James Smith - Hybrid

“She’s trying to second guess me, the sonofabitch. McFarland’s been doing the same thing since day one. All over my ass. Just like my wife.”

Corey rambled on. Maybe a stray wolf was on the loose, a killer hybrid. So what? The wilderness was a dangerous place. What can you do about it? Better to keep people away and leave to nature the wildlife and the woods and lakes and the streams. Removing the wolves was not going to happen. Not on his watch. He paused as if to wait for moral support.

“It’s not the end of the world, Jack. If the superintendent does decide the Operation failed—”

“What kind of talk is that ?”

“I mean, worst case, if the superintendent decided to move the wolves out of—”

Corey slammed his fist on the desk. “I don’t want to listen to that shit! Do you hear me? The only way this project will come to an end is over my dead body, goddammit.” He turned to stare out the window again, breathing hard. Then he twisted back around. “And don’t look so smug, ranger. There could be more casualties than me around here.”

Mollyarrived close to dusk at the Colter Bar and Grille on the south end of Main Street, across from the Mountain View Chevron Station. Next door was Conover’s Laundromat, a place that made it convenient to drop a load of dirty clothes into a front-load washer, deposit four quarters, and stroll over for a cold brew.

Peanut shells crunched under her boots as Molly sauntered across the floor through a haze of cigarette smoke and the reek of barbeque and beer. On one wall a bison head glared out over a country-western house band gearing up for the evening’s entertainment.

“Nothing to drink,” Molly announced. “The Judge has the nose of a bloodhound.”

“I can sneak you one to go for him, too,” Leeanne replied from behind the bar. She’d been a good friend of Molly’s for the past nine years. Molly told her she needed help and would tell her more when she didn’t have to talk over the damn band. She described Charlene’s features.

“We were busier than usual at lunch,” Leeanne said. “But I might have seen her eating with a stranger. Jodi served them. ‘Course she’s off tonight.”

Molly wrinkled her nose and mouth into a plea. “Could you do me a real big favor?”

“Exactly how big a favor you talking, honey?”

“Would you give Jodi a call for me?”

Leeanne bit down hard on her back teeth and glanced up at the ceiling. Shrugging, she grabbed a pen and scribbled on a bar napkin, then handed it to Molly and glared back at her from the tops of her eyes. “Some of us gotta work for a living, girl. Tell Jodi I said ‘Hey.’”

Molly rushed to the hallway. The pay phone, by some brilliant feat of architectural design, was located within easy earshot of the bandstand. Jodi answered on the fifth ring. Molly raised her voice to compete with the battering from the drummer in explaining her predicament.

Yes, Jodi remembered the girl. On the skinny side. Had three glasses of lemonade and added heaping teaspoons of sugar to each glass, if you can believe that.

“What about the guy?” Molly asked.

“Sorry, did you ask about a guide?”

Molly held the receiver down to her chest and stared at the frigging band, as if the nastiness of her glower would somehow stop the music, if that’s what they called it. She took a breath and shouted into the phone again. “The guy , Jodi. The man that joined her.”

“Oh, they got together all right. He was a tall drink of water. Wore tattered jeans and gold wire-rimmed glasses. I overheard something about hiking. He appeared to be a tourist. Maybe a student. But he was a nice-looking kid, Molly. I mean, I’d let him eat crackers in my bed.”

“You said hiking?”

“I said what ?”

“Hiking, Jodi. You said something about hiking.”

“That’s right. And I heard him say Yellowstone a few times, too.”

“Did either mention where they were headed. Or the name of a trail or a place?”

“Name of what?”

“Name of a trail or a place .”

“Can’t help you on that one.”

“No problem, Jodi. Sorry I called so late.” Molly slipped the receiver back on the hook and leaned against the wall just as the singer in the world’s only one thousand decibel band announced a break.

Good timing, asshole.

She jabbed her hands into her sweater pockets and walked back down the hallway.

The phone on the wall rang out.

She turned and hustled back. When she shoved the receiver into her ear, Jodi answered. “I have that phone number there memorized, you know.”

“Did you forget something?” Molly asked, crossing her fingers.

“I can hear you a helluva lot better now.”

“The band stopped playing. What did you forget?”

“It’s probably nothing…”

“Right now I don’t have a clue to work with, Jodi.”

“The kid was talking about peppers.”

“Which kid?” Molly asked.

“The guy. The one I’d let—”

“Peppers?”

“He was concerned about stopping to get some kind of peppers. I thought it was ridiculous. But remember, he looked like a college kid. Can’t expect them to know that much.”

Molly couldn’t make any sense of what Jodi had overheard and it was late. The Judge would be worried. She had to get home before he called the sheriff’s office and reported her missing.

As she drove, she played back the conversation in her head over and over.

Student… Yellowstone… hiking.

Anyone new to Yellowstone would want to do the Grand Loop. But how many miles was that?

Peppers?

Maybe they wouldn’t go to the Park. He probably wanted to get to a motel. They could always hike tomorrow.

Halfway home, it hit her. She pulled off to the side of the road.

Bears.

The guy who picked up Charlene was afraid of coming across a bear when they went hiking. He wanted one of those canisters of pepper spray to bring along on the hike. They were supposed to thwart off a bear attack.

Marketing!

She’d rather put her trust in kicking the shit out of the bear. Only one place in town would carry pepper spray.

When Molly arrived at the General Store, the door was locked but lights glowed from the back. She pushed her face against the window and waited. Someone inside moved and she rapped on the glass with her knuckles. When no one responded, she walked to the door again and jiggled the handle, then hammered on the door with her fist.

Lights came on up front and Sam Phillips shuffled to the entrance.

“When the door don’t open,” he barked, “you can usually take that as a sign we’re closed.” A frown permanently adorned his long, trail-blazed face.

“Sorry to disturb you, Sam.”

He motioned for her to come in. Without speaking, he led her into the back room where he was opening boxes from a shipment.

She scampered to keep up. “Of course I wouldn’t have knocked this late unless it was important.”

He stopped to grab a box and give it a swift karate-chop. She knew he still held that grudge over the price-fixing charges she’d brought to the town council against Main Street businesses. “Could I ask a question, Sam?”

Another chop. “You can ask, I suppose.”

“About a customer from this afternoon.”

Sam reached inside the opened box and held up a transparent package of fish hooks. He examined it from every angle. She wondered if he was counting every damned hook.

“Tall guy,” she continued. “Small, wire-rimmed glasses—”

He threw the package into a pile with the others. “Lots of customers come through here. Tall, short, bald, fat.”