Gray Mountain (14 page)

“What happened to the driver?”

“He became a whistle-blower and spilled the beans on Eastpoint Mining, his employer. Someone slashed his tires and fired two shots through his kitchen window, so he’s now in hiding, in another state. I give him cash to live on.”

“Is that legal?”

“That’s not a fair question in coal country. Nothing is black-and-white in my world. The enemy breaks every rule in the book, so the fight is never fair. If you play by the rules, you lose, even when you’re on the right side.”

She returned to the table and nibbled on a chip. She said, “I knew I was wise to avoid litigation.”

“I hate to hear that,” he said, smiling, his dark eyes absorbing every move she made. “I was thinking about offering you a job.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m serious. I could use some research, and I’ll pay you. I know how much you’re earning over at the legal clinic, so I figured you might want to moonlight as a research assistant.”

“Here, in your office?”

“Where else? Nothing that would interfere with your internship, strictly after hours and on weekends. If you’re not already bored here in Brady, it won’t be long.”

“Why me?”

“There’s no one else. I have two paralegals and one is leaving tomorrow. I can’t trust any other lawyer in town, nor anyone from any law office. I’m paranoid about secrecy, and you obviously haven’t been here long enough to know anything or anybody. You’re the perfect hire.”

“I don’t know what to say. Have you talked to Mattie?”

“Not about this, no. But if you’re interested, I’ll have a chat with her. She rarely says no to me. Think about it. If you don’t want to, I’ll understand completely.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it. But I’ve just started one job and wasn’t planning on looking for another, not so soon anyway. Plus, I really don’t like litigation.”

“You won’t have to go to court. Just hide in here, do the research, write the briefs, work the long hours you’re accustomed to working.”

“I was trying to get away from that.”

“I understand. Mull it over and we’ll chat later.”

They worked on their sandwiches for a moment but the silence was too heavy. Samantha finally said, “Mattie told me about your past.”

He smiled and shoved his food away. “What do you want to know? I’m an open book.”

She doubted that. She could think of several questions: What happened to your father? How serious is the separation from your wife? How often do you see her?

Maybe later. She said, “Nothing really. It’s an interesting background, that’s all.”

“Interesting, sad, tragic, filled with adventure. All of the above. I’m thirty-eight years old, and I’ll die young.”

She could think of no response.

T
he highway to Colton snaked through the mountains, rising and falling, offering breathtaking views of the dense ridges, then dipping into valleys filled with clusters of dilapidated shacks and mobile homes with junk cars scattered about. It clung to creeks with shallow rapids and water clear enough to drink, and just as the beauty sunk in it passed another settlement of tiny, forlorn houses stuck close together and shaded eternally by the mountains. The contrast was startling: the beauty of the ridges against the poverty of the people who lived between them. There were some pretty homes with neat lawns and white picket fences, but the neighbors were usually not as prosperous.

Mattie drove and talked while Samantha took in the scenery. As they climbed a stretch of road, a rare straightaway, a long truck approached from the other direction. It was dirty, covered with dust, with a canvas top over its bed. It was flying down the mountain, obviously speeding, but staying in the proper lane. After it passed, Samantha said, “I assume that was a coal truck.”

Mattie checked a mirror as though she hadn’t noticed. “Oh, yes. They haul it out after it’s been washed and it’s ready for the market. They’re everywhere.”

“Donovan talked about them yesterday. He doesn’t think too highly of them.”

“I’ll bet good money that truck was overweight and probably couldn’t pass inspection.”

“And no one checks them?”

“It’s spotty. And usually when the inspectors arrive the coal companies already know they’re coming. My favorites are the mine safety inspectors who monitor the blasting. They have a schedule so when they show up at a strip mine, guess what? Everything is by the book. As soon as they leave, the company blasts away with little regard for the rules.”

Samantha assumed Mattie knew everything about her lunch the day before with Donovan. She waited a moment to see if the job offer was mentioned. It was not. They topped a mountain and began another descent. Mattie said, “Let me show you something. Won’t take but a minute.” She hit the brakes and turned onto a smaller highway, one with more curves and steeper ridges. They were going up again. A sign said a picnic area with a scenic view was just ahead. They stopped at a small strip of land with two wooden tables and a garbage can. Before them lay miles of rolling mountains covered with dense hardwoods. They got out of the car and walked to a rickety fence built to keep people and vehicles from tumbling deep into a valley where they would never be found.

