Cold Wind - C. J. Box [30]
Laurie Talich’s father had spent his life within the Chicago infrastructure . Alderman, bookie, and mayoral assistant—he’d held so many jobs, yet never seemed to have an office where he went to work every morning. He was a loving father in a remote way, and seemed to look to her and her brother for solace and comfort and to remind himself he wasn’t all bad. He was a slow, doughy man who arrived home at all hours but never returned from a trip without candy and gifts for his children. In his retirement, he grew peppers and onions in his garden and watched a lot of television. But he was still connected, and when she went to him in desperation, he opened his home to her and listened to her troubles.
One night, after a few glasses of after-dinner wine, he told her she must seek vengeance.
“No matter what you think about your ex-husband or what you’ve learned about him since, you can’t let this go unpunished,” he said. “When someone hurts a member of your family, no matter what the reason, he’s hurt you by proxy. You go after him and get revenge. People need to know there are consequences for their actions, especially when it comes to our loved ones. That’s the only way to keep some kind of order in the world because, God knows, these days no one will do it for you. Not the pols, not the cops. I’d do it myself if I could get around, but I’m too damned old and busted up. Revenge is a cleanser, honey. You need to be cleansed.”
She’d arrived in Wyoming the month before. It was remarkable—everyone seemed to know everyone else. She asked questions, got answers and leads, and eventually wound up in Saddlestring. It took only three days to find someone who knew Nate Romanowski.
Her adviser had said, “So you want revenge? I’m one of the few people who actually knows where he hangs his hat.”
Then her adviser told her he had access to a rocket launcher through some friends in the arms business. Said it could be shipped to her overnight. Her adviser was incredibly helpful, eager even. She never asked about agendas, because she didn’t need to know. All she cared about was that they had a common interest and a common purpose.
So now it was payback time. It was time to be cleansed.
Although Johnny and Drennen talked excitedly about what they’d do the next day all the way into the mountains to their camp—especially the prospect of holding and firing the rocket launcher she claimed she had for the job—they weren’t nearly as enthusiastic that morning when she returned to pick them up.
She wound through the pine trees through the established sites and took a side road that was clearly marked by the U.S. Forest Service as prohibited to vehicles. It was another full mile through dense lodgepole pines that scratched the paint on her rental before she found the two of them. The camp was a shambles. They each had a stained, thin dome tent and there were empty bottles strewn about, as well as chunks of foil and old bones in the fire pit. Clothes hung from lengths of parachute cord strung between trees.
As Laurie wheeled into the opening, she saw Drennen emerge from the trees zipping up his Wranglers. His face was gray and drawn, his eyes red. She killed the engine and got out. Drennen nodded hello to her and called out to Johnny, who backed out of his tent and stood up. He looked just as bad. She could tell by the way they exchanged looks they had come to some kind of agreement, and she waited to find out who would speak first.
“Me and Johnny,” Drennen said, shoving both his dirty hands into his front trouser pockets and staring at a place in the pine needles between his boots. “We had a little talk this morning. We’re not