The Hand of Mercy (A Porter Brown Journey) (14 page)

Chapter 14

Fire

April
2012

Holland
’s marijuana mine had been fully operational for the last two months and his Zeta colleagues were quite pleased with the growth of their product.  “Sam, I’m thirty minutes from the mine,” Holland said to his operation’s chief.  “When I get there I need you to show me what product we can get out and when.” 

“Yes
, sir,” answered Sam.  “But I can tell you now that we will have six tons ready to go in the next four weeks.”

“Six
tons!  What are you feeding those plants?” Holland asked gleefully.  “Weren’t we only expecting three?”

“Yes
, sir, we were,” answered Sam, “but that Zeta chemist they sent up here knows how to grow his herb.  It’s growing like a...”

“A weed?” Holland chuckled at the pun. 
“If we keep that growth rate up, then we’ll have more weed in the market than the next four cartels combined.  And if our bud is the quality I think it is, we’ll own the market’s highest rate.  Did you say four weeks to get it out of the mine and onto the streets?”

“
I did.  All I need are the trucks,” said Sam.

“Perfect
,” uttered Holland.  “I’ll send the transport there for pickup at 5:00 a.m. on May 1st.  Is that going to be a problem?”

“
We’ll be ready for you,” Sam assured his boss.  Then in a rushed tone he said, “Hold on, sir.”

After
60 seconds of waiting, Holland hung up the line.  Two minutes later his phone rang.  “Sir!” snapped Sam in a frantic tone.  “The mine’s on fire!  We’re all running for the exits!  The smoke’s filling the main chamber and none of the sprinklers are working!”

“What do you mean it’s all on fire?” Holland screamed into the phone.  “
What about the pot?” Holland knew what ‘all’ meant but he was desperate to not acknowledge it.

“It’s going up in flames
,” coughed Sam, out of breath from his sprinting. 

“That’s not fucking possible
!  There’s nothing flammable in there.  Have you been letting those hillbillies smoke in there?” Holland spat.

“
Now wait a minute!” shouted Sam, seething from the condescension a fellow Mountaineer just hurled at him but still fearful enough of Holland's reputation to not say more.  “We inspect everyone before they come in for weapons, cameras, or anything flammable.  We strip ‘em all the way down to bare ass naked.  Everyone, every shift, every day, no exceptions!” he said emphatically.

“Then how the hell
is it on fire?” Holland exploded into the phone again.  “Wait, are you sure?”

“I’m not
,” Sam answered.  “Greenplants take a lot to burn, but it seems like it.  But if they're not, they will be soon.  It looks like the whole mine is going up in…” Sam's phone went silent.

“Hello?  Hello?
Hello?” Holland yelled to no response.  He knew a dead line most likely meant a dead Sam.

Holland’s phone rang again and he immediately answered
, “Sam? Sam?”  A few second's pause, and again Holland desperately asked, “Sam?”

“No
,” was the calm and relaxed voice on the other end.  “Having a little trouble with your operation?”

Holland
knew the voice, but could not immediately place it.  Pausing to control his rage he asked, “Who is this?”

“Come on
, Holland.  You’re the Honorable Attorney General of the great state of West Virginia.  You know who this is.”

“Porter
,” Holland growled.

“See, I told you you
knew me,” Porter said.  “So is it all gone?”

“Probably
.  I just lost contact with my foreman.”  Holland snorted, “Why the hell am I telling you this?”

“Good question
,” answered Porter.  “I think your better question is how your operation was so easily breached?”

“
That mine is impenetrable,” retorted Holland.

“I
s it?” asked Porter.  “If that’s true, then why am I calling you, and how do I know your green plants are on fire?  My guess, and it’s certainly just a guess," Porter added in a mocking tone, "is that the walls and most of the interior plants got sprayed with kerosene without your men’s detection.”

“Bul
lshit!” Holland said defiantly as he mashed the end call button.  "Paul," Holland yelled to his driver, "Turn around now.  I've gotta get to the office as fast as you can get me there."

*****

Holland spent the drive from the flame-engulfed mine to Charleston in total silence.  His mind battled rage and panic as the tree dotted hills outside his window were just blurred images.  “The whole fucking mine is gone!” he shouted into the phone.  “And I’m sure some of the workers died in the flames.  If the families link me to the operation, I’m running to Mexico, and you’ll open your doors to me without question!” Holland ordered. 

“
Señor,” said the voice on the other end of the line, “I will certainly assist you in any way that I can, but you are not in a position to command me to do anything.  You will please remember who contacted whom to establish our business arrangement.  At this point, that is all this is.  You set up the mine.  I provided the expertise and product…and then you fucked up.” 

“The hell I did!” shouted Holland.  “We had all the precautions in place.  There was no way anyone was infiltrating that mine.” 

“And yet they did,” interrupted Holland’s business partner. 

“Listen, I only knew Sam the foreman,” came Holland’s somewhat apologetic response.  “And he vetted everyone before they were hired.  And he made them all swear an oath of secrecy.” 

“Mr. Holland,” began the cartel leader, “it has been my experience that when you hire the inbred dregs of society, there is no secrecy.  They want to tell their spouse and friends from where their new found wealth comes.  You can never keep it secret.  Therefore, you must intimidate with the death and torture of their families, or it never is a workable arrangement.” 

“The only soul I care to torture," started Holland, "is the one responsible for the destruction of our mine…Porter Brown.  I just got off the phone with him and confirmed that he is the one who, in collaboration with some of those idiots, sprayed kerosene all over the interior walls.”

“So you do know that some of the local workers were involved?” asked the Mexican. 

“Well, not exactly," answered Holland, "but there is no way he could have done that without assistance from the inside."

