Sometimes the Devil you know is better than the one you don’t.
That’s a hard truth Sheriff Mary Beth Cain is reluctantly coming to terms with. After ridding Southern West Virginia of her mother, Mamie’s, hillbilly crime syndicate, Mary Beth has created a power vacuum that’s filled by a better-financed and much more ruthless drug operation headquartered out of Detroit. The Motor-City mobsters are led by Leonard Velino, a vicious killer with a long history of intimidating or eliminating all who oppose him. Witnesses. Jurors. Even cops. Velino is a man the legal system simply isn’t equipped to handle.
But Sheriff Cain has never been much constrained by the rules herself. And she has certainly never backed down from a fight. She is willing to go to any lengths to deal with her Detroit problem. The question is: Can Mary Beth protect her community without becoming a criminal herself?
Sometimes the Devil you know is better than the one you don’t.
That’s a hard truth Sheriff Mary Beth Cain is reluctantly coming to terms with. After ridding Southern West Virginia of her mother, Mamie’s, hillbilly crime syndicate, Mary Beth has created a power vacuum that’s filled by a better-financed and much more ruthless drug operation headquartered out of Detroit. The Motor-City mobsters are led by Leonard Velino, a vicious killer with a long history of intimidating or eliminating all who oppose him. Witnesses. Jurors. Even cops. Velino is a man the legal system simply isn’t equipped to handle.
But Sheriff Cain has never been much constrained by the rules herself. And she has certainly never backed down from a fight. She is willing to go to any lengths to deal with her Detroit problem. The question is: Can Mary Beth protect her community without becoming a criminal herself?
Sheriff Mary Beth Cain had made a lot of enemies since succeeding her dearly departed husband, Bill, to become Jasper County’s first-ever female sheriff, but none who pissed her off more than Alexander Pomfried. The smug, rotund attorney, in his overstuffed seersucker suits and pretentious bow ties, had first crossed swords with her during his days as a shitbag criminal defense attorney, during which he’d been infuriatingly successful, winning more dismissals and acquittals than the rest of the local bar combined. He’d also been Mary Beth’s most vocal critic, waxing eloquent, in his faux genteel, grandstanding way, about her “extralegal” methods for serving up a headbanging, hillbilly version of justice. And while all that was bad, the thing that had riled Mary Beth most about her legal nemesis was Pomfried’s belligerent insistence upon calling her “Sugar.”
There she’d be on the witness stand, armed with weapons of lethal force and all the imprimaturs of the State of West—by God—Virginia, and still Pomfried would address her like a little girl.
“Wouldn’t you agree, Sugar . . . ”
“Isn’t it fair to say, Sugar . . . ”
“Hypothetically, Sugar . . . ”
“So what I hear you saying is, Sugar . . .” And on, and on, and on. Back then it had been all Mary Beth could do not to leap down off the stand and pistol-whip the son of a bitch.
Things only got worse when longtime district attorney Royce Parker retired, and the geniuses in the county commissioners’ office recommended Pomfried as his interim replacement, giving him prosecutorial authority over every case Mary Beth put together. It was a move that flipped Mary Beth’s world upside down. She knew there was no way she and Pomfried could coexist on the same side of the law for long. But the sheriff never dreamed she’d find herself in her current position, once again in the witness chair being questioned by her biggest enemy, only this time as the target of a grand jury investigation.
“Please state your name for the record, Sugar,” Pomfried said, looking awfully satisfied with himself as he leaned against the jury box. He was running his thumbs up and down the insides of his suspenders while the full heft of his girth spilled over his seersucker slacks.
“Mary Beth Cain.”
Pomfried put a hand to his ear as though he must not have heard her right. “You mean Sheriff Mary Beth Cain, don’t you?”
“No,” Mary Beth said through gritted teeth. “As you are well aware, I’ve been placed on administrative leave from my position. Chief Deputy Izzy Baker is currently the acting sheriff.”
Mary Beth studied the jury for any reaction. She knew naming Izzy, who’d been her best friend since high school, as acting sheriff was bound to be controversial. Not only was Izzy the only Black deputy in an overwhelmingly white county, but he was routinely underestimated due to his short stature, standing just four foot eleven, even with his boots on.
The jurors all looked back at her impassively, but Pomfried was smiling wide beneath his bushy Mark Twain mustache. “Well then, Miss Cain,” he said—emphasizing the “Miss” in a way that somehow sounded worse than Sugar ever had—“you are aware that you are a target of this grand jury’s investigation, correct?”
“Yeah,” Mary Beth said, “I got your shit-ass letter.” She waved the paper she’d received in front of her.
Pomfried retrieved it and had it marked as State’s Exhibit 73 before reading it into the record.
This correspondence is to inform you that you are the target of an investigation by a Jasper County Grand Jury. You are hereby invited to testify.
If you choose to appear, any such testimony shall be private; the only permitted participants are you, the Grand Jury’s members, attorneys from the district attorney’s office, and a stenographer.
Please be advised that the Grand Jury investigation regards potential criminal violations including, but not be limited to:
Pomfried paused for dramatic effect before reading the suspected charge: “Murder in the first degree.”
