Breaking Point

next election comes around.”
    “Oh,” Farkus said.
    “You in?”
    Farkus looked around the single-wide at the faded curtains and the buckled interior siding. At the quarter-inch of grease on the underside of the stove hood and the pile of cat feces in the corner of the floor near McLanahan’s boots.
    “I can’t swear I can find him,” Farkus said.
    “You don’t have to swear. You just have to point me in the right direction before the Feds get their poop in a group.”
    McLanahan struggled to pry himself out of the tight fit and took a mug of coffee Farkus poured. He said, “I’ll be back in three hours with horses, guns, and gear. Can you get your shit together by then?”
    “I guess so.”
    “Pack for a couple of days and nights, although I’m guessing we won’t be up there that long. Word is Butch is on foot. He won’t be able to cover that much ground.”
    Farkus asked, “Should I bring my thirty-aught-six?”
    “Can you hit anything with it?”
    Farkus shrugged. He hadn’t sighted it in since he’d gone hunting with Butch, and he recalled how many times that week he’d bumped the scope on rocks and trees.
    McLanahan read his expression and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll have enough hardware to cover us.”
    Farkus shook his head and said, “Butch Roberson—that just don’t seem right. He always seemed like, you know, a family guy, even though he could be a hell of a hard-ass on the construction site. I just can’t see him doing what you said he done. What was the deal, anyhow?”
    “I didn’t accuse him,” McLanahan said. “Wheelchair Dick and the Feds did. I’m just along for the ride.”
    “Will it just be us? Just you and me?”
    McLanahan warned, “Don’t get all wrapped up in the details, Dave. Leave the organizing part to me. Your job is to guide, not think, okay?”
    Farkus nodded, and was still nodding when McLanahan went out the door. His weight on the front step made the trailer rock.
    He was right. Trouble had shown up early.

10
    ON HIS WAY TO THE HOLIDAY INN TO MEET HIS NEW director for breakfast, Joe drove past the Twelve Sleep County Municipal Airport on the bench above the town. Despite a high chain-link fence that surrounded the perimeter, a small herd of pronghorn antelope had come back and were grazing between the two runways. Because adult pronghorns ranged from eighty to one hundred fifty pounds, they obviously posed a safety hazard to incoming aircraft and themselves, although they usually had the sense to get far out of the way.
    If he didn’t have the appointment, Joe thought, he would pull over and shoo them away by firing blank .22 cracker shells. If the pronghorns continued to hang out between the runways, he might need to dart them and transport them somewhere else in his district. The prospect of a small propeller passenger plane striking one or more gave him a shudder.
    And beyond the grazing pronghorns, parked in front of the state-owned hangar, was a glittering eight-passenger Cessna Encore jet. On the tail was the familiar bucking-horse-and-rider logo. It was known as
Rulon One
—the governor’s plane.
    —
    J OE CHECKED HIS WATCH as he walked through the aging atrium to the restaurant in the back of the hotel. He was on time. He tried to guess what she might look like, thinking: trim, probably fashionable, businesslike, professional, tightly wound and anxious. He spotted her sitting alone in a booth next to the wall, speed-reading the
Casper
Star-Tribune
, an iPhone within quick reach next to her cup of coffee.
    Lisa Greene-Dempsey looked up as he approached her. There was no doubting who she was, and he congratulated himself for profiling her well enough to identify. She practically fell over herself getting up, he thought, tossing the newspaper aside and striding across the carpet to greet him. She took his extended right hand in both of hers and pumped it, and said, “The infamous Joe Pickett—I’m
so
happy to meet you.”
    He said, “Infamous?”
    “Probably the wrong choice of words,” she said, pulling him to her booth, still holding his hand. “Call me LGD.”
    “Okay, LGD.” He removed his hat and placed it crown-down next to him.
    “
Director
LGD,” she said with a tight smile.
    She was slim and tall with severely straight light brown hair parted just off-center on the top of her head. It was streaked with gray and cut along her jawline so it gave the impression of long hair without being long. She had high cheekbones and