C J Box - [Joe Pickett 02]

by C. J. Box

Finotta: "Can't we discuss this later? I've got Charlie Tibbs in my bunkhouse and we don't know where in the hell Stewie Woods and the game warden are."

  Gruff voice: "Probably dead of exposure. You say the local sheriff sent out a helicopter to look for them?"

  Finotta: "Yes, but the weather got bad and the helicopter was grounded. But the pilot and spotter never saw anybody"

  Gruff voice:" Yup, those two saps are worm food by now."

  Texas twang: "But Charlie got that lawyer and that wolf woman, that's what I'm hearing?"

  Finotta: "That's what Charlie said."

  Gruff voice: "So he cleared the entire list, huh?"

  Texas twang: "That Charlie was something, wasn't he?"

  Joe despised these people. He held the phone away from him, stunned. Stewie had been so close as they listened that Joe felt uncomfortable. Stewie had been practically on top of him, pressing closer to hear. They both smelled bad after their time in the mountains, but in Joe's opinion, Stewie smelled worse. Joe felt a tug on his belt. Then Stewie suddenly wrenched the telephone from Joe's hand, and held the receiver to his mouth.

  "You were wondering about Stewie Woods?" Stewie cut in. "Guess what? It's your lucky day, you assholes!"

  "Who the hell was that, Jim?" Joe heard the Gruff Voice say before Stewie slammed down the phone.

  When Joe reached to retrieve the telephone, Stewie pointed something so close to Joe's eyes that Joe couldn't focus on what it was. The blast from his own canister of pepper spray hit Joe full in the face and eyes and he went down as if his feet had been kicked out from under him.

  "Sorry buddy" he heard from somewhere above him. Joe was thrashing, his arms and legs jerking involuntarily his lungs burning. He tried to speak but his voice only made a hoarse, bleating sound he couldn't recognize. A jet turbine roared in his ears. His head was on fire and his eyes felt like they were being burned from their sockets by a blowtorch. He was literally paralyzed, and excruciatingly painful muscle spasms shot through his body Coughing and gasping for breath, he felt himself being pulled across the floor. His hands were wrenched together. Through the howl of the jet engine in his ears, he heard the phone being ripped from the wall and felt the phone cord looping around his wrists and being knotted tightly Then he heard the unsnapping of his holster.

  37

  It took twenty minutes for Joe Pickett to recover enough from the pepper spray to stand up. His eyes and throat still burned, and it seemed as though most of the liquid in his body had drained out of him in bitter streams through his nose, mouth, and eyes. He leaned against the wall in the hallway next to the telephone that Stewie had ripped from the wall as he left, and tried to shake the fog from his head.

  Slowly at first, he regained control of his legs and moved down the hall, clomping unsteadily like Frankenstein's monster. He kept his left shoulder against the plaster for balance until he reached the door to the stairway He descended the stairs one deliberate step at a time and held the rail with both tied hands. The building was empty; the black Ford truck still parked with both doors--and the toolbox--open.

  Joe shouldered the overhead door open and stood outside, gasping damp fresh air and blinking back tears from the sting of the pepper spray He turned toward the ranch house, where he presumed Stewie Woods had gone.

  The front gate was open and so was the massive front door. Joe entered, stopped, tried to see in the gloom. On the floor was the writhing body of Buster the ranch hand. Buster's hands were covering his face, and he was rolling from side to side, whimpering. Pepper spray, Joe thought. Probably a shot of it from Stewie on the way in and a second shot of it a few minutes ago, judging by the whiff of the spray still hanging in the air.

  "If I were a snake I could have bitten you." Her voice startled Joe, as it had the first time. She was in her chair, its back pushed up against the wall. Her face was cocked to the side and thrust forward at Joe, twisted as if she were confronting him.

  "Did a crazy-looking man just come in here?" Joe asked, his voice still thick with mucus.

  Ginger Finotta raised her thin arm, pointing a gnarled finger past Joe's ear.

  "They went outside together," she said, her voice high and grating. "Tom Horn is in our bunkhouse!"

  Joe stopped. Tom Horn?

  "You mean Charlie Tibbs."

  "He's in our bunkhouse!" she repeated. "Someone shot him!"

  Joe tried to focus on her face, but couldn't. Her face swam in his vision. "That was me," Joe coughed. "I shot him." He wished he could see her face to gauge her reaction. But he heard it.

  "Bravo, young man," she squawked. "Hanging a man like Tom Horn would have been a waste of good rope."

  ***

  BACK IN THE RANCH yard Joe heard a shout from a distance.

  "Hey Joe!" It was Stewie. Joe turned toward the voice. It came from beyond the corrals, over the tops of milling cattle. "I'm glad you're okay, buddy!"

  Joe walked toward the voice. His vision was still blurry The cord bit into his wrists, but he didn't want to take the time to try and un knot it. As he climbed the first fence he saw Stewie standing in the pasture beyond the corrals. Stewie and a lone cow

  "Don't come any closer, Joe!" Stewie cautioned.

  Joe ignored him, and pushed his way through the cattle. When he climbed the back fence he stopped, focused, and felt his eyes widen and his jaw drop.

  At first, he thought that Jim Finotta was slumped over the back of the cow in the pasture next to Stewie. Then he realized that Finotta was strapped on, his hands tied under the cow's belly, with another rope around the hips of his stretch Wranglers, securing him to the cow. Finotta's face was pressed against the shoulders of the animal, looking out at Joe. Blue nylon webbing, loaded -with full charges of C4 explosive from the toolbox in the black Ford, was lashed between Finotta and the cow. A single, spring-mounted antenna bobbed from one of the charges.

  Stewie stood near the animal's haunches holding a remote-control transmitter in one hand and Joe's .357 Magnum in the other.

  "Don't come any closer, or the lawyer gets it!" Stewie hollered cheerfully Then Stewie's voice took on a more determined tone. I"m serious, Joe. I'm sorry I sprayed you with pepper spray back there, but I knew you wouldn't help me do what I needed to do."

  "Oh, Stewie," Joe croaked.

  "We were just having a chat," Stewie explained. "Mister Jim was about to tell me the names of the executive board of the Stockman's Trust, and why they voted to wipe out me and so many of my colleagues."

  Joe swung his other leg over the fence and now sat on top of it. The scene in the pasture was beyond comprehension. Stewie had maced Joe, gathered up the nylon webbing and the explosives from the truck, selected a cow from the corral, charged the house, maced Buster, marched Finotta at gunpoint to the pasture, and tied him and the explosives to the cow

  "Please help me," Finotta called to Joe. "You are an officer of the law. Despite our earlier disagreements, you have a duty to protect me. Please .. . I'm friends with the governor ... I can be of great influence on your behalf.

  Stewie snorted. "Up until that last bit, he was kind of convincing." Stewie stepped forward so Finotta could see him, then raised the transmitter and took several steps backward. Finotta shrieked and buried his face in the hide of the cow The cow continued to graze, and Stewie lowered the remote control, and winked at Joe.

  "You've given him a scare," Joe said, his voice as steady and flat as he could make it, given the circumstances and his condition. "You've scared the hell out of him. Now let's untie him and go have some lunch. Think about it, Stewie: Does Finotta seem like the kind of guy who wouldn't rat out his buddies in a plea bargain? We'll find out who the Stockman's Trust is and we'll put them all into prison. If Finotta ordered the killings, he may get the death sentence."

  Stewie listened, thought about it while he rubbed his chin and studied Finotta, then laughed.

  "Like I believe that a great lawyer and butt-buddy with the governor will ever see the inside of a prison in
this state," Stewie said sarcastically

  Then Stewie turned to Finotta, waving the remote control in front of him like a wand. "Let me remind you, Jim Finotta, of some names," he said. "These names are only names on a list to you. But to me they are real people--friends, lovers, colleagues."

  "Annabel Bellotti. Hayden Powell. Peter Sollito." Stewie shouted each name. And with each, his face got redder, and he got angrier. "Emily Betts. Tod Marchand. Britney Earthshare. Even John Coble and Charlie Tibbs!"

  Stewie was so enraged that Joe, even from a distance, could see Stewie shaking.

  "You started the first fucking range war of the twenty first century!" Stewie bellowed. "You waged that war in a vicious, cowardly way! And now you're going to find out what it is like to be on the receiving end!"

  Stewie backed away further from Finotta and the cow There was now about one hundred feet between them. He again raised the remote control.

  "The headlines about the environmental activist getting blown up were good ones, Jim. I bet they made you chuckle. But the headlines about the president of the Stockman's Trust getting blown up by his own cow are even better!"

