Black Gold in North Dakota (Cooper Smith Book 2) Read online

  “I’m glad you made it in safely. What’s the latest you’ve heard on Gabby?”

  “Not much. I plan to call her grandfather soon to see how I can help, and then make my way up there as quickly as I can. What have you heard?”

  Cooper filled Soojin in on the latest from Fletcher about the stolen vehicle at the airport in Dickinson, and the bulletin out on the car.

  “You might be better off staying down there or getting to Dickinson to see if you can get any more answers,” said Cooper.

  “What’s your plan?”

  Just then Cooper heard a low rumble outside. He stretched the phone cord down the hallway and peaked out the kitchen window. Fletcher had the snowcat running and it was sitting in the middle of his backyard.

  “I’m going to go out and see if I can interview some people. I’ll be on email later today and will let you know what I find out.”

  “Okay. Be careful, and don’t end up in jail again.”

  “I’ll try my best.”

  ◆◆◆

  It had been a few years since Cooper had driven a snowmobile, but for someone from Minnesota, it was like riding a bike. Cooper raced the snowcat across an open field. The snow was fresh and deep, and the machine handled well.

  The man camp wasn’t far, just north of Williston on Highway 2. Following Fletcher’s directions, Cooper quickly found a main road that would lead him straight to it. There was no traffic, save for a snowplow making its way toward him from the opposite side of the road. Oil drills lined the road on either side. Most of the drilling platforms were miraculously plowed out already, the drills gyrating into the earth. Gas flares burned off the excess flammable material, and the flames created a mirage effect as they shimmered over the white blanket of snow.

  A large sign with the picture of his beloved Paul Bunyan stood at the outer edge of the man camp. Cooper stopped his snowcat and lifted the visor on his helmet for a closer look. Instead of holding his customary double-bladed axe, Paul was holding an oil drill with one hand and giving a thumbs-up with the other as he flashed a cheesy smile.

  Come on, North Dakota, Cooper thought. Stealing our iconic folklore legend is a bit of a low blow.

  Next to the picture of Paul Bunyan read the words:

  Paul Bunyan’s Band of Oilmen: Lodging for the Working Man

  Rates from $100 a night

  Best Amenities and Food in Town

  Cooper flipped his visor back down and rode into the camp. As he entered, he saw a sign pointing in three directions—RV and truck parking to the left, dormitory spaces to the right, and the main lobby and cafeteria straight ahead. Cooper thought about visiting the cafeteria first so he could talk to several people at once, but it was still early and the building looked dark. Cooper turned left. He rounded a huge snow mound left by a snowplow, then turned down a line of RVs. The RVs were stacked closely together, with snow filling the space between them.

  A few pickup trucks were intermingled with the RVs, and one caught Cooper’s eye. The truck was still covered in snow, but a bright red light glowed from the dash. Cooper made his way over to it. When he neared the truck he could see the light was coming from a space heater. Cooper turned off the snowcat and took off his helmet. He walked up to the truck and saw the space heater was pointed at a man who was reclined in the passenger side front seat. Music blared from the man’s radio as Cooper walked up to the window and tapped against it lightly with his glove.

  The man casually turned and cracked the door open. “Whaddya need?”

  “Can we chat quick? I have a couple questions for you.”

  “Sure.” The man nodded toward the driver’s side seat. Cooper walked around to the driver’s side door and slid in.

  “Hey, I’m Cooper.”

  “I’m Sawyer. Nice to meet you.”

  The men shook hands with their gloves on. Sawyer wore a red and black winter bomber hat with built-in flaps to keep the beard and chin warm. He had buttoned the flaps on top of his head. It was difficult to tell his size as his outfit resembled Randy’s triple-layer snowsuit in the A Christmas Story movie. He looked to be in his thirties, with a scruffy beard and grease on his face and neck. After they shook hands the two men turned to sit shoulder-to-shoulder as they looked outside the front window.

  “You live in this truck?” asked Cooper.

  “Yeah. It’s not much but it’s cheaper than getting a room in the dorms. That means more cash for my family back home.”

