The next day, Wyland set about walking around Lanark, asking a few people what they knew about the quarry, and Edinburgh. People were mostly friendly, and proud of their little town, at least from what Wyland could gather through the thick accents and strange slang they all seemed to throw at him. He was careful not to ask too much about the Cunninghills, but found a small welding company owned by Eustis Cunninghill on one of the side streets. He strolled past it, glancing sideways at it. It seemed like a normal enough place, with a greasy, burly man in old denim slowly welding some metal structure together in one of the open garage bays.
He got his courage up, sniffed a big breath of air, walked up to the man, and said "Excuse me? I'm looking for Crom or Ollie Cunninghill?"
The man stopped his welding. A bright spot remained in Wyland's vision where the flux bar had been touching the metal and arcing at thousands of degrees. The metal was glowing red. He threw up his protective visor, and a man with a dark, dirty beard and tired, angry eyes looked Wyland over. "They ain't here. They'll be at the quarry. Who're you, any'who?"
Wyland shook his head. "Nobody important. I'd just like to talk to them, is all."
The man slowly got up and stepped closer to Wyland. He smelled like motor oil, sweat, and burnt metal. He was a very large man. An angry look was in his eyes, and they darted back and forth, trying to scan each of Wyland's eyes, perhaps looking for weakness, perhaps looking for the lies they held.
In perhaps the most cliched response Wyland had ever seen, the welder took a big sniff of snot, scrunching half his face to get it out, looked down and to his right, and then spat a giant loogie onto the ground. It was green with black flecks. Wyland instinctively grimaced. The man gruffly said "Nobody important, eh? If'n your'e asking fer the Cunninghills, it best be important. What're ya heah ta talk to 'em 'bout?"
Wyland was suddenly regretting talking to this man. His mind raced as he tried to maintain a calm demeanor. He was talking to the right man, but now had to convince him that the Cunninghills needed him. There was only one way, now, but it meant selling out the cops. But he could stall it, at least for a while.
Wyland opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Then, all in a burst: "I have important information they need to hear. They have information I need. It is extremely important I talk to them immediately."
The welder regarded Wyland with a skeptical look. But the gears in his mind were visibly cranking. He would find himself in deep shit if this Yank was telling the truth. He would take shit for calling them at the quarry, and their father, his employer, would certainly hear about it. The boss would need to hear it first, yes, that was the answer his brain had been looking for.
Finally, he said to Wyland "Eustis clears all info 'tween you'n deh boys. That's teh way 'tis."
Wyland steeled up and tried to puff out his chest, though his balls had shriveled into his belly. "No. This information could save their lives, and they need to hear it, today, from me, from my mouth." He gestured at his mouth as he said the last part, to ensure that this northland hick fully understood. "I came all the way from America to talk to them. It's important, and I think Eustis would want you to help me." He spoke the truth, but it was only truth under the assumption that Eustis actually gave a crap about his sons.
Silence ensued, and Wyland could tell the welder, thuggish though he was, was carefully weighing his options. He wanted to crack the neck of this pitiful looking Yank. Nobody had told him "No" for a long time. He didn't accept it from his women, or his friends, or his enemies. But from up on high, he did, and if Eustis' boys were in trouble, as they often were, he had a responsibility to help. This responsibility was just to his own well being, to his fully intact skull, and the continued existence of himself and his friends and family.
He grunted illegibly, but pointed towards the old work truck in the drive.
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