  ***

  IN HIS PERIPHERAL VISION, Joe saw a stream of vehicles with flashing lights emerge from the cottonwoods on the ranch road from the highway Joe turned. Sheriff Barnum's Blazer was leading two other sheriffs trucks. Trey Crump's green Game and Fish pickup, lights flashing, followed. The vehicles drove straight across the ranch yard and braked at the first fence. Doors opened and officers poured out with rifles and shotguns. Joe saw Barnum, Trey Crump, Deputy McLanahan, and Robey Hersig. Marybeth jumped down from the passenger door of Trey Crump's pickup. Joe didn't recognize the armed deputies who spread out along the corral fence.

  "Is that you, Mary?" Stewie called, working his way behind the cow in the distance so that Finotta and the cow were between him and the deputies. Joe heard the racketing pumps of the shotguns and the bolts being thrown on the rifles.

  "It's me, Stewie," Marybeth answered. Her voice was strong. "Please don't hurt anyone, and don't hurt yourself."

  Joe felt a strange pang hearing the familiarity with which she addressed Stewie and he addressed her. For a moment he was buffeted with several emotions; jealousy confusion, anger, and deep sadness. Mary?

  "Joe," she cried, "you need to get back here with me."

  "You are still a beauty Mary" Stewie said, both admiring and wistful. "Joe is a lucky man. And Mary--Joe Pickett is a good man. That's a very rare thing out in this cow pasture."

  Finotta swung his face toward the line of officers behind the corral fences. "Barnum, you need to take him out! Now!"

  Joe heard Barnum hiss at his deputies not to fire. Deputy McLanahan, farthest away from Barnum in the line, used the post of the fence for a rest, fitted the top half of Stewie Woods into the notch of his rear open sight, and squeezed the trigger of his rifle. The high crack of the shot snapped through the air.

  Stewie jerked and sat back heavily in the wet grass. Marybeth screamed, and Barnum let loose a firecracker string of curses toward McLanahan.

  Jim Finotta raised his head, saw Stewie sitting on the ground with the remote control and revolver in his lap, and yelled, "Hit him again! He's still moving! Take him out!"

  Joe slipped down from the fence into the pasture and took a few tentative steps. He locked eyes with Stewie across the field. Pain gripped Stewie's face, making the edges of his mouth tug up in an inappropriate smile. How alone he is, Joe thought, feeling gut-wrenching pity Practically everyone he cares about is gone. Joe thought about rushing Stewie and wrenching the transmitter away but the look in Stewie's eyes warned him not to. With a wistful shrug, Stewie pushed the button on his transmitter.

  The force of the explosion hurled Joe back toward the corrals, where he smashed full force against the fence.

  Through slitted eyes and with the dead silence of instant deafness, Joe watched as pieces of Jim Finotta, the cow, Stewie Woods, and bromegrass turf rained from the sky for what seemed like hours.

  38

  THE DREAMS JOE HAD in the hospital were not good dreams. In one, they were once again climbing out of Savage Run Canyon with Charlie Tibbs and his long-range rifle on the opposite rim. Only, this time, Stewie was the target. One shot ripped Stewie's left arm off at the socket, but he kept climbing one-handed. Stewie kept making jokes, saying he was happy he still had his right hand because without that he would have no dates anymore. Joe was scrambling to the top, ahead of Stewie, his muscles shrieking, contracting, in terrible pain. Another shot hit Stewie in the thigh, breaking the bone, leaving his right leg useless. A third hit Stewie square in the back and exited out the front, his entrails now blooming from a hole in his stomach like a sea anemone. But he just kept climbing behind Joe, joking that he no longer had the guts for this sort of thing.

  ***

  JOE'S PROBLEM WAS that a large piece of the cow--either the head or a meaty front shoulder--had hit him hard enough in the chest to crack his sternum and break his collarbone. He couldn't remember actually being hit. Marybeth told him that when she had reached him near the fence, he had been vomiting blood The EMTs had suspected a much more serious injury at first as well, because he was spattered by gouts of blood and it was difficult to discern if the source was internal or external. Marybeth rode with him in the Twelve Sleep County ambulance, holding his hand, wiping his face clean.

  Although neither injury required a cast, his doctor decided to keep him for rest and observation at Twelve Sleep County Hospital for three days. He had lost fifteen pounds since Sunday, and was dehydrated enough to require an IV.

  Outside the hospital window, cottonwood leaves rattled in the summer wind. Daylight was lengthening. Joe could smell and feel a long summer coming.

