Olivia's Mine Page 9

  “I don’t know where you want to begin,” McMichael said. “I’ll leave that to you. When you’ve got a feel for the situation, come back and I’ll show you the engineering report.”

  “And here our friend Chief Collin said I’d have a hard time doing this investigation without you watching over me constantly,” Rudy commented, sizing up McMichael.

  McMichael looked the sergeant directly in the eye and set him straight.

  “When it comes to the mine, that’s my business. You want to go in there, you need an escort, just like anyone else. You are not an employee. We do tours for the families on holidays if you’re so inclined. You want anything else in there, you’ll need a warrant.”

  “Oh, that’s how it’s going to be, is it?” the sergeant remarked.

  “That’s how it’s going to be. Having said that, anything that happened in the disaster last night, you’ve got free reign on. I’ll make everyone and everything available to you with reasonable notice. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  “I appreciate that,” the sergeant said. “I understand the old police office is still empty. We’ve made arrangements with the provincial government office to take over the lease. I’ll need the keys to it. I gather a set was left here with a caretaker in case of emergency. Perhaps the caretaker can do a quick clean of it. Tomorrow would be fine. Send me the bill of course. For now, I’m going to take a walk through the town, survey the situation and talk to a few people. I think I’ll start with the doctor, like you said. Van den Broek, right? I’ll find him at the hospital I trust? No need to show me the way, I’m sure I can manage.”

  The sergeant paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

  “Oh,” he added, a smirk crossing his face. “You never asked whether anyone else came up with the medical staff and myself. Now that I think about it, I believe there was. I believe a newspaper reporter was on board. Nosy people, reporters. Always snooping around, digging up dirt, and getting paid for it at that. But I don’t have to tell a man like you that, do I Mr. McMichael? You might want to go spend some time with him. Maybe have your man Ferguson show him around? Oh yes, Mr. McMichael, I know all about your Mr. Ferguson.”

  Sergeant Wolanski watched McMichael for any outward reaction, but there was none.

  “This man McMichael, he’s a cool operator,” the lawman thought to himself. “Good-day, McMichael,” he said aloud.

  Sergeant Wolanski began a solitary walk over to the hospital. His initial meeting with McMichael went pretty much like his own boss had told him it would. He wasn’t here to be friends with McMichael, and that was just as well. The mining boss didn’t leave a good first impression upon him. Arrogant, stubborn and full of himself. He had heard all the stories, and wondered how one man could have gained so much power in one tiny little town.

  Once out of sight of the sergeant, McMichael felt the need to loosen his collar. He could see a stranger with a camera making his way up to the mine. Wolanski was right, it was time to go find Les, tell him to let the photographer take a few pictures of the slide, not the operations themselves, and then find a way to get the newsman back on Frenchie’s funeral boat and out of town that night. It was inevitable that the Vancouver newspaper would want some pictures, but McMichael didn’t want them hanging around longer than necessary.

  Meanwhile, back at the house and once out of sight of her boss, Mrs. Schwindt turned on Jimmy once again.

  “Get out, you filthy little foreigner,” she said. “And don’t come back.”

  “But I want to play with Jimmy,” Lara protested. “We were having fun.”

  Jimmy looked at the big, overbearing woman before him.

  “What is wrong with you?” he asked innocently, which only infuriated Mrs. Schwindt more.

  “Get out of here now,” she said, waiving a long bony finger in his face.

  Lara started to cry.

  “Now look what you have done,” she said to Jimmy, grabbing Lara by the hand and taking her inside. Lara turned around to look at the boy. She managed to free her hand from the nanny to wave her fingers in a good-bye motion.

  Jimmy waved back. He stood for a moment outside the home and thought about what had just happened. He couldn’t figure out what he had done wrong, or why the woman didn’t like him very much. Lara liked him. McMichael seemed to like him, and McMichael, he had heard, didn’t seem to like a lot of people. It must just be the old woman, he thought. His mother often said in Japanese to his father, when she thought Jimmy wasn’t listening, that McMichael had a bee up his bum. Jimmy figured that was what made him buzz around yelling at people so much. That must be it. Too many bees in that house.

