hole in the ground,” Beano said to Steve Bates, sighing loudly to show his disgust.
“Am I boring you, dipshit? ‘Cause if I am, I can arrange to give you a few minutes of memorable action,” Tommy sneered at Beano, who took a quick step back while Steve removed a tool from his belt and started to open the capped hole.
Beano started to mollify Tommy. “Mr. Rina, I’m a geologist… MIT actually, with my doctoral studies at Yale, post-doc at Stanford. I have fifteen years in satellite well production and sand control analysis. I worked my way up to Field Manager. I’m a man who analyzes rock hydrocarbons. I spend hours in the laboratory looking at complex organic molecules.”
“I don’t want your fuckin’ resume,” Tommy interrupted.
“It’s just… you keep threatening me. I’m not a brave man. I don’t pretend to be a hero. I’m interested in this field on a geological level primarily, and yes, if I make some money, that’s wonderful. I’m trying to say to you that I view you as a real asset in this situation, but you keep holding a gun and threatening me like I’m some kind of low-life criminal who’s just on the edge of jumping you. I’m not a physical threat, I’ve never even been in a fight in my entire life. So can we please stop acting like little children?”
Tommy loved to hear weasels weasel, and he smiled at this concert of gutless pleading. He didn’t answer, but a few minutes later, he did tuck the gun back in his pants.
“Okay, got ‘er off,” Steve said, as he pulled the heavy plate back and Tommy looked down the cement-walled, metal-jacketed hole. He took a quarter out of his pocket and held it over the opening and dropped it, waiting for it to hit. Since the hole went down only twenty feet, Beano had to cough loudly at about the right moment to avoid the slight possibility that Tommy would hear the quarter hit.
“We better get outta here,” Beano warned.
“So, you hit oil right here, huh?” Tommy asked, ignoring him.
“That’s right,” Steve Bates said. “Pumped fifteen thousand gallons t’prove out the well. Took it right up outta that little five-inch hole.”
“So, where’s the oil?” Tommy insisted. “You said you can’t leave it on the ground… so you gotta do something with it. Where is it?”
“Over there,” Beano said, pointing to the large, two- story-high, rust-red cistern with the white company letters displayed proudly on the top.
“The fifteen thousand gallons is in there?” Tommy said, squinting at it in the moonlight.
“That’s right. This tank is supposed t’be empty, so nobody even checks it,” Beano said. “We hadda put the oil somewhere. We had the flow meter on her and we fed the spillover into that nine-inch ground pipe and that pumps it into the storage system over in that cistern.”
“Let’s go see,” Tommy said.
“Huh?” Beano replied.
“I wanna go see the oil.”
“The cistern’s sealed, you can’t get inside it.”
“Bullshit. I can get in anywhere I want. Now, let’s go.”
“That tank’s buttoned up airtight. I’m telling you, you can’t get in there,” Beano insisted.
Tommy grabbed Beano by the shirt collar and pulled him up close. “I’m not getting through to you, Doc, and that really pisses me off. How smart can you be if every fucking question I ask, you come back with ‘Huh?’ or T can’t do mat. “Huh?’ isn’t a fucking answer. You got me? I say I wanna go see the fucking oil, you say ‘Follow me,’ or ‘Yes, Mr. Rina.’ Any other answer is gonna get your fucking head punched.” Tommy was spitting the words into Beano’s face and spraying his Coke-bottle glasses.
“I’m just telling you the facts. I don’t see why you insist on this violent presentation of your position.”
“‘Cause I don’t fuckin’ like you,” Tommy explained.
“O-Okay,” Beano said, stuttering slightly. “Okay.”
Tommy finally released him. “Now, are we gonna go get a look at that oil or we gonna stand here jerking off?”
“We’re gonna go get a look at the oil,” Beano said.
They moved back to the car and then over toward the main cistern. A full moon glinted on the fresh paint as they climbed the small ladder to the top of the cistern. Only Wade stayed behind with the car. Once they were on top of the two-story metal container, the entire field could be seen spread out before them in the moonlight. … Acres of rust-red pipes criss-crossed the field, punctuated by three other rust-red cisterns; it was all