The Invisible Hand - A crime novel

Chapter 85

        

I park Taw's truck in plain view near to the smoldering RV. Make sure everyone knows who I am. The other vehicles park as far from the wreck as possible.

The workers get the point. No one says anything. I find the pressure washer. Get back to washing the endless tide of mud off the rig.

Taw's replacement is already working. I ignore him. He returns the favor. Looks the other way when I slip a baggie to a couple workers.

The rig is silent otherwise.

I wonder how Sam is holding up. She's by herself back at the Man Camp. Sleeping off yesterday.

Wish I was, too. Despite the exhaustion, I couldn't keep my eyes shut last night. Waited up with the revolver while Sam slept. Kept thinking someone would come through the door.

No one ever did. Never could cure myself of the anticipation, though. So I stayed up. Feel worse today than yesterday by a mile.

A worker hollers to me for help. By name. Doesn't call me "worm."

He needs me to unload a few pallets. Each one sports stacks of bags piled 10 high. Feel like they weigh as much as me.

"Cut open the bags. Dump them in there," the worker says over the blistering machinery.

"In there" is what looks like a cement mixer. I ask what's in the bags.

"It gets combined with the frac sand and the water," the worker says. "We pump it underground. Then we pump it back up."

"Yeah, I know that. But what is this stuff in the bag?" I say.

"It's a chemical. It holds open the fractures so we can get the oil out," the worker says.

"What kind of chemical?" I say.

I'm not sure why I'm curious. Maybe want to get my mind off yesterday.

"Who gives a shit? These pallets aren't going to unload themselves," he says.

Can't argue with that.

I cut a bag open. Hoist it up to my chest. A fine powder peppers the air as I dump it into the mixer.

I breathe deep and go for the next bag. Whatever is in there can't be worse than what's in my pocket.

The worker agrees. Buys dope off me when we're through. Looks like he needs it. I watch him come back to life.

"Thanks, man. I needed an energy shot," he says.

That term, they keep using it. Makes meth sound nicer. Reasonable. Maybe even to me.

I head back to the pressure washer. Palm the wag of bagged up dope in my pocket. I couldn't be more tired. And it's not like anyone has a digital scale out here. No one would notice a quick bump missing from a bag.

I walk past the pressure washer. Keep going to the truck. Make sure no one is watching.

I spill a bit of powder onto the hood of the truck. The crystals wink at me in the light of the morning sun.

I'm too tired to think twice. Shape the meth into a tiny line. Lean down.

But the prairie wind doesn't ever get tired. A well-placed gust puffs the dope away. Like an invisible hand wiped the hood clean.

I look at the rig. Think about those bags. The dope in my pocket. The cash and revolver in my other pocket. Sam back at the RV. Les and the Man Camp. The people I killed yesterday. The oil boom. The unrelenting prairie wind.

I rub my eyes. Head back to the rig. Only 10 more hours before I can see Sam again. 

*** PLEASE SUPPORT MY WRITING! ***

This story will only be posted on Wattpad for a limited time. If you'd like the full version, head to your favorite online e-book/book retailer and pick up your own digital/print copy. Search for "Invisible Hand Sobieck." Or leave a review of the book on Amazon once you're finished reading on Wattpad. Thank you. ~Ben