Read Online Savage Run by C. J. Box - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: C. J. Box
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Mystery & Detective, Mystery Fiction, Conspiracies, Wyoming, Environmentalists, Pickett; Joe (Fictitious character), Game wardens, Explosions
Ads: Link
stock detectives hunted down rustlers, nesters, and vandals in an effort to bring those offenders to justice. Or, in some
cases, to remove them from the earth. Few stock detectives still existed. Of those who did, Charlie Tibbs was considered the best. All these locals knew was that this tall man with white hair and a Stetson was someone out of the ordinary, somebody special. Someone who made them sit up straight as he passed by
"I don't like this ram," the Old Man said, raising his voice over the drumming on the top of the cab. "And I don't think I like this part of the country I'm not used to this. If you died out there tonight you'd be covered by weeds before morning."
The Old Man waited for a response or a reaction but all there was from Charlie was the twitch of a smile.
"I just don't think you can trust a place where they have leaves bigger than a man's head," the Old Man offered.
The Old Man watched as Charlie raised his hands--he had huge, powerful hands--and rested them on top of the steering wheel. Charlie's index finger flicked out, pointing through the windshield. The Old Man's eyes followed the gesture.
"There he is," Charlie said flatly. "He's home and it looks like he's by himself."
"Did he see us?" the Old Man asked.
"He didn't even look. He drove up without his headlights. He must be drunk."
The Old Man raised a heavy pair of night vision binoculars. Through the ram-streaked windshield, he could clearly see Hayden Powell's car cruise up the drive slowly, as if anticipating that the garage door would open, which it didn't. Powell applied the brake inches from the door and his taillights flashed a burst of light that temporarily blinded the Old Man through the binoculars--and he cursed.
All the Old Man could see was a green and white orb similar to the aftereffect of a flashbulb. While the Old Man waited for his eyes to readjust, Charlie gently took the binoculars from him to look.
"He's drunk," Charlie declared. "Just as we thought he would be. He couldn't figure out how to open his garage and now he's trying to
figure out which key to use to open the door. He dropped his keys in the grass. Now he's on his hands and knees looking for them. We could get him now"
The Old Man looked to Charlie for guidance. What weapons would they use? What was the plan here? The Old Man fought back panic.
The Old Man didn't know a lot about Hayden Powell but he knew enough. He knew that Powell was a well-known environmental writer who had originally come to fame by writing many articles about and later the biography of his boyhood friend, Stewie Woods. Powell had struck it rich, not in publishing but through an early investment in a Seattle-based software company As the company took off, professional management was brought in to run it and Powell was eased out. With his huge home, bulging stock portfolio, and free time, he had returned to the two things he loved most: drinking tequila and writing provocative pieces on the environment.
The rumor was that his next book would be titled Screwing Up the West and was a vicious indictment of corporations, landowners, and politicians. Excerpts had been published in magazines and journals. Powell was in big trouble, though. The SEC was investigating the software company and investors who Powell had recruited--many of whom had sunk millions into the company--were furious. There had been death threats made against Powell, which he duly reported to the SEC and the FBI. Powell had even been quoted as saying that he looked forward to going to jail, where he would feel safer.
And now the Old Man and Charlie were here to kill him--but not because of the failing software company Charlie had said it needed to look as if an angry investor had done it or had it done. There should be absolutely no link to the upcoming book
The Old Man had not been told what the details of the plan would be. He was uncomfortable, and scared. He wasn't like Charlie-these things didn't come naturally to
cases, to remove them from the earth. Few stock detectives still existed. Of those who did, Charlie Tibbs was considered the best. All these locals knew was that this tall man with white hair and a Stetson was someone out of the ordinary, somebody special. Someone who made them sit up straight as he passed by
"I don't like this ram," the Old Man said, raising his voice over the drumming on the top of the cab. "And I don't think I like this part of the country I'm not used to this. If you died out there tonight you'd be covered by weeds before morning."
The Old Man waited for a response or a reaction but all there was from Charlie was the twitch of a smile.
"I just don't think you can trust a place where they have leaves bigger than a man's head," the Old Man offered.
The Old Man watched as Charlie raised his hands--he had huge, powerful hands--and rested them on top of the steering wheel. Charlie's index finger flicked out, pointing through the windshield. The Old Man's eyes followed the gesture.
"There he is," Charlie said flatly. "He's home and it looks like he's by himself."
"Did he see us?" the Old Man asked.
"He didn't even look. He drove up without his headlights. He must be drunk."
The Old Man raised a heavy pair of night vision binoculars. Through the ram-streaked windshield, he could clearly see Hayden Powell's car cruise up the drive slowly, as if anticipating that the garage door would open, which it didn't. Powell applied the brake inches from the door and his taillights flashed a burst of light that temporarily blinded the Old Man through the binoculars--and he cursed.
All the Old Man could see was a green and white orb similar to the aftereffect of a flashbulb. While the Old Man waited for his eyes to readjust, Charlie gently took the binoculars from him to look.
"He's drunk," Charlie declared. "Just as we thought he would be. He couldn't figure out how to open his garage and now he's trying to
figure out which key to use to open the door. He dropped his keys in the grass. Now he's on his hands and knees looking for them. We could get him now"
The Old Man looked to Charlie for guidance. What weapons would they use? What was the plan here? The Old Man fought back panic.
The Old Man didn't know a lot about Hayden Powell but he knew enough. He knew that Powell was a well-known environmental writer who had originally come to fame by writing many articles about and later the biography of his boyhood friend, Stewie Woods. Powell had struck it rich, not in publishing but through an early investment in a Seattle-based software company As the company took off, professional management was brought in to run it and Powell was eased out. With his huge home, bulging stock portfolio, and free time, he had returned to the two things he loved most: drinking tequila and writing provocative pieces on the environment.
The rumor was that his next book would be titled Screwing Up the West and was a vicious indictment of corporations, landowners, and politicians. Excerpts had been published in magazines and journals. Powell was in big trouble, though. The SEC was investigating the software company and investors who Powell had recruited--many of whom had sunk millions into the company--were furious. There had been death threats made against Powell, which he duly reported to the SEC and the FBI. Powell had even been quoted as saying that he looked forward to going to jail, where he would feel safer.
And now the Old Man and Charlie were here to kill him--but not because of the failing software company Charlie had said it needed to look as if an angry investor had done it or had it done. There should be absolutely no link to the upcoming book
The Old Man had not been told what the details of the plan would be. He was uncomfortable, and scared. He wasn't like Charlie-these things didn't come naturally to
Similar Books