Mattie said, “This is a good spot to see mountaintop removal from a distance. Three sites—” She pointed to her left. “That’s the Cat Mountain Mine not far from Brady. Straight ahead is the Loose Creek Mine in Kentucky. And to the right there is the Little Utah Mine, also in Kentucky. All active, all stripping coal as fast as humanly possible. Those mountains were once three thousand feet high, like their neighbors. Look at them now.”

They were scalped of all greenery and reduced to rock and dirt. Their tops were gone and they stood like missing fingers, the nubs on a mangled hand. They were surrounded by unspoiled mountains, all ablaze with the orange and yellow of mid-autumn, and perfectly beautiful if not for the eyesores across the ridge.

Samantha stood motionless, staring in disbelief and trying to absorb the devastation. She finally said, “This can’t be legal.”

“Afraid so, according to federal law. Technically it’s legal. But the way they go about it is quite illegal.”

“There’s no way to stop it.”

“Litigation is still raging, has been for twenty years. We’ve had a few victories at the federal level, but all the good decisions have been overturned on appeal. The Fourth Circuit is loaded with Republican appointees. We’re still fighting, though.”

“We?”

“The good guys, the opponents of strip-mining. I’m not personally involved as a lawyer, but I’m on the right team. We’re in a distinct minority around here, but we’re fighting.” Mattie glanced at her watch and said, “We’d better go.”

Back in the car, Samantha said, “Kinda makes you sick, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, they’ve destroyed so much of our way of life here in Appalachia, so, yes, it makes me sick.”

As they entered the town of Colton, the highway became Center Street and after a few blocks the courthouse appeared on the right. Samantha said, “Donovan has a trial here next week.”

“Oh yes, a big one. Those two little boys, so sad.”

“You know the case?”

“Oh yes, it was quite the story when they were killed. I know more than I care to know. I just hope he wins. I advised him to settle, to take something for the family, but he wants to make a statement.”

“So he doesn’t take your advice.”

“Donovan usually does what he wants to do, and he’s usually right.”

They parked behind the courthouse and walked inside. Unlike Noland County’s, the Hopper County Courthouse was a baffling modern structure that had undoubtedly once looked thrilling on paper. All glass and rock, it jutted here and folded there, and wasted a lot of space in its daring design. Samantha figured the architect had eventually lost his license.

“The old one burned,” Mattie said as they climbed the stairs. “But then they all burn.”

Samantha wasn’t sure what this meant. Lady Purvis was sitting nervously in the hallway outside the courtroom, and she smiled with great relief when she saw her lawyers. A few others loitered about, waiting for court to convene. After a few preliminaries, Lady pointed to a dough-faced young man in a polyester sports coat and shiny boots with pointed toes. “That’s him, works for JRA, name’s Snowden, Laney Snowden.”

“Wait here,” Mattie said. With Samantha following her, she made a beeline for Mr. Snowden, whose eyes got bigger the closer she got. “You’re the representative for JRA?” Mattie demanded.

“I am,” Snowden said proudly.

She thrust a card at him as if it were a switchblade and said, “I’m Mattie Wyatt, attorney for Stocky Purvis. This is my associate, Samantha Kofer. We’ve been hired to get our client out of jail.”

Snowden took a step back as Mattie pressed ahead. Samantha, treading water, wasn’t sure what to do, so she quickly adopted an aggressive posture and look. She scowled at Snowden as he looked blankly at her and tried to absorb the reality that a deadbeat like Stocky Purvis could hire not one but two lawyers.

“Fine,” Snowden said. “Fork over the money and we’ll get him out.”

“He doesn’t have any money, Mr. Snowden. That much should be clear by now. And he can’t make any money as long as you’ve got him locked up in jail. Tack on all the illegal fees you want, but the truth is my client can’t earn a dime sitting where he’s sitting right now.”

“I have a court order,” Snowden said with bravado.

“Well, we’re about to talk to the judge about his court order. It’s going to be amended so Stocky walks. If you don’t negotiate, you’ll get left holding the bag.”

