The Mine by John A. Heldt Read Free Book Online

familiar environs.
    Joel studied the slow-moving train and more dirty faces as the last ten cars rolled through the meadow. A skinny teenager, clad in overalls and a gray beret, pointed to an apparently unoccupied boxcar behind him.
    Oh, what the hell.
    Joel stepped closer to the tracks and started jogging toward the open car. His jog soon turned into a sprint. He saw a ladder but wasn't sure he could grab it securely. As he followed the train through the stretch, he peered ahead and saw that the shoulder dropped off and that the tracks passed through a narrow opening of blasted rock. Joel's legs began to tire. This was more difficult than it looked. He considered waiting for the next train when a large, scruffy man, sucking on a cigarette, stuck his head through the door. He motioned furiously toward the back of the car.
    "You can make it, kid. Just aim high on the ladder."
    Joel regretted canceling his fitness club membership in March. He looked at the man, the oily, uneven railroad ties, and the jagged rocks ahead. This would be close. With one final burst, Joel sprinted toward the ladder and threw himself at forged steel. Hands, feet, face, and body smashed into unforgiving rungs. Pain shot down his spine. But he managed to hold on and quickly pulled himself out of harm's way.
    "Yeah! Take that, Spiderman!" Joel shouted, not caring who heard him.
    He smiled and glanced toward the boxcar's open door. Scruffy smiled back.
    "Not bad." He pulled the cigarette from his mouth. "Welcome aboard, cowboy."
     

CHAPTER 16
     
    Seattle, Washington – Saturday, May 31, 1941
     
    Grace could not decide what she liked more: the room, the table, or the view. Even from the fifth floor she could see most of the waterfront and Elliott Bay. In the distance, an orange-red sun began to slide behind the snow-capped Olympics.
    Slender white candles, spring flowers, Waterford glasses, and origami napkins on bone china plates sat atop a linen-covered table. Forks outnumbered spoons three to two. A few feet away, a white-jacketed waiter offered a man in a tux and a woman in a silk dress two bowls of lemon sorbet to cleanse their palates. He returned minutes later, to Grace's table, with a couple of menus and a bottle wrapped in cloth.
    "Good evening. My name is Gerard, and I'll be your server tonight." Tall, slender, and burdened with a wire-thin mustache, he spoke with a haughty continental accent that was probably honed in Tacoma and not Toulouse. "Could I interest either of you in a glass of wine? This is our most recent acquisition, a 1921 Bordeaux."
    The waiter addressed both patrons but zeroed in on the one who looked younger than the wine. Grace, suddenly pale, cast Gerard a sheepish glance. She had not expected his question.
    "Madam?"
    "I suppose," she said. "Was 1921 a good year?"
    Gerard let his eyes wander as he kept a firm rein on a tight smile. He looked again at Grace and provided more information.
    "The very best, madam."
    Grace appealed to the man holding her hands.
    "It's your night, baby," he said. "Get what you want."
    "All right, then," she said, cheery again. "I'll have some!"
    "And you, sir?"
    "Make that a double." Paul patted his wallet. "Ah, hell, leave the bottle."
    The waiter poured two glasses, left the bottle, and disappeared. Grace looked over her shoulder and then at Paul.
    "I thought he was going to ask for identification," she whispered, as if sharing a secret. She smiled and took a sip of the sweet red wine. "I wonder why he didn't."
    "It must have been the uniform," Paul said. He straightened the collar of his dress whites, mostly for effect, and grinned. "I'm sure he figured there wasn't a chance in hell a Navy officer would corrupt a minor in a place like this."
    Grace smiled warmly and put her hands on her hips.
    "Your 'minor' is almost a major."
    "Oh, yes. I haven't forgotten."
    "You're not upset, are you?"
    "Upset that your friends get you on your twenty-first birthday? Oh, no. I know how important that stuff