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Brandon sent a text message and waited by the putrid dumpster behind the burger joint, the garbage smoldering in the summer heat.
Bonehead Miller was aptly named for his protruding forehead and deep-set eyes. His dirty blond, shoulder-length hair was tucked up under a Cardinals baseball cap. He wore a soiled apron over a sleeveless undershirt, showing off some faded tattoos. He had one silver tooth-all the rest chipped-and a goatee and soul patch that looked like a wire brush for an outdoor grill.
There were no introductions. He handed Brandon a cheeseburger with catsup, pickles, pepperoncini, and Swiss wrapped in butcher paper, and Brandon ate as Bonehead talked.
“So I’m on the clock, right?”
“Mmm,” Brandon answered, using his finger to catch a drip.
“You’ll like this. I expect you to knock a couple hours off for this one.”
Bonehead always expected more than he would receive.
“Of course,” Brandon said through the food, lying. You’ll get what I think it’s worth, asshole, he was thinking. Twice in for drugs was all-in for drugs as far as he was concerned. He had no room in his world for the Bonehead Millers.
“There’s this guy been in here a couple times and I asked around with my buddies and he’s pretty much making the rounds far as I can tell. Rat fuck of a guy. Makes me look like fucking Donald Trump. Smells bad. A woodsman. I heard you were looking for a woodsman, a meth cooker. I hear right?”
“Keep… talking,” Brandon said with his mouth full, savoring the best burger in town. It was half gone.
“Looks like Tom Hanks in that one where he’s washed onto that island.”
“Cast Away,” Brandon said.
“That’s the one. Comes in here smelling like piss and woodsmoke, orders a burger and beer, and lays down a hun. Wouldn’t have thought nothing of it but Raven over at the Chute happens to mention some moron laying down a Franklin for a beer and we get to talking and it’s gotta be the same asshole.”
“Franklin, as in Ben Franklin, as in a hun,” Brandon said, just to get his facts straight.
“That’s what I’m saying. Thing is, it was like the same day, dude. So this guy’s laying down the Franklins just to be seen laying them down. Right? What a jerk.”
“And this interests me because…?”
“Fuck if I know. It just don’t make sense to me, and you’re always telling me you want to hear about the shit that don’t make sense.”
“True enough.”
“You’re looking for a cooker, right?”
“I didn’t say anything.” Brandon scrunched up the butcher paper and tossed it over his shoulder into the dumpster without looking. They were always looking for meth cookers. They were also looking for the guy who had tossed the Berkholders’ place to look like a bear attack. One and the same? Or two different guys?
“You don’t want it,” the guy said, “what do I care? Maybe Jimmy Johns wants it.”
Johns was a Ketchum deputy.
“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, Bonehead. You’ll get credit for this if it pays off.”
“Pays off how?”
“Get the word out that I’d like to talk to this guy if he shows up somewhere. Can you do that?”
“I can do that.”
“Do that, you’ll get more credit. You got it?”
“I got it. Could be your meth cooker, right?”
“Could be.”
“Worth five hours, right?”
“Could be.”
“He’s been around. I can get him for you.”
“Do that.” Brandon pulled out a five-dollar bill. “For the burger,” he said.
“On the house.”
“Can’t accept it. You know that.”
Bonehead accepted the cash. “Why you play it so squeaky clean? Other guys take the burger and the beer.”
“I’ll knock ten off your time you get me this guy in the next twenty-four hours.”
“Ten?” Bonehead’s forehead lifted so fast his entire scalp shifted.
“Who the hell’s that important?” he said.
“Get to work,” Brandon advised.
“You look like something the dog drug in,” Brandon said, climbing back into the Jeep.
Resting his hands on the bottom of the steering wheel, Walt worked to control his voice; maintaining the face of calm in the midst of turmoil was critical to rank and authority within his office. “It took them all of fifteen minutes to reach Aanestead.” The county prosecutor. “He’s blocked the shoes, at least temporarily, until it’s sorted out what my dog was doing in the house when I lacked a warrant.”
“That was fast.”
“He’ll question you, Tommy.”
“And I’ll give him answers. I’ve known Doug a long time. Way before he won the prosecutor’s job. He’s okay. He gets it.”
“You’ll give him answers keeping in mind what we spoke about earlier.”
“Keeping in mind that we have blood evidence on the shoes of a prime suspect.”
“The truth is a piece of glass, Tommy. It’s either whole, or cracked and broken. There’s no in-between.”
“There’s windshield welding,” Brandon said. “Where they suck that epoxy into rock dings and it’s good as new.”
Walt huffed.
“You think he’ll let it through?” Brandon asked. “Let us keep the evidence?”
“Not without a fight. Wy
“Never known Doug to back away from a good fight.”
Walt started the Jeep and drove off. The streets of Ketchum were quiet, the only action outside the few bars and restaurants that lined Main Street.
Brandon caught him up on Bonehead.
“You think it’s good?” Walt asked.
“Felt like it.”
“You’ve got some catsup.” Walt indicated his own cheek and Brandon wiped his face clean.
“Could be the mountain man who did the Berkholders’ place.”
“That’s not what you’re thinking,” Walt said.
“You testing me? Okay, could be the contents of Gale’s wallet. We know the guy lived large and probably carried a wad. Could be our meth cooker. Could be all the same guy.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.”
“It’s not whoever’s using the ATM card,” Brandon said. “ATMs don’t dispense hundreds.”
“Now you’re thinking.”
“So it’s two different guys.”
“And we can assume whoever got the wallet, whoever either found the body or did him in the first place is the one with the card.”
“So maybe our meth cooker breaks into houses for his jollies, or for food, runs into money after he makes his sale, and starts spending it around. Doesn’t necessarily put him with Gale.”
“Whatever his routine, he’s important to us. He’s a big piece of this. And according to Bonehead he’s down here in town.”
“Staying in town? Coming and going? He’s got some money and he’s living it up?”
“Or he’s coming down at night to sell his goods and spend his wi
“I told Bonehead I’d knock ten hours off his PS if we caught the guy.”
“What’d he say?”
“Acted like it was Christmas.”
“You’ve got to watch offers like that. They can backfire. Now he knows the guy’s important to us. May try to take cash to keep quiet.”
Brandon stewed on the reprimand, finding something to look at out the side window.
“Listen,” Walt said. “It’s good stuff.”
“You’re going to always hold this against me, aren’t you, Sheriff?”
He wasn’t talking about Bonehead.
Walt drove for five more minutes, crossing the bridge over the Big Wood just south of Golden Eagle, a mile south of the turnoff to Fiona’s place, where he’d had to fight to keep from looking as they drove past.
“It is what it is,” Walt said.
“And what is it?”
“Over,” Walt said. “It’s over.”
Brandon crossed his arms and put his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes.