“But what they’re really doing is systematically raping the town … The way of life here. And in its place they’re constructing football stadiums and senior citizen centers. And fancy new vehicles for the police to buzz around in. Yes, there are jobs—mostly for people from out of state. Engineers and field workers. The people here get jobs serving them coffee and sandwiches. Once those wells dry up, these will become basically ghost towns. Ghost towns, with a fresh coat of paint slapped on them. And it’s happening all around these parts. Watkins and a few others finally said, enough. Now look what’s happened …
Hauck said, “What about the county prosecutor here in Greeley?”
Jen Keeler smiled skeptically, as if it was something she knew and Hauck would soon find out for himself. “Good luck with that one. Take a guess who his largest campaign contributor is. It’s also been in the financial papers that RMM is involved in some sort of takeover conversation. Profits from the Wattenberg field are all this company is about right now, and they’re sprinkling them back around here pretty strategically.”
“It is like the Wild West,” Dani said. “The guy with the biggest herd runs the town.”
“And the saloon.” Jen Keeler grinned. “Whoops, I meant the stadium.”
Hauck met her eyes. It was clear what he was up against.
“What about back in Carbondale?” Jen said. “That’s where the crimes of record took place.”
“Accidents,” Dani said. “The police chief there wouldn’t even open an investigation.”
Hauck shrugged. “There’s no real proof anyway. Other than this Robertson guy being on the river at the time of Trey’s accident. And that won’t add up to an indictment.”
“So now it’s your turn …” Jen pushed aside the documents and looked back at Hauck. “What’s your stake in all of this? Your business card says Talon. Partner. Back in Connecticut. You probably have a life back there. A family. Look at this place. It’s mostly scrub and dirt and wind. And people you’ll never see again in your life. Why do you want to take this on?”
“You mean other than the six people who have died?”
“Six people you never met. You probably don’t even know their names.”
“You’re right. I don’t. Maybe it’s not so easy to answer, but like you said earlier”—Hauck grinned—“I could ask the same question about you.”
Jen Keeler gave him back a smile of complicity. “You’re taking on a lot here, Mr. Hauck. These people might wear suits and ties, root for their kids in soccer, and go to church on Sundays and drive SUVs, but, trust me, they’re as ruthless and single-minded as you’ll run into. But I’m pretty sure you already know that, don’t you …?”
“I think I do.” Hauck smiled. And stood up.
Jen stood up, too. “And, trust me, the ones in the cowboy hats aren’t a whole lot better.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Jen walked them out and to the door. “I hope you know what the hell you’re doing … You seem like a nice guy. These aren’t people you really want to mess with.”
“People have been known to say that about me, too.”
“Monica, say goodbye to Mr. Hauck, the last remaining white knight in the Wattenberg field.”
The tattooed girl waved. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hauck.”
Hauck put out his hand. “Thanks for your time. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other again.”
“Stay safe,” Jen said.
“Everyone’s telling me that these days.” He was about to open the door, when he saw something out the front window through the shades. In the parking lot of a farm supply depot across the street.
A black SUV, the windows dark.
“So, tell me,” he said to Jen, “who drives a new, black, tinted-out Denali out here? I’ve seen a few of them in town.”
Jen spread the shades with a finger and peered out. “Those are the men in the black hats, Mr. Hauck.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
The man behind the darkened window in the black SUV saw Hauck staring out at him. He picked up his phone and called in to his office.
“Mr. Moss,” he said, his eyes trained on the Open Range Initiative storefront, “it’s Hale. You asked me to stay on our subject. I thought you’d want to know, he and the girl have been meeting with someone I think you’d find interesting.”
“Who’s that?” Moss, at RMM’s headquarters, inquired.
“The Keeler woman.”
There was a groan on the other end, followed by a troubled sigh.
“They’ve been inside for about half an hour,” Hale said. “I can see them through the window. I think they’re coming out now.” He watched them step out of the storefront office. He saw the subject look across the street, fix directly on him. From behind his sunglasses, around fifty yards away, Hale was sure he could see his target smile. The hair rose on his arms.
“I think I’ve been spotted. You want me to stay on him?” he asked.
“No,” his boss replied. “Let him go.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” Moss said with a sigh. “Come on back. I think it’s time to explore more persuasive measures anyway.”
Moments later, Moss told his secretary to hold his calls and patched into Randy McKay at Alpha. “Are you alone?”
The Alpha man excused himself a moment and replied, “You can talk.”
“Our friend has made a connection in town that may turn out very unfortunate. Jen Keeler. He’s been meeting with her this morning. How do you imagine that happened?”
“If he dug, it was only a matter of time,” McKay said.
“Well, I give him marks for persistence. But he’s clearly misread our hospitality. I don’t think our first attempt on the road made much of an impact on him.”
“I can arrange something more persuasive,” the Alpha man said.
“Where’s John?”
“I told him to lie low while this fellow was poking around. But if he’s needed, I can assure you, he’s close by.”
“Well, maybe it’s time,” Moss said. “The guy’s so interested in water rights, what do you think, maybe he’d be up for a little swim. Just remember, this isn’t some OSHA functionary coming around with a clipboard and pen. You know what his résumé is.”
“It’s not our policy to underestimate anybody,” Randy McKay said. “You can be sure I’ll pass along your request to the right personnel.”