“Let us hope they all died in the blazes,” said the cartel leader.  “Anyone who made it out must die.  There can be no loose ends with this.  You may make up whatever story you like.  But no one whoever stepped foot in that mine, or had any knowledge of its true function can be allowed to live.  That includes your racist friends.”

"I’ll take care of it,” said Holland obediently.

*****

Forty five minutes later, Holland was back in the safe confines of Room 26-E of Capitol Building 1 searching the records for the names of the mine employees.  Bursting into his front office was Meredith Schrader, his administrative assistant.  “Boss,
” she exclaimed, “there's a massive fire in Raleigh County.  Raleigh FD says one of the old abandoned mines is the source and now the flames have escaped the mine and spread into the hills.  And they’re not able to contain it because of the winds.” 

Holland’s face felt the heat of the flames.  “Is it spreading to Beckley?” 

“No. It’s going the other direction,” answered Meredith.  “But there are about a hundred homes in its path they can’t get to because the fire has blocked the roads.  They think there are going to be some real casualties because it's moving so fast and those residents don’t have any way to escape but through the blocked roads.” 

Holland went into action immediately.  “Ok, get the National Guard and all the Reservists in that area up right now.  And keep the news choppers out of that air space.  I’m not letting the national broadcasts show poor hillbillies trapped in the middle of the flames like animals.” 

“But, sir,” started Meredith, “how do I make those calls?  Only the governor’s office can make that decision.”  Holland did not hear her question as his ear was pinned to his mobile phone. 

“Craig,” said Holland addressing the Governor’s chief of staff, Craig Bullock, “Get the Guard and the Reservists to the fire in Raleigh cou
nty right now.”  As he heard Bullock's response, Holland lost control.  “I don’t care what the protocol is Craig!  We’re about to have 300 charred corpses all over CNN!” he yelled.  “Get the Governor to call them up, or I will make the call myself!”  Holland ended his call by throwing his phone across the room. 

*****

Holland dialed Ron Allison to mobilize the Klan and to discuss more options for handling the fire.  “What have you heard?" he asked.

“Nothing except that there are about 400 people trapped in the hills down there
,” said Ron.

“Now it's 400?  How did you hear this?” barked Holland. 

“It’s all over Fox News,” answered Ron. 

“Is there any video of it?” 

“Not now.  Just reports that there are a lot of people trapped.  They keep saying they are trying to get live footage, but because of the winds, no aerial footage is available.” 

“Good,” said Holland.  “We don’t need this to be a national event.  What I need your boys to do is to rally all the able-bodied members down there and offer whatever assistance the Guard or Reservists need.  The locals know the area better than those who will be coming in.  Plus, they are already there and the Guard won’t be until the morning at the earliest.” 

“I’m on it Jim,” said Ron.

"
Paul will pick up you, Bill, and Chandler, and take you down there to make sure it gets done right," ordered Holland.

"No need," Jim protested.  "I
can handle it."

"We don't have any idea how many hands are going to be needed on this.  So, this is not a request," demanded Holland
as he made his way to the rear of the Capitol complex.  "Get a hold of Bill and Chandler and all of you get to that fire within the next two hours.  The members need to see their leaders are actually leading.  Understood?"

"Understood," replied Ron
.

H
olland hung up and found Paul in the driver's seat listening to Fly Golden Eagle.  "Go get Ron Allison at his house.  Then pick up Chandler Gibson and Bill Cockrell and take them to the fire.  They're going to supervise the boys down there as they help out the Guard.  But," Holland paused to communicate clearly, "When they get to the fire, they are going to have a terrible accident.  It's likely that their bodies will be charred beyond recognition."

Paul
returned the intense eye contact of his boss as he responded,  "Shit happens."

W
atching Paul drive away, Holland dialed the Zeta boss as he walked to his office.  “Would you have any interest in another daughter of Don Mario?” 

“The question need not even be asked,” replied the Zeta.  “Shall we repeat our arrangement from the last time?” 

“Certainly not,” answered Holland.  “Renata was pricey because of her innocence and because you wanted to hurt Mario.  This time, the need to injure belongs to me.  I want Porter Brown to suffer.  Therefore, Paloma will cost you nothing.  Consider it my attempt at repairing the damage I have caused by allowing the mine to be destroyed.  Having Porter know the only woman he loves is in your forced employment, having all sorts of unspeakable things being done to her, will be payment enough.” 

“Do you have her now?” asked the Zeta.

“No, but I will send several of my best men to acquire her.”

The Zeta laughed, “Then you have nothing to offer me.  Do you not think both Mario and Porter will have presumed that taking Paloma would be one of your primary
retaliation tactics?  Of course you know they have.  Mr. Holland, you are allowing your hatred to cloud your judgment.  I suggest you make no plans until your head is clear.  As you Americans like to say, sleep on it.” 

Holland’s rage would not allow him to accept the wisdom of his Mexican partner.  “I will not sleep on it!” he barked.  “I will bury that little fucker and all those he holds dear.  And I will do it now!” 

“Mr. Holland,” began the Zeta, “character is revealed during times of stress, and what is being revealed...” 

“Oh, fuck your philosophical bullshit, you greasy wetback!” Holland interrupted.  “I don’t need a lesson on character building from a third world shit who produces dirt weed and hacks his competitors into
puzzle pieces!”  The pause was indeterminably long as Holland knew he had said too much. 

“Mr. Holland,” began the Zeta, “I may be a greasy wetback...”

“No, listen,” said Holland in a panic.  “I was just pissed,” but his protest was overridden by the Zeta.

“You will listen only!” said the Zeta in a stern and commanding voice.  “I may be a greasy wetback, but I understand the needs and demands of our world better than most.  That is why I have billions.  I also understand when it is time to terminate a relationship.”