Read Online Tortoise Soup by Jessica Speart - Free Book Online Page B

critters were involved that Fish and Wildlife stepped into the fray.
    “In Nevada, mining gets what it wants. It’s political suicide to go against the industry.” Sam had pounded that into my head since my first day on the job.
    It was well known that the mines greased State palms to turn State heads the other way. That was one of the reasons Fish and Wildlife was so disliked in Nevada: so far, the Service had managed to remain incorruptible.
    I filled Sam in on the call and told him that I planned to drive over and take a look around. It would be the first mine that I had officially visited since being out here.
    Sam wiped off his brush and scrutinized his latest painting. “That should be quite a treat, though I don’t think you’ll find the Center’s missing tortoises there.”
    Standing up, he took hold of his canvas and hung it on the wall behind his desk right below a sign that read, “
The Golden Rule in Nevada is: He who hath the gold rules.
”

Five
     
    I decided to play it politically correct and head over to the Nevada Division of Wildlife, the state agency that is locally referred to as NDOW. Not only was it time that I introduced myself to the head honcho of the division; I also hoped that a courtesy call would smooth any feathers that might be ruffled over my impending visit to the Golden Shaft mine. Sam warned me that I would be greeted with about as much enthusiasm as a hooker on a sex strike.
    Monty Harris, head of the Las Vegas division, immediately ushered me into his office upon being informed of my arrival. A man as thin as a whippet, Harris sported a pair of muttonchops that looked like two dead coon tails slapped onto his face. A nervous twitch controlled the left side of his body, causing his hand and foot to jerk in unison as if he were about to breakdance. Brown polyester pants hung unevenly on his frame and his fingers picked at a tan rayon shirt that covered a concave chest. A utility belt was wound twice about a waist that I would have killed for, its zippered pockets secreting hidden treasures. Dark sunglasses masked Harris’s eyes, and a mono-brow extended itself in one straight line above the bridge of his nose.
    His breath whistled between his teeth as he aimed his body at the chair and nearly crash-landed. “What is it that I can do for you today, Miss Porter?” he asked.
    The smell of stale sweat wafted toward me as I took a seat in the hard wooden chair facing his desk. Obviously Monty Harris was a nervous man. “I received a call about wildlife violations over at the Golden Shaft mine. I thought I’d go and check into it.”
    The tip of a pink tongue flicked out from between Harris’s lips and his eyes blinked behind their dark curtain as he looked me up and down before responding.
    “And just who was it that gave you that kind of information?”
    I had the distinct impression that Monty Harris would have liked me to be anywhere but in his office.
    “It was an anonymous call,” I replied.
    The quick rat-a-tat-tat of a laugh escaped Harris’s lips, ricocheting around the room like a bullet. “I’m afraid someone is playing a joke on you, Miss Porter. The Golden Shaft is an exemplary mine. In fact, the governor is about to bestow on it an award for environmental awareness and protection of the land. So you see, it appears that someone is pulling your leg.”
    The bony fingers of one hand lewdly played with a zippered pocket on his utility belt, then pulled the zipper open and rooted around inside. After a moment they latched onto their prey, a slim Tiparillo. Harris rolled the tiny cigar slowly between his lips and licked the filter, savoring the taste.
    “I’m glad to hear Golden Shaft is setting such a good example, but I think I’ll take a run out and check into it anyway,” I responded.
    Harris puffed on the Tiparillo as though it were a fine Cuban cigar. “If I were you, I wouldn’t bother. You’re just wasting your time. Of course, it might be that you feds