Out of Range (32 page)

“Not that I know of,” Joe said, stepping inside and signaling Tassell and Trey to follow. The studio was small, the walls filled with action shots of skiers and rafters and a few obligatory Tetons at daybreak. A long front counter divided the public area from a small office and a curtained darkroom. A red light was on above the darkroom entrance, and Joe assumed that’s where Birdy was.

“What do you want?” she asked. “We were just about to close up for the day.”

Joe looked straight at her. “How would you like to contribute to a real bad day for Don Ennis and Beargrass Village?”

Her eyes lit up, and she beamed. Then, with determination, she turned and shouted over her shoulder, “Birdy!”

“You’ve got to be real careful here,” Joe told Pi and Birdy. “You can’t lie, and you can’t insinuate anything at all, even if he presses you, or wants to negotiate over the phone. Do you understand me?”

Pi nodded, trying to contain her enthusiasm. She was both giddy and nervous at the same time. For his part, Birdy seemed pleased to have Pi so happy with him for agreeing to go along with Joe’s idea.

“I’ll be on the phone in the office,” Tassell warned, looking from Pi and Birdy to Joe. “If anything you say comes across as even a hint of extortion or entrapment, I’m pulling the plug on this. We’ll have the call recorded, and it has got to be clean enough to stand up in court if we need it.”

The store’s office was crowded. One of Tassell’s deputies had brought in the owner of the local Radio Shack, who was opening up boxes containing a tape recorder and an 8mm video camera. Randy Pope was at the Game and Fish building, calling the agency director and the governor to let them know what was happening. Joe wondered why Pope had been so anxious to leave, but was pleased the man wasn’t there.

“What if he acts like he doesn’t know what we’re talking about?” Birdy asked.

“That’s fine,” Joe said. “That means he’s either innocent or he’s buying time to deal with you later. My guess, though, is he’ll want to take care of things right away. He won’t really believe you have anything, but he’s too impulsive not to make sure. He’s a man of action. If that’s the case, we want him to come here. We don’t want a meeting set up anywhere else. You’ve got to be careful not to tip him off in some way. If that happens, we’ve lost our opportunity.”

Over his shoulder, Tassell asked his deputy if the telephone tap was working, and the deputy said it was. The owner of Radio Shack looked excited to be able to play a part in the operation, Joe thought.

“What about the video camera? Where are we going to put that?” Tassell asked.

The man from Radio Shack and the deputy looked around the room theatrically for a good location.

“How about on the shelf behind the counter with all the other cameras? We can put a piece of tape over the red light so they won’t know it’s on,” Trey said, pointing over Tassell’s head. Birdy had a display of old and new cameras that he used for photographing skiers and rafters.

“That makes sense,” Tassell said, rolling his eyes at the obviousness of it.

“Give us a minute,” the Radio Shack owner said. “I want to test everything.”

While they waited, Joe went over things again with Pi and Birdy.

“And to think this was all about meat,” Pi said triumphantly. “Flesheaters lose their moral bearings when confronted with the possibility of not getting what they want, which is more flesh. Or in this case, better flesh.”

Joe was confused for a moment, and could feel Tassell staring at him. He motioned Joe into the office and shut the door.

“She’s a loose cannon,” Tassell said. “She’ll screw this up and we’ll get hung out to dry for entrapment.”

“Can you think of another way?” Joe asked.

Tassell hesitated. “No.”

Joe opened the door and went back to the counter, Pi and Birdy looking at him expectantly.

“Are we still on?” Birdy asked.

“We’re on,” Joe said.

“Let’s get this son of a bitch,” Pi said, her eyes dancing.

Joe sat down, filled with sudden doubt. It had taken him over an hour to convince Tassell to try this, and the sheriff had reluctantly agreed, but only after talking with the county attorney. Tassell was concerned that Pi and Birdy’s animal rights agenda was so vehement that they would do or say anything to implicate their target. Every word that was said, every inference, would be recorded on audioand videotape to be scrutinized by lawyers and judges in what could be a hostile court. Looking at the glee in Pi’s face, Joe wasn’t so sure the sheriff wasn’t right.