  “Would you like a smoke?” Cooper took off his glove and handed his box of cigarettes to Sawyer, one already poking out the top.

  “Sure, thanks.” Sawyer took it out and Cooper handed him a lighter. Sawyer lit it and took a long pull, then handed the lighter back to Cooper.

  “You mind if I join you?” asked Cooper.

  “Go right ahead.”

  “You want me to crack my window?”

  “Nah, just let it linger—it’ll be warmer that way,” said Sawyer.

  Cooper took a long inhale, and then blew the smoke out of the corner of his mouth away from Sawyer. “So, where’s home?”

  “Are you like a reporter, or what?” Sawyer turned to look Cooper over.

  Cooper turned in kind. “Sorry. Yes, I’m a reporter with Minnesota Public Radio. I actually have a few questions about a couple guys that live in this camp.”

  “I thought you were a reporter. I’ve talked to a few, you know. Even a reporter from the New York bloody-Times. You think I’d ever be talking to a New York Times reporter down in Alabama?”

  “So, you’re from Alabama. How long have you been up here?”

  “Three years now. Three long, hard, and incredibly lonely years. Truth is, I’ll talk to any reporter who stops by, just for some company. I see my family once a year, usually around Christmas. This year I had to cancel because things look like they may slow up a bit in 2015. I have to get while the gettin’s good. You know what I mean?”

  “What family did you leave behind back home?”

  “My wife, and our two children. The kids are in school now, so I’m not missed too much. I’d like to get back down there though once I can get enough money.”

  “How much is enough?”

  “I have a lot of debt. Too much. I made a lot of bad investments back in 2006. Times were good then. When the economy went belly-up in 2008 I ran up so much debt I couldn’t even pay my rent. This—” Sawyer raised his hands outward as if spanning them across the Bakken. “This oil has given me a chance to get back to even.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, how much can you make in a month?”

  “Good months we’ll rake in around six to seven thousand dollars. I send most of the money home. If I didn’t, I’d spend it all on booze and gambling like some of the other guys.”

  “Where do you shower?”

  “Well, I usually shower here in the camp, but the showers are disgusting. I mean they’re absolutely filthy.” Sawyer wrinkled his nose. “So, sometimes I head down to the rec center, because their showers are much hotter and cleaner.”

  Cooper motioned toward the dorms. “What’s it like in there?”

  Sawyer shrugged. “There is a huge cafeteria in there, lined with video games and televisions. They should be opening for breakfast soon, so you can take a look around and order some flapjacks and bacon if you’re hungry. I go in there sometimes when I’m bored. There are long hallways with bare white walls, and huge numbers hanging down from the ceiling so the guests know what wing they are in. The rooms are tiny, about half the size of a normal college dorm room.

  “And you wouldn’t believe what they charge,” Sawyer continued. “It’s three to four thousand a month, depending on demand. For that much, what’s the point of even being up here?”

  Cooper blinked in surprise. Fletcher’s Airbnb basement room was suddenly looking pretty affordable.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about a couple of the men from this camp?” Cooper said, changing the subject.


  “Sure, who are you interested in?”

  Cooper instinctively reached for his coat pocket to grab a pen and small notepad, then stopped himself. He thought it would be better to try to get a general feel for things before he went into full-on reporter mode. “A couple of guys named Nash and Doyle. I don’t know if you heard, but they’re suspects in the kidnapping of a city councilwoman this past weekend.”

  Sawyer nodded. “I did hear about that. It’s been the talk of the camp.”

  “Did you know either of them?”

  “Not personally, although I’ve seen them around a little. Your best bet is to talk to Marshall in the RV next door. He’s a pretty cool dude from Texas. He even lets me come over and watch my Alabama Roll Tide football team on his DirecTV sometimes.”

  “Thanks for the tip. You want me to get you anything? It can’t be fun to be confined in a truck all the time.”

  “Nah, I’m good. It’s definitely not fun, but it could be worse. Plus, one day I’ll be debt-free, and my sons can go to college. Maybe then they’ll all be proud of me and how I sacrificed to better our family.”

