?” Bud Longbrake, Missy’s ex-husband and Joe’s ex-father-in-law, stood like a bronze statue of a washed-up cowboy caught in a spotlight. Slowly, Bud turned his head a little so he could talk to Joe over his shoulder. “Hey, Joe. I didn’t know you were home.” His voice was bass and resigned, and his words were slurred. “I live here, Bud,” Joe said. “You know that. So what are you doing sneaking around in my backyard? Oh, and drop the Colt.” Bud said, “If I drop it on the concrete, it might go off.” “Then bend over and put it at your feet and kick it away, Bud.” “Oh, all right.” It took him a moment to bend all the way over, and he grunted while he did it. He gave the weapon a kick with his boot. Joe thought Bud had gained quite a bit of weight since he’d last seen him, and his movements were stiff as if his joints hurt. “Okay, turn around slowly,” Joe said. “Keep the palms of your hands up so I can see them.” Bud did, and Joe put the beam of his flashlight on Bud’s face. He was shocked by what he saw. Bud’s eyes were rimmed with red and his cheeks were puffy and pale and spiderwebbed with thin blue veins. His nose was bulbous and looked as if it had been rubbed gray with woodstove ash. A three-day growth of beard sparkled like silver sequins in the beam of the flashlight. “You look like hell, Bud,” Joe said, lowering the shotgun but keeping the flashlight on the old rancher. Bud said, “You know, I feel like hell, too.” He swayed while he said it, as if he’d been hit with an ocean wave at knee level or he was doing some kind of lounge dance very poorly. His arms circled stiffly in their sockets, and he took a step forward to regain his balance. “Whoa,” he said. “Sit down,” Joe said, propping his shotgun against Lucy’s bike. “Grab one of those lawn chairs.” “I’ll do that,” Bud said, pulling a chair over and collapsing into it. The whoosh
of his exhale floated in Joe’s direction, and the alcohol content was so high Joe was grateful he didn’t have a lighted cigarette. He hoped the chair wouldn’t collapse under the ex-rancher’s weight. Nate remained hidden, and Joe purposefully didn’t look in his direction. Although Bud seemed completely harmless now, it was good to have Nate there monitoring the situation. It was preferable Bud didn’t know it. Said Bud, “I heard this damned poem in the bar the other night I can’t get out of my head. It’s a Dr. Seuss poem. It goes: I cannot see, I cannot pee I cannot chew, I cannot screw Oh my God, what can I do? “Dr. Seuss, you say,” Joe said. “I doubt that
.” Bud continued, “
. . . My body’s drooping, have trouble pooping The Golden Years have come at last The Golden Years can kiss my ass.” With that, Bud paused and grinned a new jack-o’-lantern smile that was the result of missing teeth. One gone on top, two on the bottom. “Are you through?” “Yup,” Bud said. “There’s more, but I can’t remember the lines. So yeah, I’m through.” He said it while digging into his ranch coat and coming out with a tin of Copenhagen. Joe watched as he formed a huge wad with his thumb and two fingers and crammed the snuff into the right side of his lower lip in front of his teeth. The wad was so big it distorted his lower face. “So what are you doing here?” Joe asked. “I don’t appreciate you sneaking around my house at night.” “I’m sorry,” Bud said, shaking his head. “I really am.” Joe couldn’t believe how this man had changed in just two years. Bud had been one of the best-liked and most influential ranch owners in Twelve Sleep County. He was generous and avuncular, served on boards and commissions, donated thousands to Saddlestring charities, and almost single-handedly kept the 4-H Club and rodeo arena afloat. He’d been a kind step-grandfather to Sheridan and Lucy, and he’d briefly employed Joe as foreman of the Longbrake Ranch when Joe had been fired from the Game and Fish Department. But here he was, broken and embarrassing. And armed. He looked up, trying to focus. “Missy told me,” he said. “Told you what?” “Missy told me she’d hired that Nate Romanowski to put the hurt on me. To knock hell out of me and send me down the river in a pine box. I know what that character can do with that big cannon of his he carries around.” Joe moaned. “She said he was coming here, to this house, and he was going to kick the living crap out of me in front of my friends and buddies.” “She said that, did she?” Bud nodded. “She called me yesterday and told me that. She said she was giving me fair warning to get the hell out of town and stop bothering her. I thought about it some, I’ll admit. I couldn’t sleep at all last night, and I had a beer for breakfast to help me decide what to do. I been on a tear ever since,” he said, tipping an imaginary glass of bourbon into his mouth. “Then I said to myself, the hell with it. I ain’t scared of no Nate Romanowski. I came here to get the drop on him and maybe bring this thing to a head.” Joe sighed. He was as angry at Missy for inadvertently revealing Nate’s whereabouts as he was disappointed in what Bud had become. “It’s probably hard to sneak up on guys when you can hardly stand up.” Bud nodded. “You’re telling me?” “She’s a cancer,” Joe said. “Why do you still listen to her?” “A cancer?” Bud said, sitting back and slapping his thighs with his big hands, “Cancer can be cured most of the time. No, she’s a damned witch! She’s an in-the-flesh witch! She put her spell on me for a while and she took everything I owned, and now she’s working on that guy, the Earl of Lexington. She’ll have everything he’s got soon, I’ll bet you money. I mean, if I still had some.” Joe said, “I won’t take that bet.” Bud laughed drily. “The only revenge I got is that the way things are going, I’m not sure I could have afforded to pay the taxes or comply with all the new regulations they’re putting on us out here. I’m glad somebody else has to deal with that shit. But I don’t like the idea of your friend coming after me, either.” Joe said, “Bud, Nate’s not after you. That’s all in Missy’s imagination. Not that she hasn’t tried to hire him to intimidate you, but that’s not what Nate does.” Bud said, “What does he do?” Which momentarily left Joe at a loss for words. The kitchen drapes parted, and Joe saw Marybeth look out. Her face fell when she saw Bud Longbrake and how he looked. Joe nodded to her and indicated that everything was fine. Before she let the curtains fall back into place, he could see her purse her lips and shake her head sadly. “I asked what he did,” Bud repeated. “I take drunk old ranchers home,” Nate said, stepping out from the shadows where he’d been hiding. His .454 was low at his side but not in the holster. At the sound of Nate’s voice, Bud’s arm rose stiffly and he fluttered his hands and his boots kicked out in alarm. “Calm down,” Nate said to Bud, putting a hand on his shoulder. “If I was going to kill you, you’d already be dead.” Joe shrugged to Bud, as if to say, You know he’s right
. “Where’s your pickup, Bud?” Nate asked. Bud gestured vaguely toward the sagebrush field in back of the house. “Out there somewhere,” he said. “Why don’t we go find it?” “Then what?” Bud asked. “Then I’ll take you home. Are you still living in that apartment over the Western wear store on Main?” Bud nodded. “Then let’s go.” Bud didn’t move. Nate reached out and grasped Bud’s ear and twisted it. “I said, let’s go.” Joe had seen Nate twist off enough ears. He said, “Nate . . .” But the pressure caused Bud to rise clumsily and stand up. Nate let go of Bud’s ear and Bud pawed at it with his free hand like a bear cub. “Can I at least see the girls?” Bud asked Joe. “I miss them girls.” “They’re in bed,” Joe fibbed. “It’s a school night, Bud.” “I do miss them girls.” “They miss you, too,” Joe said. “You were a good grandpa to them.” “Until that witch screwed it all up.” Joe nodded. “You know the worse thing about her?” Bud said suddenly. Joe braced himself. “I still love her. I still goddamn love her, even after all she did to me.” Joe said, “That is the worst thing, all right.” “What about my Army Colt?” Bud asked Joe. “I like to have it within reach.” “Go home, Bud. I’ll drop it by later.” “Come on,” Nate said. “Can you find your keys?” Bud clumsily started patting himself. In addition to his pickup keys, he located his can of Copenhagen and a warm bottle of beer. Bud twisted the cap off and took a long drink, and offered it to Joe and then Nate. “No thanks, Bud,” Joe said. As Nate guided Bud out the backyard toward th
e distant truck, Joe heard Bud say, “If you really want to kill me, I probably wouldn’t put up too much of a fight.” “Shut up,” Nate responded. LATER, AS JOE crawled into bed, Marybeth said, “It’s so sad what’s happened to Bud. I don’t know what’s going to become of him.” He moved close to her and she turned away to her side. Their bodies fit so well together, he thought. She said, “I keep expecting to get a call from the sheriff’s office asking us to come down and bail him out of jail. Or identify a body.” She didn’t sound sleepy. He said, “Your mother’s body count is getting pretty high. How did you manage to turn out so well?” “I guess I’m the black sheep of the family.” Joe chuckled. “Yup. No one can accuse you of trading up.” “Do you think he’ll come back? Bud, I mean?” Joe pulled her closer. Her body felt warm and soft. He buried his face into her hair. “I doubt it. He knows now Nate’s not after him. And deep down, Bud’s a good man. He’ll wake up and be ashamed of himself for showing up here, I think.” “Mmmm.” “Marybeth,” he whispered into her ear, “I was wondering . . .” “Joe,” she said, cutting him off. “First, we need to talk.” “About what?” She took a deep soft breath and paused. “I can see the direction this is all headed. I could see it tonight when you and Nate got your guns and went outside. It was like your sails were full. I know it was me who called Nate for help, but at the time I wasn’t sure when I’d see you again, if at all. “You’re thinking of going back up into those mountains, aren’t you? You want to find those brothers,” she said. He closed his eyes, even though she wasn’t looking at his face. “No one believes me, honey.” “I do.” “I keep thinking about everything that happened—how they whipped me. I keep thinking about Terri Wade and . . . that other woman. Something was going on up there and I couldn’t see it at the time. I still can’t. But whatever it is, it’s still there. That the sheriff in Carbon County and all those DCI boys couldn’t find the Grim Brothers at all puzzles the heck out of me. That the FBI seems to be monitoring the situation makes no logical sense. And who is this Bobby McCue representing? There are a load of unanswered questions, starting with why the Grim Brothers are up there in the first place. Plus, there are lives at stake. Even though Terri Wade and the mystery woman seemed to be there willingly, I just don’t buy it. No woman would choose to be alone in the wilderness like that with those two brothers around. I think they’re being held, even if they didn’t act like it. Just walking away doesn’t feel right.” She turned to face him. He could see the side of her face in the soft light of the moon outside. She still looked youthful, attractive, strong. He wanted her. She said, “Be thankful you were able to walk away, Joe.” “Yeah, I know.” “Maybe it was a blessing,” she said. “You may not be so lucky the next time.” He said nothing for a long time. Then: “I’ll tell you something I have trouble putting into words. I’m scared
to go back up there. I’ve been scared a lot in the past. But this one is different somehow. I don’t think I can beat them.” She reached out and touched his cheek. She spoke softly, “Eventually, those brothers will get caught or turn themselves in. And who knows—maybe those women are up there on their own accord. Not all women have brains in their heads, Joe. Some are actually attracted by men like that, which sickens me. But for once, why not let the system work? You don’t need to be the one driving it this time.” She said, “For God’s sake, they aren’t even in your district anymore. You’ve been reassigned, so they’re someone else’s problem now. We both know the governor wants you to stay out of it. And the sheriff down there probably never wants to see you again. If you went after them, it would be purely personal, and that’s not good.” “Still,” he said. “Look,” she said, propping herself up on an elbow. His arm that had been draped over her fell away from her movement. “You’ve been gone a long time. You see the situation here. April is like a stick of dynamite walking around in a room filled with candles. She’s just going to go off if we aren’t there to help and guide her. Sheridan’s got a year left before she goes to college, Joe. To college
! She’s in a situation right now where she goes to practice every night and that hysterical coach of hers mistreats her because she won’t suck up to him. She doesn’t say much about it. She’s miserable—but she won’t quit. Who does that remind you of?” Joe grunted. She said, “I don’t sleep well when any of my children are unhappy, even if I can’t do anything about it. And there’s Lucy. I don’t want her to think she’s been forgotten amidst all this drama.” He reached out and stroked her naked shoulder. “I’ve never asked this before,” she said, “But I’m asking now: promise me you won’t go after them
.” Joe sighed and rubbed his eyes hard. “I know it’s against your nature,” she said. “I know you think your advantage is your inability to simply let things go. But something happened up there. They got into your head and under your skin and they stole a part of you. You can’t get it back, Joe. You’ve just got to heal. And you’ve got to be home to heal. Where I need you right now. I need some help here, Joe
.” He said, “You’re serious, aren’t you?” “Yes.” “Okay,” he said. “I promise.” He was shocked how relieved he was when he said it, how a tremendous downward pressure on him seemed to release and dissipate. He felt lighter and slightly ashamed of himself. The truth was, he needed her permission not
to go after the Grim Brothers. Because from what he’d experienced, they’d likely beat him again. And this time, he doubted they’d let the job go unfinished. “Come here,” he said, pulling her to him. She came.