  Sarah, disappointed that the officer was not immediately coming back inside the office, had decided to go home for some lunch. She hadn’t eaten since the night before and even McMichael couldn’t begrudge her some time to eat. As she glanced up the road, she caught sight of the young male reporter, and her pace quickened. Who was this new man? So absorbed with this thought, she almost ran into Jimmy as he came towards her. But the young boy’s head was hanging down and he seemed troubled, which was quite unlike the friendly little boy she had come to know. She instantly stopped.

  “Is everything okay Jimmy?” she asked.

  He glanced up at the woman. It was Sarah. He liked Sarah. He smiled at her.

  “Yes mam,” he said. “Would you like some tea? It’s herbal.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The disaster of the spring began to be less painful as the months passed. The rains of winter finally let up, and the summer months were warm and dry. The townspeople were moved from what used to be the upper camp, to a safer spot on the sister mountain next to the peak that had cracked. New buildings sprang up where the demolished ones had once been. McMichael had seen to it that temporary dormitories were built first, to house the women and children who had no where to go. The men were housed separately, sometimes sharing a bunk, until the individual homes could be re-built. Neighbours helped out neighbours with gifts of shelter, food and comfort. They finally had a church, that all the denominations shared and a second hospital had been built. It was a steep climb up several hundred stairs from the Beach town, to the upper town, so McMichael tried to make the new upper town as self-sustaining as he could. There was a second school and a second community swimming pool. There was even a second general store that stocked the same goods as the lower Beach store. By autumn, things were getting back to normal for most of the people.

  Christina McMichael walked past the mine entrance on her way to school, pausing to wait for her girlfriend as she did every morning. There was a balmy breeze, and she took off the knitted sweater coat Mrs. Schwindt had insisted she wear.

  The fact that she was a beautiful maturing teenage girl did not pass by unnoticed by the group of men, including Frank, standing out side the mine, preparing to start their shift. They took a little extra time gathering their helmets that morning. Her blonde hair was done up in a pony tail that reached below her shoulders.

  Peter Renister, the new arrival from the city, who was barely out of his teens himself, let out a low whistle.

  “You looking for a honey pot to tend to?” Frank asked. “There’s a whole honey wagon waiting in a secret shaft in the tunnel.”

  “Maybe,” Peter said with bravado.

  “Well, seeing as you’re new and all, I’m going to set you straight. That’s the boss’ oldest daughter,” Frank explained. “She’s just girl, and she’s off limits.”

  “And if you like your job and value your life, you’ll remember that.” Les Ferguson said approaching the crew, his voice eerily threatening.

  Peter’s jaw dropped.

  “Ah, good morning Les,” Frank said. “Working with us today are you?”

  Les glared at Frank. Then he turned and looked at Christina and stared. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “We’ve got another honey pot for you down the shaft, if you’re man enough,” Frank said, attempting to break th
e tension.

  “Oh, I’m man enough,” Peter boasted. “I can do the whole wagon.”

  “John,” Frank called out to the foreman John Cruickshank, “take Peter down to meet the honey pot, and leave him alone with her for a while.”

  “Okay,” John nodded. “Take the diamond drill today Frank. I want you doing some core samples.”

  Peter glanced at Frank and back at Les. Les was still pre-occupied.

  “It’s okay,” Frank assured him, “and John will make sure your time is covered.”

  As John led Peter down into the shaft, Frank and the remaining men broke into laughter.

  “I remember the day you met the honey, Fitzpatrick,” an older man said. “You, a married man and all.”

  The men laughed some more. It had been a time-honoured ritual for the new man in the mine to be lured to the charms of the honey pot, the not so affectionate nickname of the toilet bucket.

