Divine Justice (15 page)
He turned to see Bob staring at him anxiously. “Whatcha gonna do with that stuff?”
“I’m trying to get his heart restarted.”
Stone ripped out a spark plug wire leading from the distributor cap and jammed the nail in the end of it, securing it there with the tape. He attached the positive end of the battery cables to the nail while he grounded the negative clamp onto a metal part of the engine. He knelt next to Willie and placed the other ends of the battery cables onto his right and left fingers respectively.
He called out, “Bob, fire the truck up!”
Bob looked at the cables leading from the truck to his grandson. “You gonna fry him!”
“We’re out of time, Bob. This is our only shot. Just do it! Now! Or he’s dead.”
Bob jumped in the truck.
Stone looked down at Willie, reached over and made sure the connections were solid. The young man was already turning blue. They only had seconds left.
Stone had done this once in Nam with a fellow soldier who’d gone into cardiac arrest when a massive round had sheared a chunk of his torso off. Stone had gotten his heart going again, but the man had bled to death on the way to the field hospital.
The truck started.
“Rev the engine,” Stone screamed out.
Bob smashed the gas to the floor and the engine roared.
Even though he wasn’t touching Willie, Stone could feel the surge of current. The effect on the young man was far more intense.
His legs and arms came off the ground and Willie sucked in an enormous breath. He sat up and then fell back, choking and coughing.
“Cut the engine,” Stone yelled and Bob instantly did so. The only sound now was a miraculous one. A dead man was breathing.
Stone ripped the cables off and checked the pulse. Pretty strong and steady.
Bob and he lifted Willie into the truck. Stone put the spark plug wire minus the nail back in place, threw the battery cables in the back, and drove off. They made it to the doctor’s home office five minutes later and carried him inside. Warner worked on Willie after Stone told him what he’d done. Warner was not Stone’s image of a rustic country doctor. He was barely forty, trim, with a clean-shaven face and wide, intelligent-looking eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He gave Willie an injection and made a phone call.
He said, “That injection should stabilize him for now. But can you get him to the hospital quick as you can? I called ahead and I’ll follow in my car.”
Stone nodded. “But if his heart stops again on the way? I don’t want to rely on the truck’s juice again.”
Warner opened a cabinet and pulled out a portable defibrillator. “If it happens again, pull off the road and we’ll use this.”
As they were loading Willie back in the truck the doctor said, “You saved his life, you know.”
Bob placed a hand on Stone’s shoulder. “I can’t thank you enough, Mr. . . . ?”
“Just call me Ben. And he’s not out of the woods yet. Let’s go.”
They arrived at the hospital less than an hour later. Stone went in with them, but after Willie was checked in, he came back outside and leaned against the truck, sucking in the crisp, cool mountain air.
The hospital was big. It probably had to be since it was probably the only one for a few hundred square miles.
He walked around the parking lot trying to push back the adrenaline rush. He spotted the squat one-story cinderblock building next to the hospital and walked in that direction.
When he saw the sign on the building Stone realized this was the methadone clinic, where the truck parade came every morning. As he watched he noted the armed security guard patrolling in front of the building. When the man saw Stone standing there, Stone smiled and waved. The man neither smiled nor waved back. Instead he put a hand on his holstered gun. Stone turned and walked back to the hospital. He assumed the presence of the guard meant that the clinic was a target for either drug dealers or druggies. Stone knew that liquid methadone on its own couldn’t deliver a high, that’s why it was used to wean addicts off drugs. But when combined with other drugs, like anti-anxiety pills, it could produce an often deadly cocktail.
About an hour later Bob came back out and explained that Willie was out of danger and was being admitted.
“So what did they find out?” Stone asked.
“They said he overdosed on something.”
“That I knew. You have any idea what?”
“The emergency room doctor asked that too. I saw a crack pipe in Willie’s hand when I came in the trailer. He tried to hide it from me, but I still saw it.”
Stone shook his head. “Crack’s a stimulant. His eyes would’ve been dilated, not pinpoints. He overdosed, but on a depressant, not a stimulant.”
