It was Nina’s turn to sneer now. “Would’ve been the only good thing he ever did.”
“She looks right like her, Kicker, don’t she?” said some faceless miner. He shut up immediately with one look from Harland.
He addressed Nina with a guarded expression. “Thought yourself too good for the likes of us, eh? Just like your ma.”
Nina started forward like she might slug him. Patrick took her wrist in his hand as she passed. “What choice did she have?”Nina spat at him. “What help did you lend her?”
Nina’s uncle grunted good-naturedly. “We all got our problems, missy. The moment she married Fletcher, she became someone else’s.”
Nina stared furiously at him for several moments. Then she turned to Patrick and said under her breath, “You can’t trust him.”
“Wait a minute,” John interceded, stepping forward. “Perhaps we ought to let the men talk, eh? Temper all this hot blood?”
Patrick took his gun from his coat and checked the barrel. “Say that again for me, Dad.”
His eyes slid to his father, whose hands came up. “All right, Pat,” he said. “You know what I meant.”
But Patrick’s attention was already on Nina’s long-lost uncle. “You’re a foreman, I presume?”
“And you’re trespassin’,” said Harland.
“I’m acquirin’,” Patrick corrected.
“Oh, are ya?” Harland chortled and his men followed—a flock of mockingbirds. “A man here on business, then?”
Patrick nodded once. “Of a sensitive nature.”
Harland shook his head in amusement. “Go on then, give us your pitch. Must be no good if it’s brought you all the way out here.”
Patrick sighed and brought the gun into view. It remained clutched at his side, but the effect was immediate. Harland’s face morphed into something menacing. Two of his men stood.
“Haven’t decided yet if I should bother. The lady here says I can’t trust you.” He watched Harland’s eyes flicker to her. “And she ain’t hardly ever wrong.”
“Don’t even know yet what it is you’re trustin’ me with, do I?” Harland said. “You got a swingin’ dick on you, kid. Pullin’ guns in this parish?” He tsked, pulling a bent cigarette from his pocket and straightening it with his fingers. “Sizin’ me up like I’m some fuckin’ tart.”
Three of his men suddenly produced their own handguns. They pointed them directly at Patrick.
Predictable, Patrick thought. Gas heads were always the predictable sort.
“Why don’t you tell us what’s brought you to old Scurry,” Harland continued. “I’m certain it ain’t the family reunion.”
Patrick felt Nina watching him, silently pleading, and he hoped she understood that this was only a game. Only the flex and jostle of business, nothing more.
“My name is Patrick Colson,” he said. “This is my father, John, chairman of the Miners Union.”
There was a beat of silence, and then a bark of laughter from Harland. He nodded at John. “Don’t seem like it,” he said.
John shrugged. “These old bones ain’t gonna hold out forever,” he said. “Gotta let the young lads take their place.”
Harland shook his head. “Colson, eh?” he said. “Heard about you in the paper.”
“Don’t believe everythin’ you hear,” Patrick said. “Tell your men to put their fuckin’ guns away. Lord knows they ain’t got a single bullet between ’em.”
The men balked, confirming his suspicions. They looked to Harland for instruction.
A deadly smile slid onto their foreman’s face. “Put ’em down, then,” he said, and the guns lowered. “You ain’t daft, boy. I’ll give you that.”
“Are you men sworn to the good cause?” Patrick asked.