Joe sat at the counter across from Pi and Birdy while Pi arranged the speaker phone in front of them. His assignment was to coach them through the phone call if necessary, and to warn them if they got into dangerous territory. Joe handed her the business card he had received a couple of weeks before, the one that read: “Welcome to town. I worked with Will. I’ll be in touch.”

As she punched the buttons, Joe turned to Tassell, his deputy, the Radio Shack owner, and Trey, and placed his finger to his lips. They all nodded back.

After three rings, a receptionist answered, “Beargrass Village.”

“May I speak to Don Ennis, please?” Pi said.

“Who may I ask is calling?”

“Pi Stevenson and Birdy Richards,” she said, looking up at Joe and smiling. “It’s extremely important.”

“Hold, please.” There was a click and the silence was filled with soft classical music.

Joe turned and raised his eyebrows at the Radio Shack owner and the deputy, who both wore headphones. Both men turned thumbs up. The recording equipment was working.

“Come on the line, you bastard,” Pi said, curling her lip.

Joe shushed her.

“He’s an asshole,” she said. “What if he doesn’t take our call?”

Joe shrugged and gestured toward the phone. He didn’t want to get into a discussion with her that could be overheard if the receptionist suddenly came back on the line.

“He’s probably sitting in his lounge chair eating raw flesh,” Pi said, and Birdy giggled.

Joe looked at them both with exasperation.

But when the receptionist picked up, Pi was all business.

“Mr. Ennis suffered a traumatic event today and he’s resting,” the receptionist said. “May I please take your name, number, and a message so he can call you back?”

Joe saw a spark in Pi’s eyes as she said, “I suggest you wake him up. This call concerns the traumatic event. Again, it’s extremely important that we talk to him.”

Uhoh, Joe thought, trying to catch her eye. Don’t go any further with it.

The receptionist hesitated. Joe could almost see her trying to figure out what to do.

“This is something Mr. Ennis will want to hear himself,”

Pi said. When she finally looked up, Joe motioned to her to back off. She smiled and dismissed Joe with a “don’t worry” look.

“Please hold,” the receptionist said, and the music came back.

Tassell had crossed the room and was hovering behind Joe.

“I know,” Joe whispered to him. His stomach was knotting up, and Pi said frivolously, “I think we’ve got the hook in the bastard’s mouth. Now he’ll know what fish feel like.”

“Pi—” Joe started to say, when the music stopped suddenly.

“This is Don Ennis.” His voice was a harsh, nononsense baritone. “This is not a good time to call. What’s so goddamned important?”

Pi mimed the act of reeling in a fish while she spoke: “Mr. Ennis, this is Pi Stevenson—”

“Is there somebody there with you?” Ennis interrupted.

“I thought I heard another voice.”

Joe thought, Shit.

“Yes, there is,” Pi said smoothly, and Joe felt his scalp crawl. “I’m here with Birdy Richards. He’s the owner of Wildwater Photography, and I work for him.”

Joe let out a long, silent sigh.

“I thought you were that animalrights kook.”

“One and the same, Mr. Ennis, but that’s not why I called.”

“What is it, then? I told you this was a bad time.”

“Well, we thought you would want to know,” she said.

“Know what?”

Birdy leaned forward toward the phone. “Mr. Ennis, this is Birdy Richards. Do you know what we do here at Wildwater Photography?”

“No, and I really don’t care.”

Birdy glanced at Joe, hurt. Joe gestured for him to go on.

“We’ve got cameras placed on the banks of the Snake River,” Birdy said. “Where the rapids are. We take pictures of the rafters when they come through the whitewater. The rafters usually don’t even know it, because they’re having too much fun or they’re too scared to look for the cameras.

Then, at the takeout spots, we pass out flyers saying the rafters can buy photos of themselves shooting the rapids if they come into town to my shop. We have proof sheets ready by the time they get here that they can look at, and I sell the shots either as prints or I can put them on a disk.

About five to seven percent of the rafters decide they want pictures made of their Snake River experience.”

As Birdy talked, Joe began to relax. Birdy had made his sales pitch often enough that he sounded comfortable. Joe could imagine Ennis’s mind racing with the possibilities of what he was being told.