18 DAVE FARKUS RODE IN THE DARK WITH HIS LEFT ARM UP IN front of his face in case the fat horse walked under a branch. He couldn’t see a thing, and he was terrified. He was also severely chilled, because the temperature had dropped once the sun went down behind the clouds. “I’m freezing,” Farkus said. Ahead of him, Smith turned and said, “Shut up, Dave.” Smith, like the other three, had put on night vision goggles to ride by. Where Smith’s eyes should have been, there were dark holes. Only when one of the other riders looked directly at him could Farkus see a dull ball of red deep inside the lenses, which unnerved him. It was as if the twin eyepieces were drilled into their brains. Occasionally, if the riders adjusted their goggles or briefly removed them, he could see their faces bathed in an eerie green. Farkus said, “I feel like I’m in a goddamned zombie movie.” EARLIER, PARNELL HAD ORDERED them all to put on body armor and night-vision goggles—except for Farkus, of course. Smith and Campbell had dismounted and dug in the panniers and handed out the bulletproof vests. Farkus could hear the soft clink of ceramic plating as the vests were strapped on. Then, in the last few minutes of dusk, he watched them check lithium batteries and adjust the straps of the goggles in a well-practiced way. Campbell and Smith debated the merits of their goggles, and Farkus listened carefully. “I was hoping for generation fours instead of these ATN gen threes,” Campbell told Smith. “There’s hardly any moon at all and the gen fours will reach out a thousand yards in these conditions.” Smith said, “But we’re still talking one hundred fifty to four hundred yards with these babies at two grand a pop. Not too bad.” Farkus said to them both, “Obviously, this ain’t your first rodeo.” Campbell began to say more—he was obviously a gear geek—but after Farkus spoke he caught himself. But Farkus learned plenty from the short exchange, if little to do with night vision goggles. The expedition was well financed by a third party, and the men were well trained even if they were seeing some of the equipment for the first time. Which meant, as he’d suspected, that the men were mercenaries—hired hands. So it wasn’t personal with either them or their target. That could work in his favor, he thought. He’d have to play it cool, but he was used to that. Avoiding hard work meant learning the motivation and proclivities of those around you. It’s what he did. OCCASIONALLY, FARKUS was brushed by a pine bough on his head or leg and he cursed his fat horse. But she could see better than he and there was no choice but to simply hold on and hope she didn’t walk under an overhanging branch that would knock him out of his sadd
le or poke his eye out. The arrangement of the goggle-eyes behind him was interesting. Campbell rode erect and invisible in his saddle, and his eyes were level with Farkus. Capellen, though, slumped forward head down and moaning, goggles askew and leaking green ambient light. AS THEY RODE, Farkus could see Parnell consulting his equipment. Based on the reading of his electronics, Parnell would subtly shift direction. The others would adjust as well. Farkus simply trusted his horse to want to stay with the others. He was grateful horses were such needy and social creatures, and glad he wasn’t riding a cat. Parnell said, “They’re on the move.” “Which way?” Smith asked. “Away from us. And they’re moving at a pretty good clip.” Said Smith, “I’m surprised they’re moving at night. Do you think they know we’re coming?” “Who knows what they’re doing or why?” “Those guys have always been unpredictable,” Campbell said from behind Farkus. “They’ve adapted well.” Okay, something new
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