CHAPTER SIX
Gus Benton’s office was a non-descript building in the middle of nowhere, stuck in a largely empty lot midway between the holding pens and Carrizo Springs. The place looked more like a mechanic’s shop or junkyard than anything else, but according to the sheriff’s deputy they had spoken with, Benton was on the road more than in the office.
Jody shifted as Joe parked next to Benton’s car with its tinted windows and air of luxury, and dug her fingernails into her palms.
She’d spent part of the morning puking, to Joe’s discomfort. The deputy had given them instructions as to where some of the export pens were. The cruelty being visited on horses being loaded or unloaded was burned into her brain. Then there was the trailer of horses sitting in the sun in a parking lot, waiting to cross. She’d held her breath and peered into the trailer with its slatted sides, praying she wouldn’t see horses that Benton might have sent. That she wouldn’t see Cowboy.
She opened the door and slid out before Joe came around the hood of the truck, but when he took her arm to help her over a rough patch of pavement, she let him. They were pretending to be a couple, and besides—leaning a little on someone felt good, even if just this once.
They stepped up on the concrete ramp leading into the building and Joe moved closer. “If it isn’t pleasant, hang tough. We’ll find a way,” he whispered, then brushed her lips in a light kiss.
Bells jangled as they entered. A woman in a low-cut blouse, tight jeans and stiletto heels looked up and shot them a false smile. “What a cute little couple,” she cooed. I’m Marsha. Deputy Ellis said y’all wanted to see Mr. Benton. Just a minute.”
She left the room and disappeared.
“He’ll see you now,” she called from down the hall, then brushed past them on the way back, dragging a hand over Joe’s arm. “Call me if you’re ever free, Cowboy."
Benton sat behind a large, cluttered desk. On the wall behind him were a couple of news stories, including the one about Cowboy. He didn’t stand as they came over, just puffed on his cigar, set it aside and gestured at the worn chairs.
“So. Our friends from yesterday.” He looked at a scrap of paper on his desk. “Joe Roberts. The rodeo guy, right? And Jody Colton.” He didn’t offer a hand. “Don’t know why your last name sounds familiar, girl, but it does.” He looked her over as if she were there alone and Jody struggled not to react. He had all the cards—sixty of them, more or less. And the ace: Cowboy. She couldn’t afford outrage yet.
He smiled. “You sure cleaned up good,” he said. “Too bad you and me can’t cut our own deal.”
“Mr. Benton,” Joe interrupted, brusquely, “the deputy who gave us your address here said he let you know why we were coming.”
“Yeah.” He waved a hand at the wall. “Guess maybe letting slip I had a famous horse in the lot was a mistake. He’s committed to the kill house, bud. Going down tomorrow.”
Jody gasped and started to stand, but Joe caught her hand and squeezed it.
“We’re here to stop that. What will it take?”
“Not happening, bro.” Benton stretched lazily. “Look, I’m going to be real honest. I can’t afford to sell one of a lot I’ve already committed. Not good for my rep, you know? And I take pride in what I do. They’re animals, like pigs or cows. Too many of ‘em everywhere, like dogs or cats. Where’s all the outrage over breedin’ too many or leaving ‘em somewhere to starve? I make money, I feed people—I’m a fuckin’ legend.”
“You’re not a hero—you’re a—”
Joe looked at her and shook his head imperceptibly. “Horses are what—fifteen or twenty cents a pound? We’ll give you fifteen thousand for Cowboy.”
Benton just laughed. Threw his head back and roared with laughter.
“Look, Roberts,” he said, the laughter gone. “I won’t sell one horse out of the lot. I’ve given a count to the slaughterhouse already.”
“What would you take for the lot?” Joe asked. Jody stared at him.
“They’re shipping in the morning.”
“We’ll give you fifty thousand for all of them.” Joe dropped Jody’s hand and leaned forward. “You won’t make that off those poor brutes, Benton. There are several that probably won’t even pass inspection. You’ll lose those, so we’re offering double what you’d get.”
“That sounds good to you? Really? I got overhead. You got a place to put them tomorrow morning? Feed? You want me to cancel a commitment from a place that takes my horses pretty much every day? To miss out on other loads because I can’t stockpile ‘em here ‘til you clean out the ones I got now?” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his chin, then closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his face was hard. “Here’s my deal, Roberts and Colton. Don’t waste my time arguing, because this is bottom line and if you’re gonna do it, I want twenty percent tomorrow. I’ll hold ‘em in the pens here ‘til midnight on Saturday. That means I’ll be losing most of a week. All the horses in the pen—one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Period.”
Jody blanched. Joe was silent for a long time.
“You were going to give me fifteen thousand for the beat-up bronc that trampled you—Cowboy. You’d be paying about three thousand for each horse, with something for the feed, care and loss of income I’d suffer if I go along with it. Not to mention the bad publicity that will come of it. I don’t want all the stupid animal nuts celebrating this. ‘Cause startin’ on Sunday, the pens will be full again and the trucks will head south on Monday.” Benton shrugged and turned his attention to Jody. “Help him make up his mind, Sweetie. Because he doesn’t look like he wants to. Does he know you’re oil money?”
Jody flushed, wondering how Benton had found out so much about them so easily. “My family had oil. Once. But what you’re asking is…it’s criminal.”
“Watch your words, sweetheart. They’re my horses. I’d be happy to send them down to the pens early tomorrow. Hell, I might ride along just to watch the black horse go. I can ask whatever I want. I’m not holding a gun to your head, now am I?”
Joe stood without warning. He looked mad enough to go over the desk and choke the older man, but he merely shook his head. “No. You’re not holding a gun to our heads. But you’re asking an exorbitant amount. Neither of us has that kind of cash. You’re giving us what—four and a half days to arrange transportation for sixty-something horses. Give us a couple of hours to talk. And see if it’s even possible.”
“Guess that’s fair. And I’ll give you until noon tomorrow to make the deposit. The rest you pay before the first horse sets foot in a trailer to leave my pens.”
Jody stood up slowly and linked her arm through Joe’s. He turned and looked at her with surprise, as if he’d forgotten she were there. “We want to see the horses again before you get the deposit,” she said, wishing she sounded stronger. “We need to take a head count. We won’t pay the full price if we go and find pens full of dead horses.”
Benton wrote a number on a business card. “My cell. I want a yes or no by six this afternoon. That’s more than enough time for the two of you to…talk.” He leered the last word at Jody, who looked away, afraid of losing her composure and blowing everything.
“Be sure you don’t show up with a bunch of do-gooders. I don’t want it spread far and wide that I let go of a lot of kill animals. And you probably don’t want folks to know if you decide to blow that much cash on garbage.”
Joe took the card and slipped it in his shirt pocket. “Let’s go, Jody,” he muttered, and the relief she felt almost overwhelmed her.
They walked together to his truck without looking back, acknowledging the receptionist or talking. He opened the door for her, went around, got in and looked at her.
“So, Jody. Do you have a hundred and fifty thousand dollars?”
“Nope. You?”
“No. Lost my ranch in a divorce, along with most of my cash.” He grinned at her. “So, got property for sixty odd horses?”
“Nope.”
“Well, hell,” he quipped, and they left laughing.