Judy Nelson, a local librarian who’d been selected as the grand jury foreperson, shook her head, giving Mary Beth the same scolding look she leveled on noisemakers in her quiet sanctuary.
“That’s what it says,” Mary Beth agreed.
“And as a former sheriff, you are aware of your constitutional rights against self-incrimination and the fact that you could have chosen not to appear and testify here today?”
“I’ve got nothing to hide,” Mary Beth said proudly.
“We’ll see about that.” Pomfried straightened from where he’d been slouched against the rail of the jury box and took two steps in her direction. “Have you had the opportunity to consult with a lawyer about your appearance here today?”
“I don’t think much of lawyers,” Mary Beth said, drawing a couple smiles from the jury.
“Not my question, Miss Cain. What I asked was, have you in fact consulted with an attorney about your appearance here today?”
“I met with a lawyer who told me what I already knew. That these grand jury proceedings are mostly a formality. They always result in whatever indictment the prosecutor wants. The old joke is that a grand jury would even indict a ham sandwich if the prosecutors wanted them to. My attorney thought it would be extremely foolish of me to appear and testify.”
Mary Beth knew that her discussions with her attorney were privileged, but it was her privilege to waive, and she wanted the jury to know that she knew full well what she was up against.
“And yet, you’ve chosen to come and tell this jury, face-to face, that you’re not guilty, is that it?”
“No,” Mary Beth said. “I’ve come to tell them that I am guilty.”
A stunned silence fell over the courtroom until Mary Beth explained. “I am guilty of many things. Just not of the charge you’re targeting me for.”
“Okay, Sugar.” Pomfried smiled as he stroked his chin. He was going to enjoy this game of cat and mouse. “How about we get on with it, then. I’d like to start out asking you about your investigation of Leonard Velino. Do you recall that?”
“Of course.”
“Can you tell the jury who Leonard Velino is? Or . . . I guess I should say, was?”
Mary Beth still bristled at the mention of Velino, a man she considered lower than whatever was worse than pond scum. She did her best not to reveal her emotion but knew her fair skin was turning red as a teacher’s apple as she tried to dispassionately explain, “Lenny Velino was a drug trafficker. Leader of the crew that moved in to fill the void from where we ran off the McCray County Mafia.”
“And when you say McCray County Mafia, you are referring to a well-known crime syndicate that was led by your mother, Mamie, correct?”
Mary Beth felt an urge to obfuscate but reminded herself that she was there to tell the truth—at least up to a point. There was no use denying the things everyone already knew. And the Charleston newspapers had done a big exposé on Mary Beth years back called “Rough Justice,” exposing her family connection to coal country’s criminal element, as well as her borderline-vigilante methods for enforcing justice within her jurisdiction.
“That’s right,” Mary Beth said. “I can’t change who my parents were or control the things they did. But I can tell you that I went to great lengths to keep law and order in this county. When I first took over as sheriff, we made it our number-one priority to clear it of all the illegal drug operations, the meth dens, the street-corner hustlers, and all the crooked pill pushers. The McCray County Mafia never operated in Jasper County under my watch. Then, when McCray’s population dwindled to the point that the two counties were combined, I forced my mother clear out of the state.”
What Mary Beth had said was true. Much to her shame, she’d been born into a criminal family, her daddy having turned to dealing after losing his job in the mines. He’d combined his muscle with Mamie’s menacing strategery and long list of criminal kin to build the McCray County Mafia. When Mary Beth was a teenager, her father was shot and killed in a DEA raid, leaving Mamie in charge of the family racket and giving Mary Beth an excuse to leave home and live with her paternal, law-abiding grandparents in Jasper Creek. Mary Beth and Mamie maintained only the loosest of ties from that point on, which became even more strained when the always rebellious Mary Beth stuck it to her mama good by marrying Bill Cain, the latest in a long line of lawmen, who followed his grandfather and father to become Jasper County sheriff. It was a few short years later when Bill went and got himself shot and killed in another drug bust, just like Mary Beth’s daddy—although Bill had been the bust-er rather than the bust-ee. Mary Beth stepped in to finish out her husband’s term as the county’s top cop, much the way Mamie had succeeded her murdered groom to head the family crime business, and the two women brokered an armistice whereby Mary Beth helped take out Mamie’s competition in exchange for the old lady keeping the hard drugs outside of Jasper. The arrangement worked well enough until the counties consolidated and Mary Beth forced her mother out of the state all together.
“For those of us who aren’t as familiar with the drug trade, could you explain to the grand jury the primary sources of drug trafficking in West Virginia?”
“Well, I guess you could say the largest cartel at play in this state is Big Pharma. We’ve mostly got them to thank for the opioid epidemic. I think they saw a perfect target in Appalachia. A lot of people working heavy labor jobs, getting injured and prescribed pain pills, combined with poor economics and the sparsity of rural health care making routine follow-ups more difficult. It was kind of the perfect storm for—”
“Yes, yes,” Pomfried said, cutting her off. “I’m referring to illegal drugs.”
