Bitterroot (Billy Bob Holland 3)

"Two thousand dollars and that boy will be in a wood chipper. There won't be no trace of him except a Polaroid picture for your doctor friend to burn in front of his daughter. Me and you has got regional commonalities, sir. For that reason I'm offering you a once-in-a-lifetime bargain." He snapped his fingers at the air, the vacuity of his eyes filling with energy, his lips parted with expectation.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and looked out into the grayness of the mountains and the fir and pine trees bending in the wind.

"Let me see if I can phrase myself adequately, Wyatt," I said. "Every so often a real piece of shit floats to the top of the bowl. I'm not talking about just ordinary white trash like your sister but somebody who should have been strapped down in Ole Sparky and had his grits scorched the first time he got a parking ticket. You following me?"

"I'm fascinated, sir. Your elocution is like none I have ever heard, and I have stood at tent revivals throughout this great nation and have listened to the very best."

"You stay away from me, partner," I said.

After I had pulled the gas nozzle out of my tank and gotten back into the truck, he tapped on my glass, leaning close in to it, his face distorting in the raindrops that slid down it as he stared at Cleo. I wanted to simply drive away, but now I was blocked in by a car both in front and behind me. I rolled down the window.

"What do you want?" I said.

"On Sugarland Farm I learned to read lips from a deaf man. You said 'On the job' to Sue Lynn. You was telling her she's a cop?"

"No."

"I hope you're not lying, sir. It would seriously subtract from my faith in human beings." Then he said to Cleo, lifting his hat, "Good afternoon to you, ma'am. One look at the sweetness of your form and I got to go lift a car bumper."

Chapter 8

What had I done?

I took Cleo back home and drove to the sheriff's office and caught him in the corridor of the courthouse annex.

"You did what?" he said, loud enough for passersby to stare.

"Can we go in your office?" I said.

"I'm not sure I want you around here that long."

I felt my face coloring and I looked away from the glare in his eyes and started over.

"I messed up. The question is can we fix it?" I said.

"This ain't about We. You and trouble seem to go together like shit and stink."

"I'm having a hard time with your remarks, Sheriff."

He looked up and down the corridor.

"You blow the cover on an undercover cop, then you drag your sorry ass in here to piss on my rug? You're lucky I don't have you in jail," he said.

"Is she one of yours or not?"

"No. I never heard of her."

"Wyatt Dixon offered to snuff Lamar Ellison for two thousand dollars. That's solicitation of murder."

"Number one, that don't make any sense. Number two… There ain't no number two. Just get a lot of gone between you and here, okay?" the sheriff said.

I WENT BACK to Doc's log house on the Black-foot. Doc and Maisey were out on the riverbank, collecting colored stones to make a rock garden. Maisey lifted up a boxful and smiled at me and carried the stones up the incline. Her jeans were damp on the knees, her skin bright with tan in the sunlight.

But toward evening, when the sun died below the ridgeline, I knew

her attempts at cheer would go out of her face and she would sit in front of the television set, her expression disjointed with memories she refused to describe.

"We got another call while you were gone. No voice, just heavy-metal music playing into the receiver," Doc said.