“Well, I guess I could be wrong about what he took,” Bob said hesitantly.
Stone looked at him curiously but the old man didn’t seem inclined to add anything to what he’d already said. Stone drove Bob back to Willie’s trailer where he’d left his truck. He tried to pay Stone for his help but Stone refused.
Bob dropped an exhausted Stone off at the rooming house. As Stone slowly walked up the stairs he figured that despite the massive manhunt after him he would have to get out of Divine pretty soon, just to get some rest.
B
Y THE NEXT MORNING
nearly everyone in Divine had heard of Stone’s heroics. Apparently Bob Coombs had told everyone he encountered of the stunning rescue, and the story had quickly spread.
“Cool a hand as I ever seen,” he repeated over and over, referring to Stone.
“Heard he was in Nam,” another man said. “Good under pressure.”
“A true American hero,” said one lady. She added in a lower tone while talking with a girlfriend of hers, “Too bad it was wasted on Willie Coombs.”
Sheriff Tyree came to Stone’s room that morning to congratulate and thank him. “Willie’s a good young man except for the pills.”
“He’s a coal miner, right?” said Stone.
“How’d you know?”
“Scars and banged-up hands. And he had coal dust embedded in his skin. Does his mother know?”
“Shirley? Doubt she’d care.”
Stone chose not to ask about that. “Bob Coombs said his son, Willie’s father, was dead.”
“Yep. Hunting accident. Didn’t have his orange slicker on and somebody thought he was a deer. Abby told me to tell you she’s got some more work you can do. Same pay scale.”
“I’ll head over there right now.” After the news on the radio last night he was even more uncomfortable being around the lawman.
When Stone arrived at Rita’s Restaurant Abby had breakfast waiting for him. When he walked in customers smiled and waved at him. A few miners came over and clapped him on the back, thanking him for helping their fellow miner.
“How’s it feel to be a hero?” Abby asked, pouring him a cup of coffee.
“I’m just glad he’s okay. But he’s got a long road ahead of him. Apparently he has a drug problem.”
“Most miners do. Willie Coombs is actually a good young man. He and Danny played ball in high school together. Best of friends but then they had a falling-out.”
“Over what?”
“When we were all poor, that was one thing. Then when we got the settlement money Willie seemed to think Danny owed him. We gave him some money, sure, but most of it went up his nose so we stopped.”
A tall, thin man came over to them. He was the only man in the place dressed in a suit and tie. His gray hair was neatly parted and fashionably cut. His eyes were gray and alert and his face was deeply lined, carrying the gravitas one usually found in scholars.
Abby said, “Ben, this is Charlie Trimble. He runs the
Divine Eagle
, the local newspaper.”
It was all Stone could do not to leap up and run out of the place.
A smiling Trimble said, “I would love to interview you about your experience with Willie, Ben.
Not only because it’s an amazing story but it shows why we need to reinstate the volunteer rescue squad program here.”
Abby looked at Stone. “Is that okay?”
Stone said slowly, “What I did wasn’t all that special. And I’m not looking to get any publicity just because I helped someone.”
Trimble smiled more broadly. “And modest too. That will work well in the story angle. It’s just a few questions, Ben. We can even do it here or back at my office.”
Stone stood. “Abby, if you have some more work for me to do that would be great.” He looked at Trimble. “I’m sorry, Mr. Trimble. I’m sure Bob would love to talk to you. He helped as much as I did. Maybe more.”
Trimble looked put off. “Just a couple of questions?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
Abby gave him a list of jobs to do while Trimble sat at his table, drinking a cup of coffee and staring at Stone. And Stone could feel the burn of the man’s gaze.
Stone worked half the day at the restaurant and the other half at Abby’s home. And every minute he was desperately trying to think of some way out. If he left Divine he would probably be caught. If he stayed in Divine someone might put two and two together and one morning the feds would rumble into town. For one of the few times in his life, Stone did not know what to do.
On his way back to his rooming house that evening he saw Bob Coombs standing in front of it. The old man looked nervous, rocking back and forth on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets as he studied the pavement. Stone crossed the street.
