Gray Mountain: A Novel(42)

The man stayed low and laughed at the two. He stuck out a hand in Samantha’s direction and said, “Vic Canzarro, friend of the mountains.” She was trying to catch her breath and unable to extend a hand.

“Did you have to scare the hell out of us?” Donovan growled.

“No, but it sure is fun.”

“You know him?” Samantha asked.

“Afraid so. He’s a friend, or more of an acquaintance, actually. Vic, this is Samantha Kofer, an intern with Mattie’s legal clinic.” They finally shook hands. “A pleasure,” Vic said. “What brings you to the coalfields?”

“It’s a long story,” she said, exhaling, heart and lungs now working. “A very long story.”

Vic dropped a backpack and sat on a rock. He was sweating from the trek up and needed water. He offered a bottle to Samantha but she declined. “Columbia Law?” he asked, looking at her sweatshirt.

“Yes. I worked in New York until ten days ago when the world crashed and I got laid off or furloughed or something like that. Are you a lawyer?” She sat on another rock where Donovan joined her.

“Hell no. I used to be a mine safety inspector but managed to get myself fired. It’s another long story.”

“We all have long stories,” Donovan said, taking a bottle of water. “Vic here is my expert witness. Typical expert—pay him enough and he’ll tell the jury anything you want. Next week he’ll spend a long day on the stand having a delightful time clicking off a never-ending list of Strayhorn Coal’s safety violations. Then the defense lawyers will eat his lunch.”

Vic laughed at this. “I’m looking forward to it,” he said. “Going to trial with Donovan is always exciting, especially when he wins, which is not very often.”

“I win as many as I lose.”

Vic wore a flannel shirt, faded jeans, boots caked with old mud, and had the look of a veteran hiker who could whip out a tent from his backpack and spend the next week in the woods. “Are they drilling?” he asked Donovan.

“Just started, supposed to blast at four.”

Vic checked his watch and asked, “Are we ready for trial?”

“Oh, yes. They doubled their offer this afternoon to two hundred thousand. I countered at nine-fifty.”

“You’re crazy, you know that? Take the money and get something for the family.” He looked at Samantha and asked, “Do you know the facts?”

“Most of them,” she said. “I’ve seen the photographs and maps.”

“Never trust a jury around here. I keep telling Donovan this but he won’t listen.”

“Are you filming?” Donovan asked, changing the subject.

“Of course.” They chatted for a few minutes as both men kept glancing at their watches. Vic removed a small camera from his backpack and took a position between two boulders. Donovan said to Samantha, “Since the inspectors are not watching, it’s safe to assume Strayhorn will break a few rules when they start blasting. We’ll catch it on video, and maybe show it to the jury next week. It’s not that we really need it, because we have so much dirt on the company. They’ll put their engineers on the stand and they’ll lie about how closely they follow all regulations. We’ll prove otherwise.”

He and Samantha eased into positions next to Vic, who was filming and lost in his work. Donovan said, “They fill each hole with a concoction known as ANFO—an acronym for a combination of ammonium nitrate and fuel oil. It’s too dangerous to transport so they mix it on the site. That’s what they’re doing now. That truck is funneling diesel fuel into the blast holes while that crew to the left there is rigging up the blasting caps and detonators. How many holes, Vic?”

“I count sixty.”

“So they’re clearly in violation, which is typical.” Samantha watched through binoculars as men with shovels began backfilling the blast holes. A wire ran from the top of each one and two men were busy gathering them into a bundle. Sacks of ammonium nitrate were dropped into the blast holes, which were topped off with gallons of diesel fuel. The work was slow; 4:00 p.m. came and went. Finally, when the blasting truck backed away, Donovan said, “It won’t be long now.” The grid was cleared as the crews and trucks disappeared. A siren sounded and that area of the site became still.

The explosions were a distant rumble as plumes of dust and smoke shot into the air, each blast only a split second after the one before it. The plumes rose in perfect formation, like fountains in a Vegas water show, and the earth began to crumble. A wide swath of ancient rock fell in violent waves as the ground shook. Dust boiled from the blast site and formed a thick cloud above it. With no wind, the cloud hung over the rubble with nowhere to go. Much like a play-by-play announcer, Donovan said, “They’re blasting three times a day. Their permit allows only twice. Multiply all of this by dozens of active surface mines, and they’re using about a million pounds of explosives every day here in coal country.”

“We got a problem,” Vic said calmly. “We’ve been spotted.”

“Where?” Donovan asked, taking the binoculars from Samantha.

“Up there, by the trailer.”

Donovan focused on the trailer. On a platform next to it, two men with hard hats were apparently watching them through their own binoculars. Donovan waved; one of the men waved back. Donovan shot him the bird; the man returned the greeting.