Mary Beth wasn’t quite ready to get down off her opioid soapbox but decided it was best to play nice as long as she could stomach it. “We get some crystal meth and weed from the Mexican cartels,” she said with a sigh. “But not a lot, to be honest, because there’s a decent amount of local production of those. Historically, most of the illegal drugs in West Virginia—cocaine, heroin, fentanyl, black market pills—have actually been sourced by organized crime out of Detroit. We get some from Pittsburgh and Ohio, too, but Detroit is the biggest player. By the 1990s or so, their conglomerate had pretty successfully infiltrated the whole state. Everywhere except for McCray County, that is.”
“Why is that?” Pomfried asked.
Mary Beth gave the jury a knowing smile, suspecting they’d all heard stories about Bloody McCray.
“Well the McCray County Mafia didn’t take too kindly to outside competition and gave the Detroit boys more resistance than they were used to, backed by pretty much the whole community. Big heavies from the Motor City would go down there throwing their weight around, making fun of the way people talk, thinking they were intimidating everyone. And folks would act real passive. Meek and polite. Then when the mobsters would catch some shuteye in a local boarding house at night, they’d wake up with their throats slit. And the local cops were happy to look the other way. One guy got stabbed in the back seventeen times and still had it ruled a suicide.”
As an OG McCray girl herself, Mary Beth had always felt a sense of pride in the no-nonsense way the law in that county had historically operated in what was a rough and tumble part of the world.
“Is that what you did as sheriff, Ms. Cain? Turn a blind eye to the McCray County Mafia’s efforts to drive their Detroit-based competitors out of Jasper County?”
Mary Beth’s hackles went up over the implication. “What I did was enforce the laws to the best of my ability. Going after anybody who pushed drugs in my county. No matter who they were. Now, did I get tips from the McCray County Mafia that sometimes aided me in that endeavor?” Mary Beth gave the jury an earnest look. “Yes, sir, I did. And I’m damn glad. ’Cause we managed a span of the lowest crime rate this county has ever seen.”
A male juror in the back row gave Mary Beth a little fist pump that buoyed her soul. The people know what I’ve done, she told herself. Despite the mixed press she’d received over the years, being called out for unconstitutional methods and suspected corruption only to be later hailed as the hero of the Old Wengo Affair when she headed off a bloody standoff between the Feds and her late brother Sawyer’s anti-government militia, not to mention her incredible arrest and case closure rates, Mary Beth had to believe that most in Jasper knew she’d poured her heart and soul into protecting them.
“Let’s talk about that crime rate,” Pomfried said. “It’s kind of gone through the roof as of late, wouldn’t you say?”
Mary Beth turned her attention back to the prosecutor. “As I said before, we’ve had people moving in, trying to fill the void. Detroit is back. And . . .”
“And?” Pomfried asked after she trailed off.
“And, in retrospect, I’ve been forced to accept a hard truth.” Mary Beth took a quiet moment with her thoughts before saying, “Look, I came here to tell y’all the truth, so I’m gonna go ahead and admit something I refused to acknowledge for a long time but have ultimately come to accept.”
“Which is?” Pomfried prompted.
Mary Beth glanced down the row, looking each juror in the eye as she gave her answer. “Sometimes the devil you know is better than the one you don’t.”
The Miner’s Myth by Russell Johnson
Velino, the villain who sparks fear in his enemies...
4⭐⭐⭐⭐
As I pedaled my bike down the darkest alley in West Virginia, I was reminded of why this was a terrible idea. The seedy underbelly existed here, full of less than savory types looking to inflict pain as if snacking on a Snickers bar. Once again, I have made this journey with author Russell Johnson looking for answers. You see, dear reader, I was compelled to see the fortunes of our faithful sheriff, Mary Beth Cain, after reading the previous novel, The Mountain Mystic.
I approached the courthouse off to the left; there was a ruckus of a television crew taking in the proceedings. The trial was a huge deal. Mary Beth Cain, swearing under oath that she had not broken any laws in getting key witness testimony in an attempt to throw Detroit mafioso Leonard Velino in prison. Upon entering the courtroom, tensions are high. The prosecutor, Alexander Pomfried, is hell-bent on dissecting Cain, piece by bitter piece.
A horrific murder has taken place; the witness may or may not have seen the accomplice. During some gentle nudging by Cain, Leonard Velino finds himself as the prime suspect. However, witness snatching can and will happen when dealing with the mafia, and the case suffers some severe setbacks.
Cain’s sheriff has unlimited resources at her disposal, including her mother, the local drug queenpin Mamie. Searching in her Rolodex, Mary Beth decides it is time to take down this Detroit faction of thugs. As the hail of gunfire assaulted my periphery, it was difficult to know the outcome. Through the gunsmoke, the tale materializes into unhidden family secrets, ones that put lives in danger. The novel acts out like an edgy Dukes of Hazzard episode, leaving readers satisfied with equal parts Matlock and your favorite Grand Theft Auto mission.
The verdict is in. As I walk out of the courthouse and jump back on my bike, I am looking over my shoulders. For such a rural location, it seems to be a hotbed of nefarious activity, and one wouldn’t want to get caught in the crossfire of a drug deal gone bad or, worse yet, a family squabble. Recommended!
Many thanks to Reedsy for the ARC in exchange for my honest review.