Long Range (Joe Pickett Book 20)(73)

Joe moaned and shook his head. “Can you charge Talbot with anything?” he asked, knowing the answer.

“Nope,” Martin said. “We can’t even prove that he lied to us. He can claim he just remembered it differently in the heat of the moment. There’s nothing we can do to the man.”

Smith said, “The FBI can charge you with lying to them. The Game and Fish Department can’t.”

“I know all about that,” Joe said, recalling his encounter with Jeremiah Sandburg months before.

“Tell him about the PR firm,” Smith urged Martin.

“Yeah,” Martin said to Joe. “So when he got back to Florida, Talbot hired a crisis management firm of some kind to salvage his reputation. Down there, he’s being described as a hero who put his own life in danger to save his rube of a guide. You can find the articles online. This is another first for me.”

He went on. “Not only that, but the Predator Attack Team is being savaged online for killing those bears. They say we’re a bunch of trigger-happy rednecks. Social media is all over me—by name. We’re talking people from around the world, not just the U.S. I’m now a bloodthirsty killer of endangered species. The social media mob is going after me, our team, and even my kids. They’ve posted wanted posters of me with my face on them. I’ve become one of those what-do-you-call-them?” he asked Smith.

“A meme,” Smith said. “You’re a meme.”

“I’m a meme,” Martin said. “Talbot’s even gotten himself quoted as saying he wished the bears no harm and he thinks it’s a tragedy what we did. He claims he begged us not to go after them, which as you know is a damned lie. Of course, the report will dispute his version of things when it ever comes out, but by then it’ll all look really murky.”

“I didn’t see that one coming,” Joe remarked.

“Neither did I,” Martin said. “I’m still wrapping my head around it all. My wife won’t even look at Facebook anymore.”

“That’s a good policy all around,” Smith added.

Joe said, “Maybe the governor will go to bat for you.”

All three men laughed at that.

Martin said, “This has turned out to be a real clusterfuck. But what really bothers me is trying to figure out why those grizzlies charged like that. Was it an anomaly? Will it happen again? Are other bears changing their behavior?”

“And will it be policy now just to let them?” Smith asked rhetorically.

“The department did a necropsy on both bears,” Martin said. “I was hoping they’d find out there was something wrong with them, like if she had a brain tumor or she was so sick she was acting irrationally. But our people found nothing wrong with either bear. They were fit and healthy. They just decided to turn killer. No other explanation than that.”

The explanation sent a chill through Joe’s body.

“I missed all this,” Joe confessed. “I’ve been bogged down over here with that shooting. And without my pickup, I haven’t heard anything over the radio.”

“Probably for the best,” Smith said.

“Meanwhile,” Martin said, “Jim Trenary’s funeral is next week. It seems like half the town will be there. Several of the wealthy locals started a college fund for Jim’s kids, and they’re taking care of Jim’s wife. It’s been great to see. Heartwarming, in fact.”

“Guess who didn’t contribute,” Smith said.

“Julius Talbot,” Martin spat.

Joe’s intrinsic faith in his fellow man took another hit.

*

MARTIN LEANED BACK from the pickup and held his arm up to the light of the pole lamp so he could read his wristwatch. “Well, I guess we better get going. We’re late already and it’s getting cold.”

“Thanks again for bringing it over,” Joe said, patting the bed wall of his pickup. “And thanks for catching me up.”

Martin nodded and started to follow Smith to his vehicle. Before he got there, he stopped and turned around and pointed toward the bullet hole in Joe’s door.

“That bullet wasn’t meant for me,” Martin said. “Is somebody gunning for you, Joe?”

“I’m not sure,” Joe said. “But I think I’m getting closer to finding out.”

“Take care of yourself,” Martin said.

“You too.”

*

JOE CALLED DAISY over from the WYDOT vehicle and opened the pickup door for her as Smith’s truck vanished with receding red taillights.

He climbed in, adjusted the seat to fit him again, and texted Marybeth to say he was on the way.

About time, she replied. Don’t forget the pizza.

As he drove toward Saddlestring, wind whistled through the cab from the new hole in his door. He tried to plug it with a ball of Kleenex, but it didn’t solve the problem.

The denouement of the grizzly attack left him depressed and angry.

The hole in his door meant something else entirely.





TWENTY-TWO


JOE HAD TO STOP, ONCE AGAIN, FOR THE COW MOOSE ON his road to inspect his familiar pickup and let him pass. He noted that Nate and Liv’s Yarak, Inc. van was parked on the side of the garage when he arrived home. Next to it was a black Cadillac Escalade with county two Wyoming plates. Cheyenne.