“Yup.”

“Ketchup and Tabasco on the side?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She grunted and turned on her heel for the kitchen.

“The service here could be better,” Greene-Dempsey said, watching the waitress retreat. “And the food . . .” she said, making a face and gesturing to her picked-through fruit plate. “It’s not exactly fresh. Who knows how long it’s been sitting around back there?”

“We’re a long way from fruit orchards and the ocean,” Joe said. “I don’t eat much that doesn’t come from somewhere closer.” He shrugged. “It’s sort of part of the deal.”

Greene-Dempsey shot a look at the swinging batwing doors to the kitchen MayVonne had pushed through.

She said, “She needs to work on her attitude.”

Joe shrugged and said, “MayVonne has a boy in Afghanistan and a husband who can’t find work. This is her second job. I cut her a little slack.”

“Oh,” LGD said, embarrassed.

—

GREENE-DEMPSEY SAID, “Before we discuss the matter at hand, I want to completely clear the air as far as you and the department goes.”

Joe looked up. “I didn’t know there was air to clear.”

She laughed uncomfortably and said, “Of course there is, but not to worry. As far as I’m concerned, we all start fresh. It’s a brand-new day, and it will soon be a rebranded agency, and I want all of my people—all of my team—to know that whatever happened in the past stays in the past. As I said, we all start fresh. The slate is wiped clean.”

She said it with a sense of triumph.

When Joe didn’t respond, she said, “Some people might have been troubled by things that have happened along the way. Some might say a certain game warden was a little too close in proximity when a former director was brutally killed, or a little too familiar with a certain federal fugitive who lived nearby. Some might say that a career history marked by certain periods of defiance to policy and outright insubordination are indicators of future defiance to policy and future insubordination. But those people would be wrong.”

Before Joe could respond and ask who “those people” were, Greene-Dempsey said, “I have something for you.”

“What—my severance papers?”

She laughed loudly, and playfully slapped the back of his hand. “You’re such a character,” she said.

He knew he grimaced.

“Here,” she said, handing over a large, thick legal-sized envelope.

He took it.

“Open it,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

Joe worked his finger under the seal, ripped it open, and dumped the contents on the table. The items consisted of a laminated card, a Game and Fish Department badge, and a smaller envelope.

“I’ve already got a badge,” he said, puzzled.

“Look at the number,” she said, gleaming.

It took him a second to realize what she meant, then he read JOE PICKETT, GAME WARDEN, #21.

“Your number has been restored to where it would have been if you’d never had that unfortunate incident a few years back,” she said. “I asked my staff to do the research, and you’d now be number twenty-one. And that’s what you are again, so congratulations, Joe. And welcome back.”

He fingered the badge. The laminated card also indicated his new—restored—numerical designation. In one fell swoop he’d moved twenty-seven rankings.

“Thank you,” he said.

“In the envelope is a letter from me making it all official.”

“I appreciate it.”

She nodded and said, “When they told me how important those numbers are to game wardens, how the lowest number represents the most years in service, I realized how disenfranchised you must feel. Anyone would.”

She raised her index finger and touched the side of her jaw, as if demonstrating the act of thinking. She said, “So I thought, what would cause a game warden to act out? What would make a good solid employee by all accounts responsible for three times as much damage to state property than any other employee in a large agency? It puzzled me, at first, but when I asked about your history, I found out a previous director had taken away your status. You literally were disenfranchised. So I put two and two together.”

Joe felt himself flushing with embarrassment.

“This really isn’t necessary,” he said. “I’m fine with my badge number.”

“You say that,” she said, mischievously, as if she knew better.

“Really,” he said. “But I appreciate the effort.”

“Of course,” she said. “Like I said, it’s a new day. There are people who thought easing out people like you might be the best thing for the department as we begin our transformation.”

Joe said, “Who are these people who are always saying things?”

“Never mind that,” she said dismissively. “The governor thinks the world of you.”

“He does?”

“He told me so himself. He also made a reference to some special work you did for him once, but he didn’t get specific.”

“I see,” Joe said, not elaborating. If the governor hadn’t told her how the arrangement had worked and what he’d done for him, Joe took that as a cue not to tell her, either.

“Where is the governor, by the way?” Joe asked, looking around. Both the restaurant and the lobby were vacant.

“Oh, he’s here,” she said. “We checked in together last night. At the same time, I should say.” She rolled her eyes and blushed at the implication, even though Joe hadn’t made it. “So I suspect he’s working in his room or meeting with local officials. You can’t imagine how stressful it is to run an agency like mine, much less the entire state.”

Joe could imagine. He wished, though, that LGD would stop referring to “her” agency, “her” team, and “her” staff. He hoped it was a matter of semantics.

Instead, he said, “And what do you mean by transformation?” He was thinking of Bill Haley’s decision to retire.

She said, “I’ve reviewed the duties of a game warden. It’s supposed to be one-third resource management, one-third landowner and community relations, and one-third law enforcement, right?”

“Right.”

“What I see, though, is most wardens skew heavily on law enforcement at the expense of the other two. And wildlife appreciation needs to figure somewhere in that mix.”

He nodded cautiously, agreeing but wondering where she was going.

“I want to change the agency for the better, Joe, and I’m asking you for your support.”

“My support?”

“I’m creating a new position: field liaison. The field liaison would serve directly under me and be my eyes, ears, and advocate for new policy with game wardens and biologists across the state. I know how hardheaded and set in their ways many of these men can be, but they might be persuaded if someone they know and trust—and admire—fills the position. Someone who has been where they are and knows their issues. That someone would be you.”

Joe said, “You’re offering me a new job?”

“You don’t have to answer right now, but I want you to really think hard about it. Believe me, there are people in Cheyenne at headquarters who think I’m crazy. You are not the most popular guy with some of them. They point to your record with state-issued vehicles, for example. But as far as the game wardens go—I haven’t heard a bad word. They would listen to what you have to say.”

Joe didn’t respond.

She continued, “Your salary would increase by eighteen thousand dollars, and you’d move up two grades.”

“Where is the job based?”

“Cheyenne, of course. I even have an office picked out next to mine, and we can share the same administrative staff.”

“Cheyenne?”

“That’s where our office is.”

Joe had done his best over the years to avoid trips to headquarters. He knew several old game wardens who prided themselves on never darkening the halls of the agency building for their entire careers.

“I’m flattered you asked me,” Joe said, “but I really have to think this through and talk to my wife. She’s got a business deal going here right now.”