about the time of the first mad cow scare in the U.S. So I hired him as my consultant and brought him out here to help us plan the village.”
“I do seminars in California and New York,” Illoway said. “Hundreds of people pay eight hundred dollars each to come hear about Good Meat and come with me to visit our farms.”
“And now you have a place for them to live,” Joe said.
“Right!” Ennis cried. “We’ve created the first of its kind. Now I want to build it. All that stands in my way is you, frankly. So I hope to hell you’re friendly, and not like that goddamned Will Jensen.”
Several moments passed. Joe felt the eyes of Illoway, Ennis, and Suhn on him, waiting for his reaction.
“I looked at Will’s file,” Joe said. “The problem he seemed to have with the development has to do with the fact that by fencing it off you would shut down the traditional migration routes of grizzlies and moose.”
Ennis snorted. “That’s ridiculous. I already told you that.
We want bears and moose in our village.”
“But what about the fences?” Joe asked. “It seems to me, looking at your map, that you’d force the wildlife to cross the highway to get to winter ground.”
Don Ennis glared at Joe, his eyes bulging.
“The fence does two things,” Illoway interjected in his reasonable way. “One, it obviously protects the privacy of the residents. Two, it assures us that our population of stock and wildlife remains pure from disease and poaching. You should care that the wildlife and stock here is as genetically pure as possible.”
Joe said, “I’m well aware of the problem with brucellosis in the elk.” It was a fact that most of the wild elk coming down from Yellowstone had the disease. Brucellosis was suspected of being passed from wildlife to domestic cattle and causing the cows to abort their fetuses. “But what you’re talking about sounds to me like a game farm, and those are illegal in Wyoming.”
“It’s not a game farm,” Illoway said, while Ennis moaned.
“It’s a Good Meat community.”
“Let me study the file,” Joe said, “and read all of the comments.”
“Here we go again,” Ennis hissed.
Joe wanted to reassure Ennis, but demurred. Like the name of Beargrass Village itself, there was a falseness to the whole concept, a structure being built on a poor foundation. He didn’t want to think that. Joe admired many of Illoway’s beliefs. He felt an urge to sign off on Beargrass and get it behind him. But he couldn’t.
“Sometimes,” Illoway intoned, “we need to look past inane regulations toward the greater philosophical good. We need to step outside petty rules and see things for what they really are.”
“Yup.” Joe nodded. “I’m willing to do that. And I’ve got to say that I agree with things that bring people closer to the real world. But we’re also talking about homes being built in a natural wildlife migration route.”
“Jesus Christ!” Ennis said, slamming the table with the flat of his hand. “I thought you said you weren’t against development.”
“I’m not,” Joe said. “I just want to make sure I make a decision I can live with later. So I want to study the file, go over all the materials carefully, and maybe ask some questions.”
Illoway seemed to relax slightly, but Ennis did not.
“How much money do you make?” Ennis asked bluntly.
“Not much,” Joe said, feeling his cheeks burn.
“I didn’t think so,” he said. “I’ve done some checking.”
Was he going to offer him a bribe? Joe wondered.
Ennis said firmly, “I will not let my project go under because of some state flunky who makes thirtysix thousand a year. That’s just not going to happen.”
“Now, Don,” Illoway cautioned, “I think Mr. Pickett here will be fair and reasonable.”
I can see why Will punched you, Joe thought, narrowing his eyes at Don Ennis.
“Let’s hope that’s the case,” Ennis said. Then, to Joe:
“How soon can you make your decision?”
“Give me a couple of weeks.”
Ennis clenched his jaw and looked away. “Two weeks?
Two fucking weeks?”
“Two weeks won’t kill us,” Jim Johnson, the contractor, said from across the table, speaking for the first time since the meeting started. “We’ve waited this long already.”
Ennis shot Johnson a look that made the contractor blanch. Illoway chose not to say anything.
“I’ve got a lot to read here,” Joe said, patting the file. “I’ll want to talk with some of the experts who wrote opinions, and probably ride some of the perimeter of the property where those migration routes supposedly are.”
“Two weeks—no longer than that,” Ennis said, turning to Joe in barely controlled fury. “And if you decide against us . . .”
“Don,”a woman’s voice came clearly from the other side of the room. Joe turned his head to see Stella Ennis, who had apparently entered a few minutes before. Her tone was cautionary, not harsh.
