The Invisible Hand - A crime novel

Chapter 102

        

The next day at the rig is rough. The machinery is in no mood to work. Neither are the people.

One guy complains of knee problems. I sell him a few pills. Help him get through the day. He leaves cash for me under some gloves.

Thankfully, the water runs out before we can do more drilling. Happens all the time. That means waiting for a water truck. It's always late. Too much demand.

There's not much for the workers, either. I hear there's a shortage of well water. Kind of odd considering there's plenty for private wells.

In a painful, ironic twist, there's too much natural gas. It's burned off right at the rig. Thing is, there's a propane shortage for the grain dryers a mile away. So the farmers use natural gas pumped in from outside the state. Just as bizarre as everything else out here.

They say you can see the glow from the natural gas burn offs from space. I don't doubt it. The nighttime is never black anymore. Now there's a permanent sunset across the horizons. Or sunrise. Depends on your perspective.

The workers bitch about going into town for bottled water. Somehow they always come back with liquor instead.

But not today. Today everyone's thirsty. Crack open jugs of water. Drink up.

I know dehydration when I see it. A few of the workers look rough. The chalky lips. Tired eyes. Slow reflexes. Those aren't things suited for an oil rig.

So it's no surprise when one of them loses a pair of toes.

It starts with a sharp shout on the other side of the rig. We all rush to the worker. Looks like his foot is a cake, and the machinery just cut a slice.

Steel-toed boots, they do that. The plate dents if it's hit hard enough. Can turn the inside of a boot into a knife. Take your toes clean off. Which is what's happening here.

The worker literally walks it off. If he's in pain, he's doing a great job of hiding it. But then I recognize him as the one with the knee problems. Now I know what happened.

"Didn't feel a thing," he says. Turns to me. "Thanks for that."

Never mind the fact I sold him the reason he probably got hurt in the first place.

A couple guys help him off the rig. One of them shoots me a look. Turns the dope in my pocket to lead. I feel it sag against my hip.

Someone yells to take a break off the rig. There'll be a safety inspection. That means naptime. Not much else to do anyway.

I sell a few more pills. Help the workers relax. We spread out in the shadow of the rig to avoid the sun. The fall afternoons still get warm.

I'm asleep a bit when I wake to the soft strums of a guitar. It's coming from the other side of the shade.

And that's when I realize how deep in shit I actually am.

*** 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