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He only hoped Malia wasn’t watching him right now. He snuck a glance at the other end of the club and saw that she and her two cousins were sharing a platter of loaded nachos, talking and laughing as they ate.
Bickham, a big, bluff redheaded fellow who hailed from Ogden, Utah, had introduced himself as the executive chef at Salt & Bourbon, a high-end steakhouse chain. His buddy, a weedy fellow with a shifty gaze and deeply-pitted cheeks, was named Arnie Silvers, and he worked for Bickham at the restaurant.
The pair of them were already halfway through a pitcher of beer when Lucas joined them, and inclined to be talkative. Based on what he overheard, they appeared to be just the kind of dirtbags he was looking for.
Feeling thankful for his fast shifter metabolism, which made it difficult to get drunk, Lucas ordered another pitcher for the table.
Working hard to suppress any signs of disgust, he listened and nodded as they rated the fuckability of every woman under the age of fifty in the place, and speculated on whether the objects of their scrutiny might be up for a good time or frigid bitches.
With an effort, he steered the conversation back to hunting.
“So, I gotta ask,” Travis said, his freckled neck and cheeks flushed with booze, “you after the meat or a trophy?”
Lucas’s poacher radar instantly went on high alert.
Chapter 5
“Well, seeing how I scored a bull elk tag this year, I’m hoping to put some bragging rights up on my living room wall,” Lucas answered. “Don’t get me wrong, elk meat’s damned tasty, but packing out all that meat is a pain in the fucking ass.”
Bickham and Silvers nodded in sympathy. Hunting regulations required that hunters process all of the edible meat from any game they took. That frequently involved repeated hikes in and out of a wilderness area, carrying up to a hundred pounds of fresh meat each time.
Encouraged, Lucas laid it on thick. “And, I gotta tell you, on the years when I manage to bag one of those SOBs, I get kinda sick of elk burgers, elk chili, elk stew, nothing but elk, elk, elk for months.”
“I might be able to help you out with that.” Bickham leaned forward.
With superhuman effort, Lucas kept himself from recoiling at the blast of stale-beer breath.
“I mean, if what you’re really after is the rack and not the meat,” Bickham continued. “Well, maybe we could come to an arrangement.”
I was right about these guys being sketchy as hell!Lucas fought to display only polite interest. “Oh, yeah? What kind of arrangement?”
“Venison and elk are the hottest menu items at my restaurant at the moment, thanks to some health expert on TV. The minute he started running his mouth about organic and grass-fed wild meat, all those fucking city hipsters went crazy. You bag yourself an elk, maybe we can work out a deal.”
“Hey, that’d be cool,” Lucas said. He didn’t have to fake his enthusiasm. It was illegal to sell or barter game taken on a hunt like this.
But talk was cheap…and not prosecutable. What hereallyneeded to do was catch these guys in the act of either hunting an animal they hadn’t obtained a tag for, or illegally purchasing meat from other hunters.
Lucas took a long pull from his mug, and laid out his bait. “Well, elk is great, don’t get me wrong. But do you guys know what I’dreallylike to bag?”
“That hot waitress?” Bickham joked, leering at her as she bent to gather up empties from a nearby table.
“That, too.” Lucas grinned. “But I want a bear. I mean, the ultimate trophy would be one of those grizzly bears, y’know. Can you imagine how often I’d get laid if I got me a genuine bearskin rug?”
The response to his conversational gambit would tell him whether Bickham and Silvers might be suspects in Rob’s shooting.
While IDFG allowed a certain number of black bears to be hunted each year, the fall hunting season wouldn’t start for another three weeks.
Not to mention, grizzly bear hunts were currently banned all year round.
His two new buddies laughed. Arnie crooked his fingers, imitating a set of claws. “Rawr. Chicks dig that shit.”
“You got it,” Lucas said. “Though I wouldn’t say no to a bull elk with a decent rack. I just wish I knew a good place to hunt around here. It’s my first time in these parts, and the locals are pretty tight-lipped. Guess they want to keep all the best spots for themselves.”
“Fucking local yokels,” Bickham agreed. He clapped Lucas on the shoulder. “This is a great place to hunt. There’s only one fish cop patrolling the area, so if we hunt smart, we can get whatever we want.”
“Really?” Lucas grinned and raised his glass. “That’s great to hear. In my neck of the woods, the fish cops are up your ass all the time with those fucking checkpoints to check for tags and shit.”
“Not a problem here,” Bickham assured him, expansively. “You stick with me, and we’ll get you something good. I’ve been coming here for the past three years, and I know the best spots for both elk and bear. And they’re all close to the road, too, so that packing out meat and trophies won’t be a pain in the fucking ass.”
