Free Tortoise Soup by Jessica Speart Page B

formalities.
    “I’d like to take a look at your operation,” I responded.
    “What for?” he asked, his eyes narrowing in on me.
    The name John was tattooed on a bicep that glistened with sweat. Since no hearts or roses surrounded it, I took it for granted that the name was his own.
    “Because it’s on my list of things to do while touring Nevada,” I replied sweetly, wondering if I could fine him for annoying a federal agent.
    John fixed his hands on his hips and pushed out his chest, as if to block my way in case I intended to make a run for it.
    “If you’re looking for wildlife violations, you gotta clear that with NDOW first,” he insisted.
    I was tired of sitting on a vinyl couch that had begun to meld to the underside of my thighs. The vinyl emitted a smooching sound as I stood up, as if in a farewell kiss to my rear end. All in all, not the sort of image I wanted to convey.
    “As a matter of fact, I don’t have to clear it with anybody, John. All I need is a complaint that trucks on this mine site have been routinely grinding desert tortoises underground without giving it a second thought. You remember those critters? They’re on the endangered species list. And guess what? I recently received a complaint. So let’s cut the games,” I warned. “Just try stopping me from inspecting this mine, and I can guarantee you, the governor will find it highly embarrassing when he goes to present Golden Shaft with an award and discovers you’ve been slapped with a suit for noncompliance.” If that didn’t get me onto the grounds, I didn’t know what would.
    John folded his arms across his chest and stared at me a moment, as if calculating the best mode of attack. “How come you didn’t call in advance? State officials always have the courtesy to call us first.”
    His Miss Manners was a hard act to swallow, but it was interesting to learn NDOW’s tactics. It was smart of them to call ahead. That way there would never be violations around when they arrived at the mine.
    Dee stopped chewing peanut brittle long enough to throw in another interesting tidbit. “But I told you that Director Harris called to tell us she was coming.”
    John shot her a look to kill, causing Dee to choke on the current mouthful. I made a mental note of who else not to trust in this state.
    John’s hands crept into his pockets as he kicked at an imaginary spot on the floor with the toe of his boot. “Listen, I’m sorry I came down so hard on you. It’s just that this is a busy mine and it’s hard for us to take the time to show everyone around.”
    He leaned in close to me. “What say we give a donation to your office? I bet you could use a fax machine.”
    He was right. Our office was bare bones in terms of equipment. We were constantly being told to go catch the bad guys but were lucky if we even got so much as a pair of handcuffs with which to do it.
    “Do I get that fax machine before or after I search for dead wildlife?” I asked, standing my ground.
    John took a step back, his hands balling up into tight fists. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s the state’s job to protect Nevada’s wildlife. Not some girl who’s been given a gun and calls herself a federal agent.”
    I was getting nowhere fast. It was time to notch things up a step.
    “Great. What say we get your boss’s opinion on this, since he’ll be the one that has to show up in court. I take it there’s a manager you report to?” I asked pointedly.
    John glared at me before rolling off down the hall. I turned to find Dee Salvano staring at me as well, a piece of peanut brittle frozen in midair.
    “What’s your mine manager’s name?” I demanded.
    Dee blinked as she put the piece of candy back in its box. “Brian Anderson.”
    “Call him,” I ordered.
    Dee obediently picked up the phone and dialed his number. “Mr. Anderson?” She paused as the voice on the other end barked out instructions. After a moment she hung up. “He knows that you’re