“Of course,” Pi interjected, “that means ninetyfive percent of the photos aren’t sold to anyone. Sometimes, they turn out to be the most interesting shots taken.”

Stop there, Joe gestured to her.

“What the fuck?” Ennis said. “What are you telling me exactly?”

“Just that we get a lot of pictures we don’t quite know what to do with,” Birdy said.

Pi leaned forward, and Joe mouthed, No! She sat back, pouting.

“So,” Ennis said, his voice hushed, “are you telling me your cameras shot all of the rafters on the river today?”

Birdy looked at Joe, fear in his eyes. He obviously didn’t know how to answer the question, how to parse his words so he wasn’t lying. The fact was, Birdy’s cameras shot only rafts for companies that enrolled in his program and agreed to tape photocells on their rafts that would signal the remote cameras to work. All the other rafts, including the Ennis raft, would have passed by unnoticed.

“Mr. Ennis,” Pi said, while Joe cringed in anticipation, “what we’re saying is that we got a lot of pictures we just hate to see go to waste. Some real prizewinners.”

Okay, Joe thought, signaling her. That was vague enough.

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Ennis growled.

“We thought you’d find that interesting,” Pi said, beaming at Joe and yanking an imaginary hangman’s noose above her head.

“Would you consider possibly selling the photos you took today?” Ennis asked.

“Sell them?” Pi said innocently.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Ennis said. “Quit fucking around. I want to look at them, and maybe I could buy some of them. I want you to bring them to me.”

Tassell’s deputy sneezed in the back of the room.

Ennis went silent.

Joe covered his face with his hands.

“Who was that?” Ennis asked.

Birdy looked stricken. His wide forehead was beaded with sweat. Pi, for the first time, looked scared.

Then Joe mouthed, The dog.

“Just the dog,” Pi said to the phone.

“The dog?”

“Pi feeds the dog a vegan diet,” Birdy said, running with it. “He doesn’t get enough protein so he catches a lot of colds. I keep telling her that dogs need to eat meat, even if people don’t.”

“Dogs can survive perfectly well without meat,” Pi said heatedly, meaning it. “They can get their protein from soy and other natural products.”

“Jesus, you people,” Ennis said disgustedly.

Again, Joe relaxed.

“Mr. Ennis,” Birdy said, “we can’t bring the pictures there. They’re here on the computer. But if you want to, you can come look at them at the shop.”

Again, silence. Joe guessed Ennis was deliberating what to do.

“Has anyone else seen the photos?” Ennis asked.

“No, sir.”

“Does anyone else know about the photos?”

“Not yet, sir,” Birdy said, hanging the yet out there.

“Sit tight. What’s the address?” Ennis barked. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

When the call was concluded, Birdy flopped forward into his arms as if completely spent, and Pi pumped her fist in the air and screamed, “Yes!”

Joe turned and looked at the sneezing deputy, who was beet red. Then to Pi and Birdy: “Great job.”

Thirty Seven

Randy Pope arrived at the photography shop as the sheriff and his deputy were hiding their vehicles on adjacent streets. Pi and Birdy stood around nervously near the counter, waiting for Don Ennis to arrive. Joe and Trey Crump were behind the curtain in the darkroom, and Trey motioned to Pope to join them so he couldn’t be seen if Ennis drove by and looked through the front window.

“The director doesn’t like it,” Pope said, as Joe slid the curtain closed behind him. “He’s ordering you to pull the plug on this before we all wind up in court for entrapment.” Joe was thankful for the darkness because the look he gave Pope could have resulted in a charge of insubordination.

“We’re too far along for that,” Trey said in defense. “We can’t stop anything now. Ennis is on his way.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Pope asked. “I said the director doesn’t want us involved with this. He thinks the governor may have already heard from Ennis about Joe assaulting him. It looks like a vendetta by the agency against one of the governor’s biggest supporters.”

“It’s my vendetta,” Joe said, “against a guy who caused the death of a game warden as well as his own wife.”

Pope turned on Joe, prodding him in the chest. “You shouldn’t even be here. You’re officially suspended for the shooting. You’re so far over the line I can’t even see you.

And you can forget about taking over this district.”