“Okay, what do you gals have in mind?”

“Don’t call me a gal!” Mattie barked at him. Snowden recoiled fearfully, as if he might get hit with one of those sexual harassment claims you read about. Mattie, inching closer to Snowden as her face changed colors, said, “Here’s the deal. My client owes the
county about $200 in fines and fees. You boys have tacked on four hundred more for your own fun and games. We’ll pay a hundred of that, total of three hundred max, and we’ll have six months to pay it. That’s it, take it or leave it.”

Snowden put on a phony smile, shook his head, and said, “Sorry, Ms. Wyatt, but we can’t live with that.”

Without taking her eyes off Snowden, Mattie reached into her briefcase and whipped out some papers. “Then try living with this,” she said, waving the papers in his face. “It’s a lawsuit to be filed in federal court against Judicial Response Associates—I’ll add you later as a defendant—for wrongful arrest and wrongful imprisonment. You see, Mr. Snowden, the Constitution says, quite clearly, that you cannot imprison a poor person for failing to pay his debts. I don’t expect you to know this because you work for a bunch of crooks. However, trust me on this, the federal judges understand it because they’ve read the Constitution, most of them anyway. Debtors’ prisons are illegal. Ever heard of the Equal Protection Clause?”

Snowden’s mouth was open but words failed him.

She pressed on. “Didn’t think so. Maybe your lawyers can explain it, at three hundred bucks an hour. I’m telling you so you can tell your bosses that I’ll keep you in court for the next two years. I’ll drown you in paperwork. I’ll drag your asses through hours of depositions and discover all your dirty little tricks. It’ll all come out. I’ll hound you into the ground and make your lives miserable. You’ll have nightmares about me. And in the end I’ll win the case, plus I’ll collect attorneys’ fees.” She pushed the lawsuit into his chest and he reluctantly took it.

They wheeled about and marched away, leaving Snowden weak-kneed and shell-shocked and already having glimpses of the nightmares. Samantha, stunned in her own way, whispered, “Can’t we bankrupt the $300?”

Suddenly composed, Mattie said with a grin, “Of course we can. And we will.”

Thirty minutes later, Mattie stood before the judge and
announced they had reached a deal for the immediate release of her client, Mr. Stocky Purvis. Lady was in tears as she left the courthouse and headed for the jail.

Driving back to Brady, Mattie said, “A license to practice law is a powerful tool, Samantha, when it’s used to help little people. Crooks like Snowden are accustomed to bullying folks who can’t afford representation. But you get a good lawyer involved and the bullying stops immediately.”

“You’re a pretty good bully yourself.”

“I’ve had practice.”

“When did you prepare the lawsuit?”

“We keep them in inventory. The file is actually called ‘Dummy Lawsuits.’ Just plug in a different name, splash the words ‘Federal Court’ all over it, and they scatter like squirrels.”

Dummy lawsuits. Scattering like squirrels. Samantha wondered how many of her classmates at Columbia had been exposed to such legal tactics.

A
t two that afternoon, Samantha was sitting in the main courtroom of the Noland County Courthouse patting the knee of a terrified Phoebe Fanning. Her facial wounds had now turned dark blue and looked even worse. She had arrived at court with a thick layer of makeup, which Annette didn’t approve of. She instructed their client to go to the restroom and scrub it off.

Once again, Randy Fanning was driven over with his escort and entered the courtroom looking even rougher than he had two days earlier. He had been served a copy of the divorce and appeared perturbed by it. He glared at his wife, and at Samantha, as a deputy removed his handcuffs.

The Circuit Court judge was Jeb Battle, an eager youngster who looked no more than thirty. Since the legal aid clinic handled a lot of domestic work, Annette was a regular and claimed to get on well with His Honor. The judge called things to order and approved a few uncontested matters while they waited. When he called
Fanning versus Fanning
, Annette and Samantha moved with
their client through the bar to a table near the bench. Randy Fanning walked to another table, with a deputy close by, and waited for Hump to waddle into place. Judge Battle looked closely at Phoebe, at her bruised face, and, without saying a word, made his decision.

He said, “This divorce was filed Monday. Have you been served a copy, Mr. Fanning? You may remain seated.”