“I’m sure.”
Overcome with enthusiasm, Maureen threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. Ben felt a sudden rush that he knew had nothing to do with the acquisition of a new client. “That’s so wonderful! This is the biggest break we’ve had in months!” She hugged him again, overcome with enthusiasm. “Mr. Kincaid, I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”
Two
Chapter 8
Tess parked her Jeep Cherokee in the only opening in the gravel-covered parking area. The place was packed-by Magic Valley standards, anyway.
She wasn’t surprised. There were only two bars in Magic Valley, and this one-Bunyan’s-was the only one that stayed open after midnight. For the crowd that wanted to drink into the wee hours of the morning, this was the place to be.
She crossed the parking lot, passing between two rows of pickups, mostly red, a few blue or green. A bumper sticker caught her eye: KILL AN OWL, SAVE A LOGGER.
She shook her head. Those Green Ragers had to be crazy to hang out here. Not that there were a lot of choices.
She opened the front door of Bunyan’s. A thick cloud of smoke hit her so hard she almost choked. Her eyes stung; it was several seconds before she could see anything. When she could, she didn’t see much she liked.
The place was filled with men, most of them tough, bearded, and sizable. Not the kind you’d expect to see at the Friday-night poetry reading. Excepting the waitresses, she saw only a couple of women. The place was decorated with logging memorabilia-rusted hacksaws and chain saws, sepia-toned photos of logging operations throughout the century. One wall displayed a huge neon image of Paul Bunyan-one hand on his trusty axe, the other on Babe the blue ox.
She scanned the bar till she found the guys she was looking for. There were two of them, both seated at the bar. They both had long hair; one of them wore an earring, although these days that wasn’t uncommon even with the loggers. They were younger than most of the rest of the men in the bar.
She knew one of them-Rick Collier. He was one of the top men in the local Green Rage hierarchy, second in command to George Zakin, the man currently under lock and key. She didn’t know the other man, but since he was deep in an animated conversation with Rick, she thought it a good bet that he was also a member of Green Rage.
And as luck would have it, there was an empty barstool beside Rick. Although, upon reflection, she thought it probably was not luck but the fact that no one else in the bar wanted anything to do with them.
She sashayed up to the empty bar stool, consciously ignoring the leers she received from the men she passed. Most of them probably thought they were giving her a compliment, but from her perspective, all they were giving her was the creeps.
She took the empty stool and ordered a gin and tonic. While she waited, she tried to eavesdrop on the discussion to her immediate right.
“Can we trust him?” the man she didn’t know asked Rick.
“I think so,” Rick answered. “To a point, anyway. He’s probably at the dilettante stage. He’d like to think of himself as an activist, committed to the cause. But he’s probably not ready to take any risks.”
“How much can we tell him? How much should he know?”
“Nothing about anything illegal, that’s for sure. He’s still processing. Let’s not get his panties in a twist over some penny-ante act of ecotage.”
There was a pause before the other man asked the next question. “Do you think he suspects?”
“Naw,” Rick said confidently. “Not a chance. He’s clueless.”
The two men fell silent. Tess supposed this was her opening. She took a cigarette out of her purse, pressed it to her lips, and tapped Rick lightly on the shoulder. “Do you know if smoking is permitted?”
He peered at her through the smoke-filled air. “If it isn’t, you’d better run, ’cause this shack must be on fire.”
She smiled seductively. “Got a light?”
Rick shook his head. “Sorry. I’m not into self-destruction.”
She set the cigarette on the counter and leaned closer to him. “What are you into?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Tsk, tsk. Answering a question with a question. That’s a bit defensive.”
“I’ve learned to be.” He started to turn back to his companion. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Tess laid her hand on his shoulder and gently brought him back around. “Please don’t. I’m all alone here, I don’t know anyone, and I’d really like some company.”
Rick’s expression was decidedly unsympathetic.
“My name is Tess. What’s yours?”
“Rick. But then, you knew that already, didn’t you?”
Tess pulled up, startled. “Wha-what do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. Who sent you?”
“Sent me? I just-this was the only place open-”
“Uh-huh. Right. Look, if you’re snooping for information, just ask. Chances are I won’t tell you squat, but at least we’ll save time and you won’t have to demean yourself by pretending to come on to me.”
Tess pressed her lips together. Some investigative reporter-it hadn’t taken him two seconds to make her. It was time to retrench.
“Look, I’m sorry,” she said. She cast her eyes downward. “I didn’t know how to approach you. I just … wanted to talk.”
“On whose behalf?”
“Just-for me. I wanted to get to know you.”
“Like I said, if you’ll excuse me-”
“Please wait.” She held up her hands and put on her most pathetic expression. “I want to help you.” She glanced at his companion. “All of you.”
Rick let out a guffaw. “I’m sure. Now I’ve heard everything.”
“It’s true.” She glanced around the bar, as if checking for spies, then lowered her voice. “I know about the Cabal.”
Rick’s eyebrows formed a broad ridge over his eyes. “What are you babbling about?”
“You heard me. I know about them. And I think I have information you could use.”
“And just what is it you think this Cabal is?”
“The Cabal is a secret organization formed and funded by a consortium of major logging companies. From what I understand, each of the eight largest companies kicked in a million dollars. They hired a man to lead it, a former CIA operative experienced with dirty tricks. His name is Amos Slade.” She paused. “Although those who know him call him the Prince of Darkness.”
“And what is it you think this so-called Cabal is supposed to do?”
“The Cabal was formed for one reason and one reason only-to screw the environmental groups, particularly the so-called eco-terrorists like Green Rage.”
“And why would they want to do that? We haven’t stopped the logging, as any fool can see.”
“No, but you have made it more expensive. Most analysts estimate that eco-terrorism costs the logging industry about twenty million a year in lost equipment, derailed plans, overtime, and other related costs. I suppose