  While he was in the hospital, Joe was interviewed by the Wyoming Department of Criminal Investigation (DCI), the FBI, the Game and Fish Department, and an officer from the Washington, D.C." Police Department who was in charge of the investigation into the death of Rep. Peter Solito. He told them all the same story the truth. When they asked him questions about the motivation behind the Stockman's Trust or Stewie Woods, Joe said he wasn't the person to ask and that he wouldn't speculate. Trey Crump came and Joe went into great detail about the long march through the Bighorns, about Savage Run. In turn, Joe asked about the events of the day when Trey Crump discovered his disabled pickup and the black Ford.

  News of the stockman's trust and what they had done was strangely muted. It was a scandal few really cared about, because it was too murky and too complicated to grasp. No one knew, or was willing to admit, who the executive board members were. Inquiries went nowhere, because a search of Finotta's home and office revealed no list of membership, no past meeting minutes, no record of incorporation. A run of Finotta's phone records showed that all of the participants in the conference call had apparently called him, so there were no clues in Finotta's outgoing calls. The Stockman's Trust, apparently, had long ago reorganized without a centralized hierarchy--a perfect model of the nonstructural organization Stewie had wanted to emulate. Although he tried, Joe was unable to positively identify the voices that were on the telephone, even when the FBI asked him to listen to tapes of various nationwide wiretaps. As far as the various law enforcement agencies were concerned, Jim Finotta was the president of the board of executives and Jim Finotta had been blown to vapor by an exploding cow. Further investigation, as far as Joe knew, would go nowhere.

  Just as the Stockman's Trust had gone into dormancy after the hanging of Tom Horn at the turn of the last century, the new Stockman's Trust had seemed to recede into silence once again, at the turn of this century The Stockman's Trust had arisen, won their brief war, and had vanished.

  SHERIFF BARNUM HAD come, hat in hand, to see Joe the day before he was released. They exchanged pleasantries while Joe eyed the sheriff wanly Barnum stared at the tops of his own boots and mumbled that it was unfortunate he had been out of town when Joe rode up to the cabin.


  "According to Trey Crump, you were with him the day he found my pickup and the burned-up cabin," Joe said gently Barnum nodded, looking up above the dark bags under his eyes.

  "You volunteered to stay there while Trey circled around the mountain in the helicopter."

  Barnum nodded again.

  "So how did Charlie Tibbs ride back, get in his truck, unhook his horse trailer, and drive to Jim Finotta's place without you seeing him?"

  Joe watched Barnum think, watched the tiny veins in his temples pulse. Barnum had lowered his eyes again, and stood still. Joe could hear Barnum's nicotine-encased lungs weakly suck breath in and push it back out.

  "You saw Charlie Tibbs ride back out of the mountains, didn't you?" Joe asked, nearly whispering. "He was badly wounded, but you saw him coming back toward his truck, didn't you? And when you called Jim Finotta, you both agreed that you ought to get away fast, so you would have no contact with Tibbs and plenty of deniability"

  Barnum coughed, looked around the room at everything except Joe.

  "I can't prove it, and you know that," Joe said. "Just like I can't prove you're a member of the Stockman's Trust, unless you admit it to me."

  Barnum shuffled his boots on the hard linoleum floor, then briefly raised his eyes to Joe. Joe detected an almost imperceptible quiver of Barnum's lower lip. Then the sheriff clamped on his hat, turned, and reached for the knob on the door.

  "Sheriff?" Joe said from the bed. "I know now that you're a man who will look the other way" Joe lowered his voice and spoke calmly but with a hint of malice: "Someday we need to have a conversation."

  Barnum hesitated, his back to Joe, then let himself out of the room.

  ***

  THE BIGGEST FOCUS of attention was on Stewie Woods. Old-line environmental activists now had themselves a mythic, noble, butt kicking martyr. One Globe exceeded all of its records for fundraising. A photo of Stewie's pre-explosion face was now used on their stationery, envelopes, business cards, website, and on the cover of their magazine. He was being touted as the "Environmental Movement's Che Guevara." A move was afoot to rename Savage Run the "Stewie Woods/Savage Run National Wilderness Area." It was a losing effort, using Stewie's name, but it gave the group a new cause to rally around. Politicians and others who objected were called "environmental racists" and targeted for future vitriol. Joe smiled bitterly when he read about it, knowing that in his last days on earth, Stewie considered himself an outcast from the organization he had founded, promoted, and lived for. Now One Globe had taken Stewie back. He was good for business.