  “I’m sure they will be.”

  Cooper shook Sawyer’s hand and exited the vehicle. Flicking his cigarette to the ground, he walked around to the RV parked right next to Sawyer’s truck. He knocked on the door, and a large black man answered. He was wearing a blue and black flannel shirt, blue jeans, and slippers. He had a short, trimmed beard and wore glasses.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m looking for Marshall.”

  “Who sent you?”

  Cooper turned and pointed toward Sawyer. Sawyer waved from his truck.

  Marshall sarcastically waved back like they were neighbors living in their suburban houses in Pleasantville. “Okay, come on in, but take your boots and coat off so you don’t get snow everywhere.”

  “Great, thanks. My name is Cooper, and I’m a reporter from Minnesota Public Radio.”

  “Nice to meet you, radio man. Please feel right at home, just don’t touch anything.” Marshall winked.

  Marshall’s RV was impeccably clean—it could have been a showroom model for any RV dealership in America. It was neatly decorated with brown furniture and blue drapes and rugs. A flat-screen television blared ESPN from the corner. Marshall turned down the volume and looked back at Cooper.

  “Would you like a beer?”

  “Sure. Nice place you got here. I wasn’t expecting it to be so . . .”

  “Clean? Yeah, I get a lot jokes from the guys because of it, but what can I say? I like things in order. Guess it’s my old military habits. Have a seat over here in the kitchen.” Marshall gestured to the bench seat on the far end of the table.

  “Which branch were you in?”

  “Army. Did two tours in Iraq and that was enough for me.”

  Marshall dug a beer out of his smartly arranged refrigerator and handed it to Cooper.

  “Thanks.” Cooper looked down at it and saw it was a can of Natural Ice beer. “Wow, Natty Ice. I haven’t had this stuff since college.”

  “Yeah, it’s cheap as hell but it does the trick. It’s all I’m willing to pay for on my tight budget. Want a koozie?”

  “No thanks. Would you mind telling me a little bit about yourself? How long have you been living up here in this RV?”

  Marshall cracked open a beer and sat down across from Cooper. “Well, I got out of the military in 2009. Came back home to Texas and the economy had collapsed. I mean, it absolutely just fell apart. I did some odd jobs for a couple years, but it wasn’t enough. I heard some guys talk about all the money being made up here in Dakota, so I jumped at the opportunity. Been here three full years now.”

  “You ever miss home?”

  Marshall shook his head. “My dad’s been on me ever since I got out of the military about getting a real job and doing something with my life. You ever feel like you don’t live up to your family’s expectations?”

  Cooper nodded. “Yeah, my whole family is in law enforcement. My dad really wanted me to join the police profession, but I became a reporter. Imagine the angst that caused my old man.”

  “Yeah, I bet. My dad also wanted me to join the local police. I just couldn’t do it, though. I am done with guns.”

  “I hear you.” Cooper grabbed a bag of licorice out of his pocket and held it up for Marshall. “Want one?”

  “Black licorice?” Marshall shot him a look of disgust. “Nah, that stuff’s nasty.”

  Cooper laughed. “That’s what my wife says. Say, what do you do for fun around here?”

  Marshall pointed at his TV. “I have DirecTV set up. What more could a guy ask for? Well, a winning season for the Cowboys would be nice once in a while. That’s not going to happen until we get rid of Romo. Talk about a wasted ‘franchise quarterback.’” Marshall signed air quotations with his hands.

  “I’m a lifelong Vikings fan, so I feel your pain. At least your franchise has won a few Super Bowls—we are oh-for-four.”

  “The Purple People Eaters. My father used to rave about that defense. The glory years.”

  “The glory years, indeed. I’ll drink to that.” Cooper bumped his can against Marshall’s and took a long drink of the Natty Ice. “Mmm, still tastes like piss.”

