Ka-chung.
He lit a smoke and reflected that he’d basically given his whole life to RMM. He’d worked for them the past twenty-two years, straight out of what was known as West Texas State University back then, as a young geological engineer. He’d shuttled his family around to dusty hellholes more times than he could recall. Living in excuses for towns that barely had a Dairy Queen; at various makeshift communities in the Bakken up in North Dakota and the Powder Ridge Basin in Wyoming. Over the years, he’d gotten his hands so black from soot and oil he doubted he could ever clean them again. There was more oil in his veins, he always joked, than blood cells. He had started out on the clock, then salaried, then earned a few bonuses, which allowed him to buy a house in Midland for the first time in his life. And now with this merger he finally had enough vested in options and stock to make what even a happy wildcatter would call a killing. It was his wells that were delivering the cash flow to make it all happen. His babies, in the Wattenberg field. And now he saw it all slipping away. Because of some stupid kid on a river, and a farmer that had no sense. And no one was going to take that away from him. He’d earned it, every godforsaken penny. He flicked away an ash and looked at his rough hands. He’d given too much.
He wasn’t naturally a man with an urge for violence. Not like these Alpha boys. They’d do anything to get the messy work done. That’s what he paid them for. He went to church Sundays; sat in the stands Friday night cheering on his girls in soccer or his boy Blaine in football. Twenty-two years, he never hit his wife once, or even raised his voice in anger at her.
Yet here he was.
He could have stopped this all a long time ago, he reckoned, but he’d turned his head away at just the time he should’ve looked straight, and had trust in the people who knew how to handle this sort of thing.
Maybe too much trust.
Water—Moss knew they could have trucked it in from any of a hundred different sources. Not as profitably perhaps, or as quickly, and that was part of what made the numbers look so sweet. They’d invested millions in that recycling plant. Bought off the fucking town. And no bunch of farmers in overalls and cowboy hats was going to take that away from him now.
It was too late anyway.
He heard the sound of the car coming up first, tires grinding over loose dirt and gravel. The dark blue Audi, winding up the narrow road through the chain link fence, came into view. Moss took a last drag. The car came around to a stop, kicking up dust, its sides grimy. Randy McKay stepped out. In a plaid shirt and khakis, he looked like any old guy who might be filling up at the next pump or in the checkout line at Kroger.
“There used to be a joke,” McKay said as he came up to him, “one wildcatter saying to the other, ‘Let’s go somewhere quiet we can talk and not be disturbed. How about one of your well sites?’”
“Trixie’s given it up with the best of them. Now don’t go raggin’ on her. See this …?” Moss took out the new class-action suit that had been delivered to him today.
Lifting his shades, McKay unfolded it and looked it over. He scanned the first couple of pages and shook his head and sighed. “Thought we had this all put to bed.”
Moss took a drag and blew it out. “It’s not just the suit. The suit we could settle in a day, if we’d wanted. Hell, it was all just a matter of money anyway. Just didn’t seem right to have this kind of thing lingering in the face of a merger. But it’s no longer just the suit, is it now?”
“No.” McKay shook his head. “It’s not.”
“It’s about saving our damn hides. I heard from the grapevine this sonovabitch Hauck went to visit the state’s attorney today in Greeley. He told them about what happened at the Falls. Littlejohn says if the girl comes forward with this, his hands’ll be tied. Our fingerprints are all over this mess, Randy. It’s all there in black and white.”
McKay handed him back the suit. “I know.”
“This could sink the merger, if it comes out. Hell, this could sink the whole damn company. It’s time to end it. Both of them—him and the girl. And this time, make sure the job gets done right.”
The Alpha man nodded. “I know what you need me to do.”
“I hope you do.” Moss glared at him with sagging but unmistakable eyes. “Tonight. Before she goes to the DA. Before she goes on record with what she knows. They talk, and it doesn’t matter how much oil we pump out of the damn ground. We’re both gone.”
McKay nodded. He put down his aviators and headed toward his car. “I’ll be in touch.”
“By the way,” Moss called. “We’re closing Trixie up for good tomorrow. Lots of concrete being pumped down. Tons and tons of it. I suspect, no one’ll know if something was buried in there for a thousand years.”
“Thanks for letting me know.” McKay started the Audi up, and drove away without a wave.
Moss looked back at the well. Ka-chung. Ka-chung. Goddamn water, he spat on the dry soil. He flicked his butt to the ground and stamped it out with his shoe. Two-thirds of the planet’s covered in it, and this is the one godforsaken place we bid it up a hundred times what it’s worth.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX