“The director is out of the state at a conference,” Pope said, disregarding Joe’s explanation. “He asked me to come to the funeral on behalf of the agency.”
That explains your getup, Joe thought. This is how you think people dress in Jackson.
“You probably know I’m here to fill in,” Joe said, feeling the need to explain why he was behind the desk in Will Jensen’s old office.
Pope shifted his eyes from Joe to something over and to the right of Joe’s head. “I heard about that,” he said flatly.
Clearly, Joe thought, Pope didn’t approve of the arrangement. “We expected you earlier this week.”
Joe patiently explained the hunt for the bear, saying he didn’t know if the dispatcher forgot to forward the message or whoever got it didn’t inform the office. Pope didn’t seem to accept the excuse.
Joe had heard through Trey and others that Randy Pope desperately wanted to be named the next director. The current director was rumored to be short for the world, thanks to the pending gubernatorial election, and an opening would be likely. Directors were chosen at the discretion of the governor and the Game and Fish Commission, and historically had come from within the department, from the ranks of game wardens or biologists. To Joe’s knowledge, there’d never been a director who came from the administrative side of the agency, the side that issued memos. Yet it was said that Pope had done his best to ingratiate himself with both gubernatorial candidates, as well as with the legislators who oversaw the department. He positioned himself as a man who was both within and without; a fiscally responsible insider who would curb rampant financial abuses as well as rein in the cowboys in the field. Joe had no doubt he was considered one of the cowboys.
Pope said, “Joe, do you realize what kind of trouble our agency is in these days?”
The question was out of left field, Joe thought. He shook his head.
“We’re running deficits, bleeding red. We’re being asked to take on more and more responsibilities by the state and the Feds, but our income streams are drying up.”
This was no secret to Joe. Salaries had been capped and positions cut statewide.
“There are fewer hunters out there every year, Joe. It’s no longer socially acceptable in many parts of the country to be a hunter. That means fewer hunting licenses are being purchased every year, which means less money for the agency to manage wildlife and everything else that has been thrown to us by the Feds—wolves, grizzly bears, endangered species . . . you name it. The only way to keep our division healthy is to practice sound fiscal management and good public relations. You never know when we’ll have to go to the legislature for money.”
“I’m aware of that,” Joe said, not knowing where this was going.
“Are you?” Pope asked sharply.
“Yes.”
Pope sighed. “I see everything, Joe. I’m the one who has to sign off on all of our expenses.”
“Right.”
“You don’t know what I’m getting at, do you, Joe?”
“Nope,” Joe said. But now he did.
“In the past six years, we’ve replaced two pickup trucks, a horse, and a snowmobile for you. Total losses, all of them.
That’s the worst damage record in the state.”
Joe felt anger start to rise.
Pope continued, the cadence of his words speeding up until he was literally biting them off. “You arrested the governor.
You got in the middle of a vital endangeredspecies issue.
You pissed off one of the governor’s biggest contributors—
who later got killed in your presence. Let’s see . . . what else?” Pope pretended to be pondering, then answered his own question. “That Sovereign thing up in the mountains, that was next. We are still working on repairing our relationship with the Forest Service over that one.”
Joe crossed his arms and waited for him to finish.
“Last year you hit a guy with your third pickup, right?”
Pope said. “You smashed in the grille and bent the frame.
What did that cost?”
“A few thousand,” Joe said.
“The actual cost was six thousand, seven hundred,” Pope spit out.
“I’ve also lost two service weapons,” Joe said. “One got burned up in a fire, and the other got blown up by a cow.
Don’t forget those.”
That stopped Pope for a minute, threw him off balance.
He recovered quickly and went on. “Now we’ve got a game warden who got boozed up and blows his head off. He’s not our first casualty lately. An outsider, or a legislator, might just think we’re an agency out of control.”
Joe’s ears burned, and anger swelled in his chest. He tried to stay calm. Joe said, “You’re out of line, Pope. I don’t know what happened with Will Jensen yet, but you need to watch what you say. Will was never out of control. He devoted his life to the department, and maybe that’s what finally got to him. Maybe the pressure you and your
