Joe swung out and patted Daisy on the head and pulled on his hat. Between two massive cumulus clouds to the east there was a glint of reflected light and it didn’t take long for the speck to grow wings and wheels.
Inside the airport, Kyle Jr. sat on a molded plastic chair and stared out the windows at the tarmac. He wore a gray Saddlestring High School hoodie, worn jeans, cowboy boots, and a Wyoming Cowboys baseball cap. It was the official uniform of every teenage boy in town, Joe thought, except for the Goths and the druggies. Kyle Jr.’s hands rested on the tops of his thighs and his head was tilted slightly to the side, as if holding it erect took too much energy.
“Are you okay?” Joe asked.
Kyle Jr. started to respond, then apparently thought better of it.
“I know this must be tough. You kind of like it here, don’t you?”
Kyle Jr. nodded his head.
“It’s a good place,” Joe said. “I know my girls would hate to leave it now that they’re in high school. But maybe it won’t come to that.”
The boy looked up with hope in his eyes. “My dad didn’t seem to think so.”
Joe nodded. “I’m going to talk to Mr. Dietrich. Your dad is a hell of a hand. He would have a hard time replacing him. I can’t believe he’d let him go because of something that was completely out of his control. I’ll let him blame me.”
“Thanks, I guess,” Kyle Jr. said, letting his eyes linger on Joe for a second before looking away.
The sleek Piaggio Avanti II twin-engine turboprop sliced out of the wide blue sky and touched down on the single runway with the grace of a raptor snagging a fish. It turned and roared and wheeled straight toward the FBO, then performed a quick half-turn so the door faced the building. Joe could see the outlines of two pilots wearing peaked caps in the cockpit, and once the aircraft was stopped one of the heads disappeared and ducked toward the back.
A sliding door whooshed to the side and steel stairs telescoped to the surface. The copilot filled the open hatch for a moment, looking out as if to assess any threats, then retreated back inside.
“Here he comes,” Kyle Jr. said solemnly.
Lamar Dietrich, wearing a battered wide-brimmed hat and an oversized jacket, made his way slowly down the stairs. At the bottom he paused and reached back without turning his head, and the copilot scrambled down behind him and handed him a metal cane with three stubby feet on the bottom. Dietrich nodded toward the FBO but didn’t move. The pilot danced around the old man and jogged toward a golf cart, then drove it out so Dietrich wouldn’t have to walk.
The old man seemed even smaller than Joe remembered him, as if he’d folded over even more on himself. His shoulders seemed narrower although the large jacket disguised how frail he’d become. He wore lizard-skin boots that poked out from baggy khakis and he braced the walker over his thighs as the copilot delivered him to the building. Joe caught a glimpse of an overlarge gargoyle-like head, swinging jowls, and a large, sharp nose when Dietrich glanced up to see where they were going.
The electric cart made no sound as it approached the metal door of the FBO, but it obviously took a long moment for Dietrich to climb out. The copilot stepped inside sharply and held the door open for him.
Joe stood and jammed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and braced himself.
Dietrich entered slowly and bent forward, using the walker with each step. He had bowed legs, which made him even shorter, Joe thought. He wondered how tall Dietrich was if he could be stretched out.
The old man paused and looked up, literally tilting his head until the back brim of his hat brushed his hunched shoulders. His eyes were hooded, and they took in Kyle Jr. still sitting in his chair and then Joe. When he recognized the game warden as the man who had testified at the hearing, his face hardened.
“You,” Dietrich said. “I remember you. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Came to say howdy and welcome back,” Joe said. “I was hoping I could have a minute of your time before you head out to your place.”
“I don’t have time for you,” Dietrich said. He spoke in a hard and flat Midwestern tone that seemed like steel balls being dropped on concrete, Joe thought. Then, looking around the room, Dietrich said, “Where’s Sandford?”
“I’m Kyle Junior,” the boy said, leaping up. “My dad asked me to give you a ride to the ranch.”
Dietrich’s eyes got larger as he assessed Kyle Jr. He obviously didn’t like what he saw.
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“Sandford sent a seventeen-year-old boy to pick me up?”
“I’m a good driver,” Kyle Jr. said. “I’ve been driving since I was fourteen.”
“This is unacceptable,” Dietrich said. “I said I wanted Sandford here. Not his boy.”
Kyle Jr. obviously didn’t know what to say, and his face flushed red.
Joe stepped in and touched Dietrich on the shoulder. “Please, I’d like a minute if I could.” Then to Kyle Jr.: “Why don’t you step outside, Kyle?”
The boy was out the front door immediately, and Dietrich looked angrily to Joe for an explanation.
“Look,” Joe said, “I know about you. You can’t be as mean as you come off. You run a tight ship and you’re a success in business, and I admire that. I disagree with your idea of building a game farm, but I admire your success and you’ve got a good ranch manager in Kyle Sandford. The decision on the game farm went against you. It wouldn’t have mattered—”
Dietrich interrupted to say, “What a man does with his private property is his business. This isn’t Communist China — yet. No bunch of bureaucrats have the right to tell me I can’t do with my own property what I want to do.”
“Actually, they do,” Joe said. “And it isn’t about what you do on your property, it’s what happens if those exotic species get off your property. But that’s only partially why I’m here — to tell you their decision face-to-face. I also need to let you know that the decision of the commission had nothing to do with Kyle. They liked him, and they thought the proposal he presented was as well done as any man could do. It was all based on the merits, not on the proposal.”
Dietrich stared into Joe’s eyes so long, Joe thought he’d have to blink first. And he did.
Dietrich said, “Merits. Merits. Do you realize how many times I’ve heard bullshit reasons like merits in my life? Nothing has to do with merits. Every decision has to do with respect and a little bit of fear.”
Dietrich held up a thin bony hand and slowly clenched it. “Merits melt away when there’s a fist behind the proposal. Anything is possible if you know how to play the game. That’s the way of the world. Always has been, always will be. I need men who know how to play the game. I’d trade a thousand Kyle Sandfords for one Lamar Dietrich.”
Joe said, “Maybe there is only one Lamar Dietrich. Did you ever think of that?”
Dietrich beheld Joe and for a moment Joe thought the old man might smile. Instead, he quickly shook his head, as if purging an unpleasant thought.
“I need men I can trust and who can get the job done. I surround myself with winners. That’s my secret. I don’t have time or sympathy for losers.
“And I don’t have time for you,” Dietrich said, dismissing Joe with a wave of his hand.