C Box - Below Zero

“I hope so,” Joe said.

“Besides, the Romanowski thing was peanuts compared to what Niffin’s operatives are saying about me and Stella Ennis.” Rulon probed Joe’s face, making him uncomfortable. Joe had known Stella two years before she showed up as the governor’s chief of staff. He knew what kind of power she had over men. He doubted Mrs. Rulon would be so understanding.

Rulon said, “Nothing happened. And the stuff they’re saying-that’s not how we do politics in Wyoming.”

Joe nodded.

“It could have. Hell, it should have. But it didn’t.”

“Okay.”

“She left on her own accord.”

“Okay,” Joe said, squirming. He wasn’t sure why Rulon felt the need to confess to him.

“Back to your request,” Rulon said. “What’s it concerning?”

Joe swallowed. “It’s a family thing. I’d rather not say.”

Rulon smiled slightly and shook his head, his eyes never leaving Joe. “You ask me things no one else would ask me,” he said.

Joe nodded.

“Good thing I trust you,” the governor said, standing up quickly. He was around the desk before Joe could react.

Rulon placed his hand on Joe’s shoulder like a proud father. “Go, son. Do what you need to do.”

“Thank you, sir,” Joe said, taken aback.

“Do the right thing.”

Joe said, “That’s what you told me last time, and I let Nate escape.”

Rulon chuckled. “I’ll advise your new director that you’ll be out of pocket for a while but that you’re still on the payroll.”

“Thank you.”

“But Joe,” Rulon said, leaning forward so he was nose to nose with him, “if this thing, whatever it is, blows up-we did not discuss it here, did we?”

“No.”

“And you can’t expect me to bail you out again.”

“I wouldn’t even ask.”

“So we’re clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Rulon said, “I can tell from your eyes this is important to you. Go with God, but keep me out of it.”

NORTH OF CHUGWATER ON I-25, JOE REMEMBERED HE HAD muted his cell while he met with the governor, and he checked it. Two messages-neither from Sheridan or Marybeth. He retrieved the earlier call because he recognized the Baggs prefix. It was the weary voice of Baggs deputy Rich Brokaw, saying Ron Connelly had been released on his own recognizance by the county judge and that Connelly had apparently skipped town. His neighbors reported seeing Connelly packing up his belongings into his pickup truck the night before. Brokaw had checked out the house-empty, garbage everywhere, holes punched in the drywall. The sheriff’s office had issued an APB on Connelly, but so far there had been no credible sightings. Brokaw apologized for the way things turned out and said he’d keep Joe informed. Joe snorted angrily. Connelly didn’t seem the type to have seen the error of his ways and split town to turn over a new leaf. He seemed the type, to Joe, to escalate into something worse. Men who thought nothing of killing or injuring animals for their pleasure were capable of anything. Connelly was like that; Joe could sense it. What was the judge thinking?

Joe made a mental note to be on the lookout for Connelly’s 4x4 with the Oklahoma plates. There weren’t that many roads in Wyoming, and stranger things had happened.

The second call was from an unknown number that turned out to be Special Agent Chuck Coon’s personal cell phone. “Joe, I looked up what we have on Stenko. You need to call me back as soon as you can. Call this number, not the office number.”

Joe pulled off the highway within sight of Glendo Reservoir. The lake was still and glassy, mirroring the vibrant fuchsia streaks of dusk, and he could see the small twinkling lights of trolling fishing boats working near shore, trying to pick up walleyes.

He caught Coon at dinner with his family, and Joe offered to call later but Coon said, “Hold on.” Joe could hear Coon tell his wife he’d be back in a minute, and a little boy say, “Where’s Daddy going?” The little boy’s voice made something inside him twang in a familiar way.

“Okay,” Coon said in a moment, “I’m in the other room now.”

“I’m on the highway headed north. There’s a pretty sunset.”

Coon ignored him. “Hey, I looked up Stenko, aka David Stenson of Chicago. I was right-we’re interested in him.”

“If his name is Stenson, why does he go by Stenko?”

“They do that,” Coon said.

Joe said, “Oh. Who does that?”

“Chicago mobsters.”

Joe took a breath and held it. The escalation from deviant game violators to… Chicago mobsters… made him suddenly light-headed. He said, “What do you mean you’re interested in him?”

Joe could picture Coon hunching over with his back toward the doorway so he could speak softly and not alarm his son. “Look, Joe, I can’t just give you everything without getting something back. Like how is it a game warden in Wyoming is suddenly asking me questions about tracking down a cell phone involving some guy named Stenko? I mean, how do we get there from here?”

Joe felt a shiver run up his back. Coon’s tone betrayed his intense interest, as did the fact that he’d left Joe his private number and asked him to call after hours. So who was this Stenko? And how was it April could be with him?

Said Joe, “I’m not going to let you take over this investigation.”

“What?” Coon sounded hurt, but it was a put-on, Joe thought.

“I know how the FBI operates,” Joe said. “You move in. You take over. And most of the time I have to admit it’s helpful because you guys have all the electronics, manpower, federal prosecutors, and heavy artillery. Hell, I can’t even keep a poacher behind bars. But in this particular circumstance, I can’t let you guys swoop in.”

Coon said, “Look, Joe, I don’t know what’s going on, but you came to me. You threw out the bait and I took it. This can’t be one way-me giving information to you. Whatever it is you’re into, you need me. You’re one guy in a red shirt in a state pickup. How in the hell are you ever going to track down Stenko?”

Joe thought, You’re right. But he said, “I don’t care about Stenko.”

There was a long beat of silence. “Then what is this about?”

“I care about someone who might be with him,” Joe said, hoping it wasn’t too much information. “And the last time the feds showed up in a situation involving this particular person, really bad things happened. I can’t let it happen again. Simple as that.”

“I’m confused,” Coon said. But he said it in a distracted way. In the background, Joe could hear Coon tapping away at a keyboard. Probably trying to find out what Joe was alluding to.

Joe said, “This is personal.”

“If it involves Stenko, it’s not personal, Joe. It’s obstructing a federal investigation, and we could come down on you like a ton of bricks. Believe me, Portenson would love to do that. And it’s the reason I’m not involving him at this stage. I’m doing you a favor, Joe, can’t you get that?”

Joe believed him. Chicago mobsters? A federal investigation?

“Look, why can’t we trade information?” Coon said. “You give me a little, I’ll give you a little. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that we can help each other out.”

Joe watched a fishing boat do a slow circle in a bay out on the lake. “You start,” he said.

Coon sighed. More tapping. Then: “Stenko’s well known to our Chicago office. He’s one of those guys who’s flown under the radar for years because he’s smart and careful, but his name just kept coming up over and over again in the background. We’re talking real estate schemes, the Chicago political machine, downtown redevelopment, fast-food franchises, waste management contracts. There are allegations that he’s been the mover and shaker behind quite a few Indian casinos as well, but it was hard to figure out if he was doing anything illegal. Finally, seven months ago the federal prosecutor had enough on him to convene a grand jury that indicted Stenko on twenty-four counts, including fraud, bribery, money laundering, extortion-the laundry list of white-collar crimes. No doubt the guy’s intimately connected to most of the stuff that goes on in Chicago, but he wasn’t flamboyant or stupid like a lot of those guys. He made it a point not to get photos of himself with politicians and movie stars, for example. We had a hell of a time getting a valid photo and had to resort to DMV records. He was able to keep himself at arm’s length from most of the hijinks and transactions because he had a really sharp accountant fronting his operations. I should say, he had a sharp accountant named Leo Dyekman. And the Talich Brothers.”