Page 68 of Three-Inch Teeth

That was why they’d experimented on melons in Powell. LOR had come up with the idea of using a small laser pen beam aimed at the void in back of the truck and a golf range finder to measure the beam when it struck something solid. When an object, whether a person’s head or a cantaloupe on a stick was at exactly fifteen feet away, the jaws of Zeus II could be unleashed.

They’d been lucky before that the shooting head had hit its target. But firing it in the dark was much different than during daylight hours.

The Louisville Slugger, when swung with power, created slashes and rips that looked as authentic as hell, he thought. There was no reason to improve or modify that particular tool.

Cates looked over his shoulder at the gauge and announced, “Two thousand PSI. Axel, you can turn the truck off now. I’ll kill the air compressor. Just keep the power on inside so you can view the rearview camera.”

“Roger that,” Soledad said from inside the cab through the open slider. Cates appreciated the man’s military manner. He planned to ask Soledad more about his history when they had the time.

Then Cates connected with Bobbi Johnson on his new burner phone.

“Anything going on, Bobbi?”

“Nothing. I’m colder than hell.”

“It shouldn’t be too long now.”

“When this is over, you need to thaw me out,” she said. “I have some ideas how to do that.”

“You’re on speaker right now, Bobbi. Everyone can hear you.”

As if to illustrate his point, LOR leered at him from beside Zeus II and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Text me if anything happens,” Cates said to her. “I’ll do the same.”

He lowered the phone to his lap, screen down so there would be no glow that could be seen from the outside. The eastern sky had begun to fuse with vanilla light. It was a matter of time before the stars to the east blinked out and the sharp outline of the Bighorns formed from the gloom.

With the engine and air compressor off, it was completely silent inside the pickup. Magpies from the brush near the distant river were already starting to call out.

“Get ready,” Cates said again to everyone.

*

JUDGE HEWITT EMERGED from his home on the thirteenth fairway the only way he knew how: in a hurry. He’d been up well before dawn and had reviewed his overnight emails, perused the Wall Street Journal, and checked out the latest posts on his favorite trophy big-game-hunting sites. Then he drained his coffee cup and pulled on a base layer of merino wool long underwear before stepping into Kuiu camo trousers. He then topped off his walking ensemble with a light Kuiu shell and stocking cap.

As he strode down the hallway beneath the glass-eye gazes of a dozen mounted big-game trophies, he slung on his shoulder holster with his .44 Magnum revolver.

Hewitt had briefly wondered who had been responsible for the blink of red brake lights he’d seen an hour before in the distant trees on the golf course. It was too early in the morning for the maintenance crews and too late in the season for golf course greenkeepers. Trespassers—locals, mainly—sometimes sneaked on the property to poach, steal things that weren’t nailed down like lawn furniture and outdoor grills, or just go where they weren’t normally welcome. Sometimes, one of the more ostentatious homes was vandalized simply for the reasons of jealousy and resentment.

But whoever had been on the grounds had apparently left. And if they hadn’t, he’d arrest them for trespassing and haul their asses into the courthouse while reminding them that he was an officer of the court. He’d done it before.

Hewitt silenced his phone before slipping it into the zipper pocket on his shell, then strode down the sidewalk to the golf cart path. As always, he bent his head forward and swung his arms from front to back as he walked.

His brisk pace was useful not only for warming up in the morning but for burning calories as well. He walked every day no matter the weather. He had for years.

Judge Hewitt’s morning routine was well known, as was his wrath if anyone tried to reach him while he was on his walk.

*

A FEW MOMENTS later, Soledad spoke with an urgent whisper: “Here he comes. Bearing south.”

Cates sat up in his seat and LOR shinnied to the side of Zeus II, between the device and the topper wall. As he did, he readied his laser and range finder, one in each hand.

Cates studied the framing for the shot, which should have been straight out through the open rear topper window toward the cart path. It was a few degrees lighter now, and for the first time he could see a wall of pine trees bordering the other side of the fairway.

He could also see the bottom of an overhanging branch stretching across the top of the opening. It looked like a crooked arm with a bent elbow and it hung in clear view of the framed opening. Cates cursed quietly to himself, wishing he had known it was there and wondering how he’d maneuvered the truck into the alcove without hitting the branch in the first place. If he’d known, he could have repositioned the vehicle.

It was too late for that now.

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