  Marshall let out a boom of a laugh as Natty Ice shot out of his nose. Cooper responded with the same, and soon the table was full of beer. Marshall regained his composure and with military precision quickly grabbed Clorox disinfectant wipes. He scrubbed down the table and dried it off with paper towels.

  Cooper couldn’t hold back a smile. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but I actually came to see if you knew anything about a couple of guys that live at this camp. Their names are Nash and Doyle.”

  Marshall threw the wipes away and sat back down. “Sure, I know those guys, a little bit. What do you want to know?”

  Cooper took out a notepad from his inside coat pocket. “Well, I’m sure you heard about the kidnapping last weekend, so I had a few questions related to that.”

  Marshall took a sip of his beer. “Yeah, I really can’t believe it. Well, I mean I could see Doyle doing something like that, but not Nash.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “The thing is, Doyle’s an idiot, right? I mean, a pure idiot straight out of the Louisiana bayou. But he is tough as nails and is known to abuse women. Well, I mean it could just be camp rumors, but I’ve heard from other guys that Doyle has bragged about being rough with prostitutes. And most of his ‘dates’ end in someone calling 911 on him.” Marshall made air quotes when he said the word dates. “That girl they kidnapped was pretty good looking, so I could see Doyle doing something stupid like that. But Nash, no, not him.” Marshall shook his head. “Nash was a private guy. I guess you could even call him shy. I talked to him a little bit because we were both from Texas. He was a Ranger down there.”

  “Like the baseball team, or like Chuck Norris?”

  “Like Walker Texas Ranger. He didn’t talk about it a lot, and I never did figure out how he went from doing that to doing this. Something must have happened. Either way, it doesn’t make sense that he would kidnap that girl. Again, I don’t know him real well, but that’s just the read I have on him.”

  “Anything else strike you about him?”

  “Funny you should ask.” Marshall leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “I think one of the main reasons he and I got along was we are both very similar in regards to our obsessive natures.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, people joke I have OCD, but the few people that know anything about Nash know he was really OCD. But not like cleaning and keeping things in order. He had some strange things he would obsess over. He’d make these lists, these dumb little lists of words. He would make them right in front of me. They always had to be seven-word lists. It kind of drove me nuts.”

  “What kind of lists?”

  “Oh, anything really. I’d have a Cowboys
football game on and he would make a list of seven phrases that described the Cowboys’ new billion-dollar stadium, or he would have a list about Williston. It went on and on.”

  “Any other obsessive behaviors?”

  “Yeah, he always had to sleep in the same dorm room, and have the same meals every day. He had his routines and things that had to be exact. But, like I said, he didn’t share too much with me about anything else. Our interactions were limited to Texas, oil, and the weather.”

  “Where in Texas is he from?”

  “Amarillo. He grew up on a cattle farm there.”

  Cooper scribbled on his notepad. “Do you know if anyone else was close to Doyle or Nash here in the camp or the city?”

  Marshall thought about it for a minute. “You know, yeah, there was a third guy that hung around those two. I think his name is Nickels. Yeah, that’s it, Nickels. I think he may actually be locked up at the jail, though. He had another run-in with the police.”

  Unbelievable. Nickels, really? Just my luck.

  “This Nickels guy, what does he look like?”

  “You can’t miss him—he wears this ridiculously thick mustache. It’s so big it would put even Tom Selleck to shame.”

  Cooper shook his head.

  “What, you know the guy?” asked Marshall.

  “Yeah, I met him the other day, seems like a bit of a hothead.”

  “You got that right.”

  Cooper inwardly cringed at the thought of another encounter with Nickels, but he forced himself to ask, “When he’s not in jail, where can I find him?”

  “He stays in the dorms here, so you could look there. Otherwise, I know he likes to go out and drink at the bars downtown. Either way, he’ll know the most about Nash and Doyle, may even know where they are hiding.”

  Cooper finished off the rest of his beer. “Well, Marshall. Thanks for the hospitality and for chitchatting. Maybe I’ll have to stop back and watch a Cowboys game with you sometime.”

  “You’re welcome back anytime, radio man. Just bring your own beer next time.”