The Invisible Hand - A crime novel

Chapter 33

                 

It's what I don't see when I pull into the Man Camp that takes me by surprise.

I'm expecting something rough. Broken beer bottles. Bloody noses. Meth tweakers barreling frantic apeshit on each other.

Nope.

Horseshoes. That's what I see. A game of horseshoes. Two makeshift pits sit under a bluish yard light on a tall pole. It's on the edge of the camp. I ease the truck past them.

Looks like a fun time. Four men versus four women. The sight puts me at ease. Can't be that bad here. Sam perks up, too.

Les tells me to stop. Rolls down his window. The drone of diesel generators outside spills into the cab.

"Who's winning?" Les says. Leans his head out the window.

One of the women comes over.

"We are," the woman says. Looks at me and Sam. "Newbies?"

"Yeah. Lost Abe and Tor today. Ran off. But I got even better helpers," Les says. "This here is Wil and Sam."

"Hey," Sam and I say at the same time.

"Nice to meet you," the woman says. "Gotta get back. There's 500 bucks on this game."

Wow. One hell of a horseshoes game they've got going. Guess there really is some money to burn out here.

"Have fun. We'll talk soon," Les says. Turns to me. "Follow the two-track into the camp. Go slow."

I follow the directions. Guide the truck down the two-track path. We crest a hill. Our headlights fall onto the main camp.

Now this is more what I pictured.

The camp is a mix of shit, crap, junk, garbage, trash, litter and campers. Yeah, those words all mean the same thing. But one word won't do when there's so much of it.

No open sewer pits, nothing like that. Just messy. Debris everywhere. If shit weren't assembled into loose rows I'd think it's a dump.

And that's just what we can see in the headlights and lanterns scattered around. There's plenty the light doesn't touch.

"Yeah, it's pretty bad right now," Les says. "Been short of trash pickers for a while."

"They can't pick up after themselves?" I say.

I'm not the most orderly guy in the world. But even I have enough sense to not shit where I eat.

"They actually do. But where do you put it? The wind spreads it around," Les says. "These guys work their asses off on the rigs. They drink, sleep and fuck here. That's it. Trash is the last thing on their minds."

"Don't some of these workers have families with them?" Sam says.

"Just wives and girlfriends. No kids. They're forbidden," Les says. "Kids mean school. School means government people."

I check license plates as we putt along. Texas. Colorado. Georgia. California. Alaska. Manitoba. Ontario. On and on.

Crammed between the campers are piles of gear. Firewood. Portable storage lockers. Tools. ATVs. Gas cans. Space heaters. Air conditioners. Stoves. Propane tanks. Fishing rods. Laundry. Boots. Overalls. Helmets. File cabinets. Coffee pots. Tomato plants. Canvas bags overflowing with soup cans. All balled up in miles of electrical cords.

The campers and vehicles aren't in bad shape. Most look brand new. The workers probably bought them on the way here. It's just all the shit around them. A meteor could hit and no one would know the difference.

We pass row after row. I pay attention to the license plates. Looks like the workers grouped themselves by state.

"So where's all this great stuff you built?" Sam says. "This just looks like squatters."

"It is squatting. Glorified squatting," Les says. Points somewhere into the night. "Built a big bathroom over there. Another one just for showers. The third one is for laundry. Dug two wells to water the camp. All the waste water drains into...well, it goes away. Plus, 24-hour diesel generators provide all the electricity a person could need. It's all included in the rent."

"What about food? You supply that, too?" Sam says.

"A couple RVs got stuck in the mud a while back. I bought 'em both. Converted them into camp stores. Don't have much, but it's got the essentials. Everything from toothpaste to cooking oil," Les says. Sounds proud of himself.

He's right to brag. This is one hell of a set up. Like its own city.

We near the end of the rows. Les tells me to take a left. It looks like we're headed out onto the prairie. Then I see the outline of a small cluster of RVs. It's separate from the main camp.

"Everyone who works directly for me lives here," Les says as we come to a stop.

Not bad. Not bad at all. Much cleaner over here. The campers are more spaced out, too.

We help Les into his wheelchair. He shows us to a big RV. Damn near the size of a city bus.

"This was Abe and Tor's place. Can't say what's inside. They weren't in it much. Should be unlocked. Never lock your door here. It's against the rules," Les says. Nods to the RV. "It's yours now. If those two bastards come crawling back, let me know. There's a shotgun waiting for them."

Les wheels off. Talks with the man and woman from the truck bed. They're half frozen from the ride, but somehow alive.

Sam and I circle the RV. She seems unsure. Like maybe spending a night in an RV with me isn't the best idea.

I pick up on her apprehension.

"Look, you still got that knife, right?" I say. Keep my voice low. Les and the others are busy talking about something else.

"Yeah," Sam says.

"Well I don't have mine," I say. Empty my pockets to prove it. "So I'm not going to touch you."

"So you would if you did?" Sam says.

Good question. Shit. Real good question. Because I'm still not sure how much we trust each other. Guess we're about to find out.

"It wouldn't matter if I had a bazooka. I'm here to make a little money, then see what happens next," I say. "Besides, your penis thing has worked so far."

Sam gives a weak smile.

"Seriously?" she says.

Seriously. That word's still like tinder in my brain.

"Yeah. Seriously," I say.

Sam's smile gets a little wider.

"OK. But we're not playing house. We're partners. Roommates. Whatever you want to call it. Nothing more than that. Got it?" Sam says.

"Got it. I'll even take the couch if it makes you feel better," I say. "Assuming there's a couch in there."

"It would," Sam says.

I open the RV side door. Take a look inside. It's a good thing one of us is armed.

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