The Longest Road (56 page)

Holding Winks's soft, warm, resonating body against her, Laurie was grateful for another living presence. Even so, she left a small light burning so that if she had a nightmare, she might flash to reality faster on waking and not rouse Marilys with a scream.

When Laurie went down to breakfast, Way sat at the table with Marilys. Laurie's glad welcome trailed off as he turned and she saw his face.

Here was truly the derelict, the unshaven scrounging tramp of the freight cars. He even smelled the same, of male sweat, grime, and soured whiskey. But he had come home. Whatever else, he was here.

“Way!” She hurried to bend and kiss him but he caught her wrists and set her back.

“I'm too dirty to be in this house—”

“Hush that!” Marilys blazed. She pressed his hands to her face and kissed them. “There's nothing wrong with you a shower and scrub won't fix.”

“I'm goin' to need a lot of 'em with my new job.”

“New job?” the women chorused. Hope lit Marilys's eyes. “You didn't tell me—”

“I was fixin' to.” He stared at the bowl of oatmeal in front of him. “Do I have to eat that?”

“Every bite,” Marilys decreed. “It should stay down all right now you've had some toast.”

“First, I'd better tell Laurie what a fool I've been.”

“I'll tell her.” Marilys filled his cup to the brim. “You drink and eat and get to feeling better, honey.”

“You ought to slop me like a hog,” said Way, rubbing reddened, bleary eyes.

“Eat!” He obeyed, grimacing. Marilys filled Laurie's cup and said bitterly, “What it amounts to is good old crooked Dub worked out a fancy scheme to snooker us.”

“Dub?”

“None other, the mangy devil! He owned that company that was selling out. He controls the outfits that placed orders. So all he had to do was have the contractors renege on their deals, have the company try to cash a check for six thousand dollars we don't have—”

“And there I am, caught dead to rights in a felony.” Way added with a groan, “Why I never suspicioned something like this when everything fell into place so nice—”

“I should have thought of Dub,” Marilys cut in. “I know the lowdown swindler better than either of you do.”

I'm not so sure about that, Laurie thought with a shudder, remembering Redwine's proposition. Maybe if she'd told Marilys about that, the other woman might have been on the watch for deceit from him. It wasn't necessary to ask what Way had done when he learned the truth.

“What's this about a job?” Marilys asked. “Won't the law—”

She broke off, flushing. Way patted her hand. “I'm not goin' to jail, darlin'. Dub had better notions.”

“What?” cried Laurie and Marilys at the same time.

Shamefaced, Way still met their gazes. “The first buyer who backed out, I just thought, well, I could manage to pay the company with the money I'd get from the other orders even if I wouldn't make a dime. But that big, second order—” He whistled. “Then I knew. And Dub must've given that contractor real good instructions—the fella said how sorry he was I'd brought lapweld pipe when he needed seamless, and he gave me a bottle and told me to get some sleep in a trailer there by the rig. Must've been another bottle, I can't remember. But when I was halfway sober again, durned if there wasn't old Dub.”

Laurie remembered the rusty butcher knife Way used to carry. “You didn't fight him?”

“No, I managed to get up but I fell right back down. While I was throwin' up, he laughed and allowed as how he'd give me a chance to get out of the mess.” Way's eyes fell. They could barely hear his next words. “He said if I beat him three hands out of five in stud poker, he'd tear up my check and let me keep the stuff besides.”

“And if he won?” breathed Marilys. Laurie, paralyzed, couldn't say anything.

“He got our equity in the house, what's left of the salvage business, our truck—everything.”

Dumbfounded, the women stared. Way's voice clogged with self-loathing. “I must've still been drunk to do it—I've got no excuse.” He straightened slightly. “But it's all right. You won't lose the house, or the business, whatever it's worth.”

“You won!” Marilys threw her arms around him but he shook his head while his big scarred hand smoothed her shining hair.

“I didn't, honey.”

“But—”

“Dub won first, third, and last hands—kept it real interesting. And then we made our deal.”

“What?”

“Dub won't send me to jail. He won't take anything away from us.” Way managed a lopsided grin. “He's even given me a good, steady job cleanin' tanks.”

