Virgin River (Virgin River #1)(113)

“You said you wanted to tell me a couple of things,” she said.

“I’m leaving the area. There’s been a death. Doesn’t really matter that Thompson won’t be any great loss to society,” he said with a shrug. “He’s associated with a couple of the operations here, so there’s going to be an investigation, warrants, arrests. I’ll be moving on.” He smiled at her. “You get your wish. You won’t be doing business with me anymore.”

She leaned forward on the porch steps. “Have you done violence?”

“Not really,” he said with a shrug. “Not so far. We’ve had our little misunderstandings. But I’m just a businessman.”

“You couldn’t find a more legal business?”

“Oh, sure,” he answered, smiling. “I just couldn’t find a more profitable one.”

The window went up and he moved down the street and out of sight. She memorized the license plate, knowing that if he was any good at his profession, it wouldn’t matter.

At dusk, she sat out on Doc’s porch and waited. As darkness began to descend, she heard the vehicles return. As they drove slowly into town and pulled up to the bar, she tried to assess the mood of the group. Everyone seemed solemn and tired as they got out of trucks and jeeps, stretching their backs and arms. Vests were gone, guns stowed in their racks and sleeves rolled up. But shortly they were clapping each other on the back, laughing and gathering around Jack’s porch. She was so relieved to see Ricky, laughing with the men, one of the brothers, completely safe. The last truck to pull up was Preacher’s, in which Jack rode, as well, and they had something large in the bed, something hanging out. When he parked, all the men gathered around, and the tempo of the group seemed to pick up. There was laughter and loud voices. Almost afraid to know what was going on, she walked across the street. Jack was coming for her and met her halfway.

“Well? You find anything?”

“Not bad guys,” he said. “Paulis’s camp was busted up and what junk they left behind, we destroyed. Henry and a couple of deputies showed up to confiscate their plants. I just don’t want them back in the neighborhood if they’re going to let a drug operation in. Truthfully, they don’t have the strength to keep them out, so we will.”

“Haven’t you ever thought—it’s only a little pot?”

“I don’t have an opinion about that,” he said with a shrug. “But if it’s legalized and pharmaceutical companies grow it, we won’t have to be afraid for our women and children.”

“What have you got in the truck? What’s that awful smell?”

“A bear. Wanna see?” he asked, smiling.

“A bear? Why on earth…?”

“He was really pissed,” Jack said. “Come and see—he’s huge.”

“Who shot him?” she asked.

“Who’s taking credit or who actually shot him? Because I think everyone is taking credit.” He slipped an arm around her waist and walked her the rest of the way. She began to pick up the voices. “I swear, I heard Preacher scream,” someone said.

“I didn’t scream, jag-off. That was a battle cry.”

“Sounded like a little girl.”

“More holes in that bear than in my head.”

“He didn’t like that repellant so much, did he?”

“I never saw one go through that stuff before. They usually just rub their little punkin eyes and run back in the woods.”

“I’m telling you, Preacher screamed. Thought he was gonna cry like a baby.”

“You wanna eat, jag-off?”

There was laughter all around. A carnival-like atmosphere ensued. The serious group that had left town in the morning had come back like soldiers from war, elated, victorious. Except this war turned out to be with a bear.

Mel glanced in the back of the truck and jumped back. The bear not only filled the bed, he hung out the end. The claws on his paws were terrifying. He was tied in, tied down, even though he was dead. His eyes were open but sightless and his tongue hung out of his mouth. And he stunk to high heaven.

“Who’s calling Fish and Game?”

“Aw, do we have to call them? You know they’re gonna take the frickin’ bear. That’s my bear!”

“It ain’t your bear, jag-off. I shot the bear,” Preacher insisted loudly.

“You screamed like a girl and the rest of us shot the bear.”

“Who really shot the bear?” Mel asked Jack.

“I think Preacher shot the bear when he came at him. Then so did everybody else. And yeah, I think he screamed. I would have. That bear got so damn close.” But as he said this, he grinned like a boy who had just made a touchdown. Preacher stomped over to Jack and Mel. He bent down and whispered to Mel, “I did not scream.” He turned and stomped off.

“Honey,” Jack said, softly. “We found one other thing today.” She looked up at him expectantly. “We found the black Range Rover. Ran off the road and went down a couple hundred feet…”

“Is he dead?” she asked fearfully, surprised that she even cared.

“There wasn’t any body.”

She gave a short, startled laugh. “God,” she said. “He came by here today at about noon. All he did was roll down the window and said that because I did him a favor he wanted me to know there was no one else out there in the cannabis trade like Thompson that he knew of, and he was leaving the area. Jack, he must have ditched the truck.”