  The men reached for the candles to clip onto their helmets, stuffing a few extra ones in their pockets. It gave them the light they needed to work down the dark shafts. About five minutes later, Peter came up the shaft carrying the honey pot as far away from his body as he could. His sense of bravado had vanished.

  “Oh come on Peter, get closer to her,” Frank shouted, causing more laughter.

  The shift whistle blew, interrupting the joviality and finally breaking Les’ concentration on the girl.

  “What are you laughing at?” Ferguson asked. He had been so obsessed with Christina that he was oblivious to the conversation that had gone on around him.

  “Give it a rest Les,” Frank said. “Come on boys, let’s get to work.”

  The men picked up their tools and headed into the mine. Les made no effort to move as again, he stood and watched Christina, assuming all the men had gone into the mine. However Frank had an uneasy feeling about the whole situation and stayed behind. Frank didn’t like the way Les was staring at Christina, who, unaware of all the fuss, was still innocently waiting for her friend.

  “Is there something I can do for you Miss Christina?” Les leered, noticing her young forming breasts from beneath her school issued blouse.

  “No,” Christina said, “my friend’s just a bit late.”

  “Well maybe you can spend some time with your Uncle Les,” he sneered.

  “You know Christina,” Frank said, his voice causing Les to jump out of his skin, “I think maybe your friend might be sick today. You’re going to be late, you should go on off to school. Our whistle has gone off, which gives you about ten minutes to get there.”

  “Okay Mr. Fitzpatrick,” she said, thankful for an excuse to leave.

  “Knock it off Les,” Frank said, and turned back towards the mine.

  “Who do you think you’re talking to?” Les sneered.

  “I think I’m talking to a man who’s way out of line. She’s well more than half your age. I don’t care if she’s the boss' daughter, she’s just a child, and the way you’re looking at her isn’t right.”

  “She’s no child.” Les said. “Peter looked at her. You all looked at her. You can see that she’s no child.”

  “She’s a pretty young thing Les, I’ll grant you that.” Frank said. “But there’s a difference between grown men acknowledging she’s a pretty young thing, making a few good natured comments that she’ll never hear, and what ever is going on in your head. You watch her every day. I’ve seen you. We’ve all seen you. We see you looking at her from behind the shed. We see you following her home. So I’m telling you straight, I don’t care if you’re McMichael’s little henchman or not, if you ever lay a hand on her we’ll find you. I will personally find you and make you pay.”

  “Oh, you think so?” he growled. “You better watch your back Fitzpatrick, you’re a marked man. I’m going to watch you. Any wrong move you make, McMichael is going to know about. You so much as walk home with a drill bit in your pocket, and he’s going to know about it. Your days are numbered here, I promise you that.”

  McMichael came from around the corner.

  “Is there a problem here boys?” he asked.

  “No sir,” Frank said. “Les was just telling me I’d better get my ass down the shaft. I’m a few minutes late sir, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  McMichael looked at Les.

  “Good man Les,” he nodded. “Fitzpatrick, I want to see you end of the day. Come straight to my office. I’m going to hold your cheque, this being payday.”

  McMichael walked off in the direction of his office.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Frank asked Les.

  “One Irishman to another?” Les mocked. “Have a nice life.”

  Frank spent the morning drilling for core samples. The conversation with McMichael had unsettled him, a fact that hadn’t gone unnoticed by John Cruickshank.

  “Something wrong Frankie?” John asked. “You’re not yourself today. The wheels in your head are turning, but the drill’s going pretty slow.”

  Frank told John about having to go to McMichael’s office after work.

  “You’re a good worker Frank, most days. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Tell you what, after lunch, I want you on the widow maker with the new kid, Peter. Teach him how use it. That’ll give you something different to focus on.”