“Cleaning tanks!” echoed Marilys. “Why, that's the dirtiest, most dangerous job in the oil patch!”

“It's dirty,” Way admitted. “But it's not so dangerous if you're careful.”

“What about that bunch of eight men who got killed in that tank-farm explosion last month?”

“They weren't regular tank cleaners. Just roughnecks.” Way shook his head. “That big company they worked for decided to save money and use them in the tanks instead of paying a tank-cleaning contractor to do it right. They rigged up electric lights—never want to do that because the weentsiest spark'll set off a blast. And that's what happened. Those poor guys were inside the tanks when the sludge caught fire. I guess they yelled once.”

At the women's expressions, he said quickly, “I've cleaned tanks before. You bet I'll use a battery spotlight and come out for fresh air when I need to.”

“Your asthma!” Laurie protested. “Those fumes'll be awful for you!”

“It's a job.”

Marilys caught his hand. “Dub's humiliating you!”

“I already did that.”

“Please, darling—”

Way carried his wife's fingers to his lips. “Sweetheart, I got no choice. I work for Dub or he prosecutes and we lose everything. Damned if I'll do that to you and Laurie.”

“Oh, Way!” Laurie got to her feet. “Maybe if I begged Redwine—”

“No.” Way's voice was stern. Then he grinned. “Listen, gals, I'd a sight rather drown in bottom settlings than rot in the pen. And now I gotta have a bath and get some sleep. I start work this afternoon.”

“Dub didn't waste any time,” said Marilys.

“I guess he's wanted to break me ever since he saw you were likin' me back in Black Spring,” Way said fatalistically. He knelt beside Marilys and put his arms around her. “We beat him anyway, honey. We've had some mighty good years and more love in a day than Dub's had in his life.”

Marilys pressed his head to her breasts and held him with fierce protectiveness. “We've got each other. We'll get through this just like we have everything else.”

“Sho',” said Way. But Laurie could see his eyes, and though they were soft with love, they held the resignation of one who had not only faced death but accepted it. His next words confirmed her dread. “Whatever happens to me, you'll be all right, my ladies. Dub's signed legal, witnessed papers dropping any claims to our property provided I work for him a year.”

“A year in the tanks!” Laurie gasped.

A death sentence for anyone with breathing problems. Way gazed at Laurie from his wife's embrace. “Kiddo,” he said, using the old name. “I got us into this mess. There's no way I could've faced you if there wasn't this chance to square things up.”

He meant—Dropping her eyes, Laurie knew what he meant. But she knew what she was going to do.

If a tank cleaner slipped and went down in the bottom settlings, he invariably drowned because he couldn't get to his feet again. Once he got the oily muck in his mouth and nose, it sealed them shut. If someone tried to help, they were usually dragged under, just as a terrified person drowning in water will try to get on top of a rescuer. But Way wasn't going into that dark slippery tank alone.

“I'll work at the hotel this morning,” she told Marilys. There was no way they could keep the salvage yard going after Way sold off the supplies Redwine had duped him with, but that was something to worry about later. “I need to take the afternoon off.”

Way climbed to his feet. “Don't you go pleadin' with Dub to let me off, girl. He'll plumb relish it but it won't do any good.”

“I won't ask him for a thing.” Laurie finished her coffee and hurried off to work.

She was home in time to dress in a shirt, jeans, and jacket of Buddy's. The tough, rubber-soled work boots he'd worn at the salvage yard fitted after she pulled on two pairs of heavy socks. For luck, she got Johnny's oil-crusted old hat from his stored belongings. She stuffed clean rags and a stout cord in her jacket pockets. There was a stained tarp in the back of the truck. She stowed away under that, glad that the weather was cool for early June.

Way wouldn't want her in the tank and his aboveground helper and whoever was in charge of the tank cleaning would have a fit, so she'd have to sneak into the tank somehow. Even if she managed it this afternoon, she didn't know how she could pull it off tomorrow, but right now she could only worry about today.

