C. Box - Breaking Point

“I know you,” Butch said, cutting off Batista. “You’re the director of Region Eight, aren’t you?”

“Have we met?”

Butch snorted. “No, we haven’t met. My wife and I left about twenty messages for you to call us over the past year, but we couldn’t get past your secretary. We sent you registered letters that were signed for, but no one responded. Now you want to talk?”

“You can trust me,” Batista said. Farkus thought he heard desperation.

Butch said, “I trust you about as far as I can throw you, you son of a bitch. Get Joe Pickett on the line. He’s the local game warden.”

Batista said: “I know who he is, but why can’t we keep this between us?”

“No way. Get Joe on the call or I’ll pop Farkus or Sollis first and the ex-sheriff second and it’ll be on you.”

Farkus looked up in alarm, but when he saw Butch’s face he knew the threat was hollow. But Batista wouldn’t know that, which was the point.

When Batista started to explain why it couldn’t be done, Butch said, “You have five minutes.”

Farkus realized his knees were shaking as he sat, so he cradled them between his arms. He blamed the hard climb, but he knew that wasn’t all it was. Butch had a hard set to his face, and when he checked his watch he then looked up to assess Farkus and McLanahan. Butch shifted his weight so his rifle swung up and Farkus could see the black O of the muzzle.

When Butch had made the threat, Farkus thought he was bluffing. Now he wasn’t sure it was a bluff. Not at all.

Underwood covered the microphone on the satellite phone and whispered to Joe, “We’re going to agree with whatever he says, got that?”

Joe nodded, but it was more of an acknowledgment of the words than agreement with them. With that, Underwood leaned over in his saddle and handed Joe the satellite phone. When Joe took it, he heard Butch Roberson say, “Is he on?”

“Butch, this is Joe Pickett.”

“Hey, Joe.”

“Butch.”

“Is that asshole still with us?”

Joe’s first urge was to say “Which one?” but Batista broke in: “This is Regional Director Julio Batista. I’m still here.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Joe saw Underwood stifle a smile. He could clearly hear the conversation in the silent and dead forest.

“Is anybody else on the line?” Butch asked.

“Just us three,” Batista said quickly. Joe knew he was lying. He could picture a team of agents with headphones in one of the communications vans at the FOB, listening to every word and coordinating with technical experts to triangulate the satellite phone transmissions and pinpoint the exact location of Butch Roberson.

“I’ve got Dave Farkus and the former sheriff here,” Butch said.

Joe shook his head. McLanahan. Joe and the ex-sheriff had never seen eye to eye. Joe considered McLanahan all foam and no beer.

Butch said, “I don’t want to hurt them, but I’ve got to have some leverage with you people. I found out over the past year that you play a rigged game, so I need some insurance.”

Batista said, “Butch, there’s no need to take hostages. You’re already in enough trouble, but that doesn’t mean we can’t talk it out and figure out a way for you to turn yourself in. This can all end now. You’ll get a fair trial and the ability to make your case-”

“Bullshit,” Butch said, cutting him off. “ Bullshit. There’s nothing fair about any of this. I’m through with thinking you people play fair, not after what you did to me and my family.”

“Butch, listen. .”

“You put up a reward like I’m some kind of desperate outlaw,” Butch said, his voice rising. “Then you sent a damned drone up in the sky to look for me. I hope you know I shot the son of a bitch down.”

He knows, Joe thought.

“Look, Butch. .”

“Quit using my name like we’re friends,” Butch barked at Batista.

Joe guessed that over the past few minutes, Batista had received coaching from someone with experience in hostage negotiations who had told him to be calm, friendly, and reasonable. . to try to establish a relationship with the gunman. Keep him talking. It didn’t sound like it was working.

Butch said, “I need you to shut up and listen. I know you’re probably trying to find me right now, so quit dragging this out. Joe, are you still there?”

“Yes, Butch,” Joe said.

“I wanted to tell you yesterday, but I just couldn’t. You know what they did to me, right?”

“I know some of it,” Joe said. “I talked with Pam last night, and she told us. Man, I wish you would have let us know. We had no idea you were going through this.”

“Pam?” Butch said, his voice softening. “Was Hannah there, too?”

“Both of them were at our house,” Joe said. “Hannah was there when I left this morning.”

“Are they okay?”

Joe paused for a moment. “They seem okay, Butch, considering the situation. I think they miss you.”

“I miss them ,” Butch said, in a way that broke Joe’s heart.

“You can see them again, Butch,” Batista cut in with a salesman-smooth voice.

“Shut the fuck up, Batista,” Butch growled. “I’m talking to Joe.”

Joe was relieved Batista complied. He imagined him shrugging his shoulders with an I tried gesture to the hostage negotiator.

Joe said to Butch, “So Dave Farkus and Sheriff McLanahan are sitting right there with you, huh?”

“Yeah. They tried to collect the reward. Instead, they shot a hunter thinking it was me.”

Joe was startled and said, “They shot a hunter?”

“Yeah, the idiots. They saw an archery hunter and gut-shot him. They brought some idiot long-range shooter along with them.”

“Oh, man,” Joe said. “I’ll guess the hunter didn’t even know what was going on.”

“No shit,” Butch said. “The poor guy.”

“Is he dead?”

“Yeah, but it took a while.”

“You know,” Joe said, “for a while there I was wondering if McLanahan was really up there with you. But now I know he is because nobody else would be that much of a moron.”

Butch snorted a laugh and said, “I’ll tell him you said that.”

“Please do,” Joe said.

There was a beat of silence. Joe hoped Batista wouldn’t feel compelled to fill it. But he did.

“Butch, there’s really no reason to keep running. We can bring your wife and daughter up here and you can see them before we take you into custody. .”

“Stay away from them!” Butch yelled. “Don’t bring them into this again or I’m punching off and I start shooting.”

Joe closed his eyes and sighed. The rapport he’d been establishing with Butch Roberson had been blown up. Joe glanced up at Underwood and Underwood rolled his eyes in reaction.

Through the earpiece, Joe heard a gunshot. Instinctively, he pulled down the phone and closed his eyes to find out if he could hear it echo through the mountains. Silence, meaning they were a long distance away. When he raised the handset, he heard:

“That was Farkus,” Butch said. “I got him right between the eyes. Will you shut up and listen now, Batista?”

Joe couldn’t believe it. Butch had killed Farkus in cold blood.

Joe knew Farkus, and had run into him several times over the years. The guy was a loser but had an uncanny ability to find himself in the middle of things through no fault-or ambition-of his own. It had seemed strangely unsurprising to hear he’d been with McLanahan when Butch Roberson captured them. Farkus sold a few flies to the fly shops, fancied himself a guide, and lived off disability checks, even though he didn’t seem disabled in any way. Still. .