  John was referring to the wood drill that weighed 300 pounds and took two people to move. The machine was loud, and the old timers all became sick after years of use. They developed silicosis, from breathing the tiny, sharp silica shards. Silica is a common component of the earth’s crust, and the fragments were released by the constant drilling. Over the years, miners lungs had been known to become full of scar tissue from the constant cuts, and in some cases, it had proved fatal, hence the name of the drill. Peter turned out to be a good learner, taking direction and keeping an eye for safety. Frank was happy to work with him. His constant questions helped keep Frank’s mind off the meeting he was destined to have later that day. At three o’clock, John came around with the pay cheques and handed them out. All except Frank’s.

  “Sarah must have dropped yours,” John said, offering an excuse to the men who had noticed Frank didn’t get one. “You know how she is. She did that to me a few weeks back. Tell you what, drop by the office and check, then come meet the boys and me down at the tavern for a beer. The beer is on me if she can’t find it.”

  “Thanks John, I’ll do that,” Frank said, and headed over to the mine office, his feet heavy with a sense of dread.

  “He’s waiting for you, go on in,” Sarah said as Frank walked through the mine office door.

  Frank found McMichael standing, waiting for him just as Sarah had said.

  “You wanted to see me?” Frank asked.

  “What the hell was going on out there this morning?”

  “What do you mean?” Frank answered.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Les was just on me to get back to work. The whistle had gone, and I was a bit late like I said.”

  “And…?”

  “And?” Frank replied back.

  McMichael took a calculated walk over to the window and turned his back on Frank.

  Frank wondered what McMichael wanted to know. He couldn’t tell him about the conversation that had taken place without fear of repercussion. McMichael and Ferguson were thick as thieves, and he knew Ferguson would deny everything. Frank hoped by being elusive, McMichael would eventually tire of him or fire him, and be done with it.

  But McMichael continued to say nothing. The silence was gnawing at Frank.

  “Les and I had a bit of an argument, a personal matter, that’s all.”

  “Hmm,” McMichael said, and then more silence.

  “Was Les out of line?” McMichael eventually asked.

  “I thought so, yes.”

  “And did you set him straight?”

  “Well,” Frank began, “that’s not so easy to do. But yes, I had words with him if that’s what you’re asking. L
ook, it’s not going to interfere with my work, if that’s what you want to know.”

  McMichael went to his cabinet and pulled out two glasses.

  “You like rye, Frank?”

  “Yes sir. I’m normally a beer drinker, but yes, I do like rye on occasion.”

  “I think Canadian rye is the best rye there is.”

  “Yes sir,” Frank said.

  McMichael poured two glasses.

  “Sit down,” he said to Frank and motioned to the seat in front of his desk. “I’m making this an occasion.” McMichael took the seat behind.

  “Frank,” McMichael began, “you are aware that Les, from time to time, is called upon to do, let’s say, some extra work for me. He has certain personality traits, including an unscrupulous love of money that makes him the perfect man for the job. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. He has no conscience, which is why he’s so successful at what I call upon him to do. People know he has the authority, my authority, to do these things. And he gets a bonus, to carry out these things that I need done.”

  “Yes sir,” Frank said, sipping the rye. It was smooth, obviously from McMichael’s private stock. He hadn’t had rye straight up in years, but he could imagine acquiring a taste for it.

  “Well, I’d like to offer you a chance to make a little more money.”

  Frank looked nervously at the boss.

  “I don’t know if I’m cut out for that line of work,” he replied. “I’ve got a wife to think about. I don’t think she’d like me being an enforcer.”

  “I didn’t know your wife was your boss,“ McMichael said. “I thought you were your own man.”

  Frank took a drink and swallowed hard. His male ego had just taken a beating. McMichael had seen him flinch and took note for future reference. Frank’s wife might be Frank’s Achilles heel, and that was always something worth knowing.

  “Relax,” McMichael stated. “I don’t want you to muscle in on people Frank, that’s not your style. I want to talk to you about John Cruickshank. He’s going to retire soon. His doctor says he has to. Throat problems. You’ve probably noticed him coughing, wheezing, and basically getting tired really easily. Dr. Van den Broek says he’s got six months, maybe a year to live if he keeps working. So he’s out of here.”