Free The Mine by John A. Heldt
Authors: John A. Heldt
man. He was still a little shaky but alert and on his feet.
"Here. Take this. You're a mess."
"Thanks."
The man wiped his mouth, ran a finger along his lower lip, and tucked in his blue button-down shirt. Blood had dripped on the collar and a pocket.
"No. Thank the next guy to use the toilet in there. I took all they had."
"That's funny." The wounded warrior dabbed a corner of his mouth. "I meant thanks for running those guys off. I didn't think they were going to get rough."
"Don't mention it. Besides, I didn't have a choice," Joel said. He smiled. "You guys interrupted my beauty sleep."
"Well, thanks anyway. I'm Tom Carter, by the way."
"Joel Smith."
The two shook hands, drifted over to the cement steps of the law office, and sat down. Before either could say a word, four talkative men exited the Mad Dog and walked across the street. One stared at Joel and shouted "Where's the party, cowboy?" before joining the others in a 1939 Packard sedan parked in front of the bookstore. They spun away from the curb, leaving the block peaceful once again.
Tom cocked his head and peered out of a puffy eye.
"I like your duds."
"You and half the planet," Joel said. He stood up, walked into the street to pick up the garbage can lid, and placed it atop the can before returning to the steps. "So what was this all about? Did you lose a bet?"
"Two, actually."
They both laughed.
"I would have paid them off too," Tom said. "I never welsh on bets – never. But I won't have the cash until later this week."
Joel studied his new acquaintance. Two inches shorter and a few pounds heavier, he was a nice-looking guy with a baby face, strong jaw, and short, light-brown hair that was parted to the side. Unlike the thugs he chased away, he also sounded educated.
"Are you a student?"
"I am, though not for much longer. I graduate in two weeks. I came out here to shoot some pool and clear my head. I studied non-stop all weekend. But it's back to the grind tomorrow." Tom brushed off his pants and looked up. "How about you?"
The question caught Joel off guard. Many people had commented about his attire, but no one had asked who he was or where he came from. The truth would not cut it. Though he looked, and probably smelled, like a wild man from Borneo, he needed a story that was a bit more credible.
"No. I just got off the train from Montana. I came here looking for work."
Tom squinted his eyes and stared at the man who had saved him from a savage beating. He wore a stained sweatshirt, a scraggly beard, and the aroma of unwashed skin.
"You didn't hop a train, did you?"
"I did."
Both laughed.
"That explains a lot. When was the last time you had a bath?"
Does a sponge bath in Spokane count?
"It's been a while. Is it that bad? I lost my sense of smell yesterday."
"You're a riot. You remind me of my girlfriend." Tom tucked the bathroom tissue in a pocket and then turned toward his friend. "Say, guy, do you have a place to stay?"
Joel pointed to the bench in front of the Mad Dog.
"My castle."
"I figured as much." Tom smiled. He put an arm over Joel's shoulder and led him back up the Ave. "Let's do something about that."
CHAPTER 21
"So you're the young man who occupied my trailer last night."
"I am."
Joel stepped forward and shook the hand of a barrel-chested bulldog of a man in the well-furnished living room of his university district home.
"Mel Carter."
"Joel Smith."
"Well, have a seat, Mr. Smith. We have a lot to talk about."
Joel walked around a walnut coffee table and sat down on the middle cushion of a plush silk brocade couch. On the other side of the room, Mel and Tom Carter, father and son, sat in matching upholstered recliners. A mahogany console radio stood between them.
"I'll be straight with you, Joel. It's not every day we take in a stray off the streets and welcome him into our home. I'm still trying to make sense of all this, and I'm not sure I like it." Mel put his hands together and leaned forward. "But
"Here. Take this. You're a mess."
"Thanks."
The man wiped his mouth, ran a finger along his lower lip, and tucked in his blue button-down shirt. Blood had dripped on the collar and a pocket.
"No. Thank the next guy to use the toilet in there. I took all they had."
"That's funny." The wounded warrior dabbed a corner of his mouth. "I meant thanks for running those guys off. I didn't think they were going to get rough."
"Don't mention it. Besides, I didn't have a choice," Joel said. He smiled. "You guys interrupted my beauty sleep."
"Well, thanks anyway. I'm Tom Carter, by the way."
"Joel Smith."
The two shook hands, drifted over to the cement steps of the law office, and sat down. Before either could say a word, four talkative men exited the Mad Dog and walked across the street. One stared at Joel and shouted "Where's the party, cowboy?" before joining the others in a 1939 Packard sedan parked in front of the bookstore. They spun away from the curb, leaving the block peaceful once again.
Tom cocked his head and peered out of a puffy eye.
"I like your duds."
"You and half the planet," Joel said. He stood up, walked into the street to pick up the garbage can lid, and placed it atop the can before returning to the steps. "So what was this all about? Did you lose a bet?"
"Two, actually."
They both laughed.
"I would have paid them off too," Tom said. "I never welsh on bets – never. But I won't have the cash until later this week."
Joel studied his new acquaintance. Two inches shorter and a few pounds heavier, he was a nice-looking guy with a baby face, strong jaw, and short, light-brown hair that was parted to the side. Unlike the thugs he chased away, he also sounded educated.
"Are you a student?"
"I am, though not for much longer. I graduate in two weeks. I came out here to shoot some pool and clear my head. I studied non-stop all weekend. But it's back to the grind tomorrow." Tom brushed off his pants and looked up. "How about you?"
The question caught Joel off guard. Many people had commented about his attire, but no one had asked who he was or where he came from. The truth would not cut it. Though he looked, and probably smelled, like a wild man from Borneo, he needed a story that was a bit more credible.
"No. I just got off the train from Montana. I came here looking for work."
Tom squinted his eyes and stared at the man who had saved him from a savage beating. He wore a stained sweatshirt, a scraggly beard, and the aroma of unwashed skin.
"You didn't hop a train, did you?"
"I did."
Both laughed.
"That explains a lot. When was the last time you had a bath?"
Does a sponge bath in Spokane count?
"It's been a while. Is it that bad? I lost my sense of smell yesterday."
"You're a riot. You remind me of my girlfriend." Tom tucked the bathroom tissue in a pocket and then turned toward his friend. "Say, guy, do you have a place to stay?"
Joel pointed to the bench in front of the Mad Dog.
"My castle."
"I figured as much." Tom smiled. He put an arm over Joel's shoulder and led him back up the Ave. "Let's do something about that."
CHAPTER 21
"So you're the young man who occupied my trailer last night."
"I am."
Joel stepped forward and shook the hand of a barrel-chested bulldog of a man in the well-furnished living room of his university district home.
"Mel Carter."
"Joel Smith."
"Well, have a seat, Mr. Smith. We have a lot to talk about."
Joel walked around a walnut coffee table and sat down on the middle cushion of a plush silk brocade couch. On the other side of the room, Mel and Tom Carter, father and son, sat in matching upholstered recliners. A mahogany console radio stood between them.
"I'll be straight with you, Joel. It's not every day we take in a stray off the streets and welcome him into our home. I'm still trying to make sense of all this, and I'm not sure I like it." Mel put his hands together and leaned forward. "But