“Hey, Bob, is Willie okay?”
Bob looked nervously around. “Can we talk somewhere private?”
Stone led him up to his room. “What’s up?”
“Talked to Willie this morning and the docs over at the hospital and some things don’t make sense.”
“Like what?”
“It was sort of like you said. Drugs Willie said he took don’t add up to what happened to him.”
“Was it crack?”
“That’s what Willie said he was on.”
“He might have made a mistake.”
Bob was shaking his head. “I know some folks think Willie’s nothing but a pillhead, but he’s not. He’s a smart boy but killing himself in the mines. Started there right out of high school and looks like he’s been there thirty years, just the way it is. But if he said it was crack, it was crack, you can count on it.”
Stone studied him, not really sure why the man was telling him this. “Well, if you think something’s wrong, Bob, you should let Sheriff Tyree know.”
“I was wondering, sort of, if you could maybe step in.”
“Me? Step in what exactly?” Stone said cautiously.
“You saved Willie’s life. Easy to see you been around, know stuff. I was just hoping maybe you could talk to Willie, get his side of things and see what you can find out.”
“I’m not a PI.”
“Lost my son, see. Willie’s the only thing I got left. Can’t lose him too. Well, that’s all I got to say. If you go see Willie, I thank you. And if you don’t I still thank you for all you done.”
“Has that fellow Trimble from the paper been by to see you?”
“Yep. Had some questions. Told him what you did. He said he’s writing up the story. Said you wouldn’t talk to him.”
“I’m not much into tooting my horn. Is he from Divine?”
“Oh, no, he retired here. Got a little place up near the river and then took over running the newspaper here.”
“Was he into journalism before?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Where?”
“Somebody told me once. The
Washington Post
.”
Oh, shit.
“Look, Ben, I can pay you if you’d look into it.”
“Bob, go see the sheriff. That’s his job. Not mine.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry, Bob. I can’t.”
L
ATER,
Stone walked to the craft shop and did something he really didn’t want to, but he was out of options. He called Reuben.
“Oliver, tell me where you are,” he said immediately.
“Just listen, Reuben. I need some information.”
Another voice came on the line. It was Annabelle.
“Oliver, we want to help you. But you’ve got to tell us where you are.”
“I’m not getting you involved in this, Annabelle. So stop trying to help me. I don’t deserve it anyway.”
“I don’t care if you killed those men. What I care about is you.”
Stone took a deep breath. “I appreciate that, Annabelle, I really do.” Stone glanced up to see Wanda, the shopkeeper, eyeing him from across the room. He smiled and turned away from her.
“Oliver, are you there!”
“Look, it means a lot to me that you want to help, it really does. But if I’m going to go down, it’s going to be just me, not all of you.”
“But—”
He cut her off. “If you really want to help me, put Reuben back on.”
He could hear her accelerated breathing for a few seconds and then Reuben said, “What do you need?”
“Has Knox or anyone else been back?”
“No.” Technically Reuben wasn’t lying since Annabelle had gone to see Knox, not the other way around. In fact, they were parked out on Knox’s street right now watching and waiting for the man’s next move.
“The news said that they have all the airports, train and bus stations under watch.”
“I heard that too.”
“That’s a lot of ground to cover, even for the FBI.”
“They’re working with Homeland Security on this, which has opened up all local resources as well. Lot of street cops out there looking.”
“You said Knox knew it was John Carr, and that he and I were one and the same.”
“That’s right. Though nothing in the press has said anything about John Carr now being Oliver Stone.”
“Have any photos of me been circulated?”
“Not to my knowledge. At least publicly. But who knows what’s going on behind the scenes.”
Stone leaned against the wall and studied a miniature black bear formed from a lump of coal.
Coal is king. Stone is dead
. “Any idea if they think I’m still in the area?”
“Are you?”
“Reuben!”
“Okay, slit my throat for caring. Nothing specific, but you can count on the fact that any place within a few hundred miles of D.C. will be under close watch.”
Stone sighed. “Thanks for the info, Reuben. I hope I won’t have to call you again.”
“Oliver, wait—”