Way bumped along a dirt road for half an hour, then turned sharply onto an even worse track. Jounced around the back of the truck, Laurie felt like her bones and teeth were jarring loose. The smell of oil grew denser. The truck groaned up a slope and stopped.

“So here you are, Wayburn, right on time!” boomed Redwine. Laurie cowered under the tarp. It was silly but she somehow felt he could see through it. “That's your tank right over yonder. Your wooden rake and shovel and your broom and mop are already over there and the vents and hatch have been open about an hour to clear out the fumes.”

“Real thoughtful of you, Dub.”

“Oh, I don't want you passing out and dying on me. Not right away. When you clean out that eighty-thousand-barrel tank, there'll be another waiting. Why, I bet you can work off your year right here at this tank farm.”

“See you're on a hill,” said Way. “Before the inspectors got tougher about enforcing the law, I bet you ran your BS right down to that creek.”

“Reckon I still could if I wanted,” chuckled Redwine. “But with the war on, it pays to put the sludge through the refinery—get about eighty percent oil or wax out of it.” He laughed from his great belly. “So you'll be helping the war effort at the same time you clean my tanks, Wayburn. Don't that inspire you?”

“I'll do it.”

“You bet you will and I don't want any excuses about your damned asthma!”

“I came out to work, Dub, not listen to you.” Laurie heard the crunch of shoes moving away.

Redwine's chortle swelled into a jovial bellow. “Enjoy yourself, Wayburn. I'm going over to the refinery for a little bit, but I'll be back to see how you're doing.”

From beneath the tarp, Laurie caught a flash of black as Redwine drove off. Peering out, she saw rows of huge steel tanks with gently sloping domed roofs. The tanks were connected by steel walkways and a wide trench was dug around each one to contain any leak. At the end of the row, another tank was being cleaned. It looked like a car had hauled a big sludge-heaped board up to the opening in the side of the tank and held it there while a truck with a suction hose swooped the board clean.

Nothing like that was in progress at Way's tank, though. Laurie pushed her hair up under Johnny's hat—
Oh God, let him be alive!
—and jumped down from the truck. To any observer, she'd look like a worker. Way was pitching the wooden implements into the tank. Steel or iron tools could strike a fatal spark. Laurie moved up the slope. When she crawled through the opening, she was blinded. The smell of a thousand rotten eggs choked her. Her boot skidded in the sediment that reached to her knees. She caught the side of the opening to steady herself.

“So I'm goin' to get some help?” asked Way. “Welcome to the party. This durn stuff is glued to the bottom. How about hauling the rake through it so I can maybe scoop it up?”

“All right,” Laurie muttered. Keeping her face averted, she took the rake that leaned against the tank wall. Moving as if her life depended on being careful—which it did—she scraped the tines into the thicker sludge at the bottom while Way dredged up spadefuls and tossed them out the hole.

The hole and the vents above let in some light but the vast steel container was as shadowy as it was inside a movie. They worked about ten minutes and then Way began to cough.

“Got—got to get out of here a minute!” he gasped.

Laurie's head was swimming and she felt nauseated. She didn't know whether she was being gassed or not, but she might as well follow Way and make it clear that she was going to work with him. Climbing out of the tank, she almost sprawled in its shade, where Way struggled for breath. That ominous wheezing had already begun.

How in the world could he get through a day of this, much less a year? He couldn't. He'd die. And Redwine would have killed him as surely as if he'd pulled a trigger. But what could she or Marilys do?

“Laurie!”

“Hush, Way.”

Shock or comparatively untainted air seemed to have cleared his lungs. “Are you plumb, pure-dee crazy?”

“You're not going to work at this alone.”

“Well, you're not working at it alone or any other way!”

“If you kick up a fuss, I'll go to Redwine. I—I never told anyone, but he tried to get me to—to go away with him.” She stared at Way and measured out her words. “I'd rather slip in the tank—rather drown in the sludge—than go with him. But I will, so help me, if you won't let me work with you—and keep quiet about it to Marilys.”

“Could be he'd rather watch me clean tanks than—” Way shuddered and gulped. “No, I guess he'd take you if you'd go. After what he did to Marilys, you might be better off dead.”