Free Fire Read Free

to run.
    It was then that Joe noticed the GMC had official State of Wyoming plates. Two men inside, the driver and another wearinga tie and a suit coat.
    The GMC parked next to Joe’s Ford and the passenger door opened.
    “Is one of you Joe Pickett?” asked the man in the tie. He looked vaguely familiar to Joe, somebody he might have seen in the newspaper. He was slightly built and had a once-eager face that now said, “I’m harried.” The man pulled a heavy jacket over his blazer and zipped it up against the cold breeze.
    “He is,” Bud Jr. said quickly, pointing to Joe as if naming the defendant in court.
    “I’m Chuck Ward, chief of staff for Governor Rulon,” the man said, looking Joe over as if he were disappointed with what he saw but trying to hide it. “The governor would like to meet with you as soon as possible.”
    Joe stood and wiped his palms on his Wranglers so he could shake hands with Ward.
    Joe said, “The governor is in town?”
    “We came up in the state plane.”
    “That was the jet we saw, Joe. Cool, the governor,” Bud Jr. said, obviously relieved that the GMC hadn’t come for him . “I’ve been reading about him in the paper. He’s a wild man, crazy as a tick. He challenged some senator to a drinking contestto settle an argument, and he installed a shooting range behindthe governor’s mansion. That’s my kind of governor, man,” he said, grinning.
    Ward shot Bud Jr. a withering look. Joe thought it was telling that Ward didn’t counter the stories but simply turned red.
    “You want me to go with you?” Joe asked, nodding toward the GMC.
    “Yes, please.”
    “How about I follow you in?” Joe said. “I need to pick my girls up at school this afternoon so I need a vehicle. We’ll be done by then, I’d guess.”
    Ward looked at him. “We have to be.”
    Joe stuffed his gloves into his back pocket and picked up his tools from the ground and handed them to Bud Jr. “I’ll ask your dad to send someone out here to pick you up.”
    Bud’s face fell. “You’re just leaving me here?”
    “Get some work done,” Joe said, gesturing toward the fence that went on for miles. “Come on, Maxine,” he called to his dog.
    Bud Jr. turned away and folded his arms across his chest in a pout.
    “Quite a hand,” Ward said sarcastically as Joe walked past him toward the Ford.
    “Yup,” Joe said.
    The governor’s plane was the only aircraft on the tarmacat the Saddlestring Regional Airport. Joe followed Chuck Ward to a small parking lot at the side of the General Aviation building.
    Joe had heard the stories about the drinking contest and the shooting range. Rulon was an enigma, which seemed to be part of his charm. A one time high-profile defense lawyer, Rulon becamea federal prosecutor who had a ninety-five percent convictionrate. Since the election, Joe had read stories in the newspaper about Rulon rushing out of his residence in his pajamasand a Russian fur cap to help state troopers on the scene of a twelve-car pileup on I-80. Another recounted how he’d been elected chairman of the Western Governors’ Association becauseof his reputation for taking on Washington bureaucrats and getting his way, which included calling hotel security to have all federal agency personnel escorted from the room of their first meeting. Each new story about Rulon’s eccentricities seemed to make him more popular with voters, despite the fact that he was a Democrat in a state that was seventy percent Republican.
    Governor Spencer Rulon sat behind a scarred table in the small conference room. Aerial photos of Twelve Sleep County adorned the walls, and a large picture window looked out over the runway. The table was covered with stacks of files from the governor’s briefcase, which was open on a chair near him.
    He stood up as Ward and Joe entered the room and thrust out his hand.
    “Joe Pickett, I’m glad Chuck found you.”
    “Governor,” Joe said, removing his hat.
    “Sit down, sit down,”