nowhere if she stayed in her beloved mountains. Her success as a West Virginian didn’t mean she had to stay. She had shown the whole country what she could do, no matter where her heart took her. As she stood that wonderful day with her parents, before the crowd that gathered in the town’s center, she sang a song of thank you to all the folks who had supported her. “And to my sister, Trudy, who was, and will always be, my inspiration.”

This Is My Home Where I Belong Just to be is my dream Ride a cloud to the sea Swing high on beauty’s vine Sweetly free and oh so fine The places I could be But Hollywood and Vine Is not where I want to be This is my home Where I belong.

No need to swirl and twirl I’m just a hillbilly girl Feeling the cool breeze of autumn’s eve Waiting for time to bring me home again to you Just to be is my dream On the mountain tonight With only God’s moonbeam What a beautiful sight.

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So pure is His light Don’t need to be a star Drive a big fancy car Be a money-making machine Seen in People Magazine.

This is my home Where I belong No need to swirl and twirl I’m just a hillbilly girl Feeling the cool breeze of autumn’s eve Waiting for time to bring me home again to you Just to be is my dream And if I never pass the night On this mountaintop scene I know God will make it right His wind will hold me tight.

I don’t need to be seen On Entertainment Tonight This is my home Where I belong No need to swirl and twirl I’m just a hillbilly girl Feeling the cool breeze of autumn’s eve Waiting for time to bring me home again to you Later that afternoon, Mary Ellen and her grandfather, as they had many times before, hiked the mountain. It was dusk when they reached the summit. They sat on an outcropping of rocks and looked out across the moonlit sky toward North Carolina.

She looked up at her grandfather with a child’s love. Walking back down the mountain, Mary Ellen knew she could touch the stars.

The End

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DAVID SELBY

David Selby was born and educated in West Virginia. A veteran of stage, screen, and television, including such popular series as “Dark Shadows” and “Falcon Crest,” the actor and award winning author’s last novel, Promises of Love, won awards at the Paris and Hollywood Book Festivals and an award in the International Reader’s Favorite Book Awards. In 1989, he was honored as a distinguished alumnus of West Virginia University and was given the first Life Achievement Award from the West Virginia University College of Creative Arts. He received the distinguished West Virginian Award from the state in 2002.

In 2004, he received an honorary doctorate from West Virginia University.

He and his wife fund a guest artist series at West Virginia University, and he has made many guest appearances around the state.

David is a member of the Cleveland Playhouse Hall of Fame, and in May 1992, he received the Distinguished Alumnus Award from the College of Communications and Fine Arts at Southern Illinois University, where he had earlier earned a PhD. In 1999 he received the Millennium Recognition Award from the Shakespeare Theatre in Washington, DC. He lives with his family in California. For more information, visit DavidSelby.com.

A CASUALTY OF INDIFFERENCE

Mary Ellen Heater’s grandfather discovers a body while searching for cans and bottles at the local garbage dump. On closer inspection, he recognizes the body as his oldest granddaughter, Mary Ellen’s sister. It appeared to him that she had been shot twice in the head at close range. The grandfather’s discovery leaves the family shattered. Against her father’s wishes, a devastated Mary Ellen, determined to solve her sister’s murder, convinces her older brother to persuade the local kingpin of a known ‘drugs for guns’ place called “Deadend,” where her brother works, to hire her. She does not inform her brother why she wants the job, other than needing money. She does not mention her determination to gain information that will help solve her sister’s murder. Mary Ellen puts her promising singing aspirations on hold and with her grandfather’s help, she sets out on her quest to avenge her sister’s murder...which will have ramifications for the whole community.

DAVID SELBY