Winterkill

Munker set his jaw and his eyes bored holes into Joe. “You thought wrong,” he said. He shot a look at Melinda Strickland. “Which side is he on, anyway?”

“Geez, I wished I could get away with wearing a hat like that,” Tony Portenson interjected, clearly attempting to change the direction of the conversation. He nodded toward Joe’s well-worn Stetson. “But I’m from Jersey, and everybody would know I was faking it.”

“I know who you are,” Munker said, stifling a smile. Portenson’s joke hadn’t diverted him. “You’re the one who had Lamar Gardiner in custody when he escaped. The game warden, right?”

Joe felt a pang of anger and embarrassment.

“Joe,” Strickland said, placing her hand on Joe’s shoulder, “Mr. Munker and Mr. Portenson are experts in the kind of situation we have here in Twelve Sleep County. They’re in demand all over the west. They’re here to advise us on how we should proceed with the Sovereigns. They’ll be working here, but also in Idaho and Nevada.”

“Other hotbeds of insurrection,” Munker added. “Where federal officials have been hurt or threatened.”

Strickland opened her purse so Joe would look inside. “They advised me to get this to protect myself.” He could see the checkered grip of a stainless-steel nine-millimeter Ruger semiautomatic pistol. “I still can’t believe I’m actually carrying a gun around with me.” Her half-giggling voice belied her words of concern, though, Joe thought.

Joe took his hat off and rubbed his eyes. Melinda Strickland with a gun.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I think saying this is a hotbed of insurrection is pretty strong,” Joe cautioned. “I live here and I just don’t see it. I’m not saying there aren’t some real independent characters around, or some hotheads. But I just don’t see that it could be organized like you seem to be suggesting.”

Tony Portenson and Dick Munker exchanged glances.

“How familiar are you with the extremists up there in that compound?” Munker asked. “Do you know what kind of people they are? What they believe? We know them, and their type. Some of those individuals have been involved in some of the worst situations that have taken place in this country in the past dozen years. You’ve got ex-cons, and conspirators, and scumbags who just haven’t been caught at anything yet. These scumbags have gotten this far because they’ve been tolerated and coddled. They need to know that not everybody will take their crap.”

Joe stared at Munker in disbelief. He felt another hard twist in his stomach as he listened.

“Ms. Strickland has given us carte blanche to deal with the situation,” Portenson said, grinning. “For once, we can deal with these assholes the right way.”

Melinda Strickland returned his grin. She clearly liked being admired by colleagues. It made Joe slightly sick. “Sheriff Barnum is completely on board with this,” she told Joe. “He’s volunteered his complete cooperation.”

“I met Wade Brockius,” Joe confessed. “He told me they just want to be left alone. That they mean no harm.”

“And you believed him?” Munker asked, cocking his eyebrow.

“I don’t have any reason not to,” Joe said.

“How about a dead Forest Service supervisor? How about a BLM employee left for dead?”

Joe felt a slow rise of anger. “Unless there’s something you boys can tell me, I can’t see the connection between those crimes and the Sovereigns. Nate Romanowski is already in jail for the Gardiner murder. Are you saying Romanowski is connected to the Sovereigns?”

“Maybe Romanowski scouted the mountains for them,” Portenson said, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe Romanowski found that campground for them and called his buddies to come join him here in Lost Bumfuck, Wyoming.”

Joe turned on Portenson with a withering stare. “Do you have a single shred of proof that what you say is valid?” Joe asked. “You sound like you’re making this up as you go along.”

“What about your little girl?” Munker asked. “Didn’t one of them take her?”

Joe didn’t reply. He couldn’t believe April had been brought up. The wound was still too fresh.

“Maybe if you help us out, it will help you get her back sooner.”

“How?”

Munker started to speak, then caught himself. A wry smile formed. “At least then we’ll know whose side you’re on.”

Joe fought the urge to smash Munker’s face with his fist. Instead, Joe fitted his hat back on and walked away.

Joe was sitting in his truck waiting for it to warm up when Elle Broxton-Howard appeared in his headlights and approached the passenger-side window. She knocked on the glass, and Joe gestured for her to come in. She climbed into the truck and shut the door.

“The heater isn’t hot yet,” he apologized. “It’ll take a minute to get going.”

“It’s so cold here,” she said, shivering. She was huddled in her dark wool coat. “I don’t know how you people can stand it out here.”

“Sometimes I wonder that myself,” Joe said, making conversation.

“Melinda was magnificent in there, wasn’t she?” Broxton-Howard said, sounding awestruck.

Joe grunted—not a yes, not a no. He was still seething from his encounter with Munker.

As the cab warmed, Joe could smell her scent. The far-off light from the fluorescent pole lamp profiled her against the window. She was lovely.

Suddenly, Elle leaned across the seat toward him. “I’m starting to think you’re the key to my story.”