Breaking Point

13

After dropping Lisa Greene-Dempsey at the Holiday Inn with a paper sack of fruits and vegetables, and shock on her face that had been imprinted there since the takedown of Bryce Pendergast, Joe spotted Marybeth’s van parked on the street outside the Saddlestring Hotel and pulled behind it. Matt Donnell’s Lexus was also on the street.

Joe wanted to let Marybeth know what was going on-that he’d been called out to Big Stream Ranch to join the search for Butch Roberson and that his first meeting with his new boss. . had not gone well.

He stepped through a gap in the orange plastic fencing on the sidewalk that indicated there was construction in progress, and entered through the magnificent old front doors. As he did, a heated conversation between Marybeth and Donnell stopped him cold.

Matt Donnell stood on one side of the old lobby with a loosened tie and his hands jammed into the pockets of his trousers. He was paunchy and balding; his face was flushed. Joe could see beads of perspiration on his scalp through his thinning hair.

Marybeth stood across from him, hands on hips, bent slightly forward toward Donnell, in her coveralls, her hair tied back with a red bandanna. Even though both had stopped talking, Joe knew the look on Marybeth’s face, and he knew that Donnell was in trouble. Joe had been on the receiving end of that look many times in their marriage.

To Donnell, Joe said: “Just say three words: ‘You’re right, dear.’ Trust me on this.”

Joe expected a smile, but Donnell looked straight down at the tops of his shoes. Obviously, whatever they had been arguing about was worse than Joe had thought, and he turned to his wife.

“Everything all right?”

She softened when she looked over at Joe, though, and said, “Honey, what happened to the side of your face?”

“I met my boss and got in a fight,” Joe said. “I’ll fill you in later.”

“You got in a fight with your boss?”

“No-with Bryce Pendergast. We arrested him for cooking meth and shooting an antelope.”

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Peachy. So what’s going on here? It doesn’t look good.”

“It isn’t,” she said, biting off the words. “Maybe you should ask Matt.”

Joe said, “Matt?”

“I’m just the messenger,” Donnell said softly, then looked up at Joe with pleading eyes. “Don’t let her kill the messenger.”

“Tell him, Matt,” Marybeth said.

“Tell me what?”

Donnell said, “I met with the agencies and departments we needed to talk to so we could get our financing for the next stage of construction. We’ve got big problems.”

Joe shook his head, not understanding.

Donnell said, “I knew the old state fire marshal, and he was a reasonable guy, but he retired. The new one is some kind of fire Nazi. He said we need to install a sprinkler system throughout the building, even though it’s historic. We kind of figured on that, and I’d priced it in,” he said, looking to Marybeth for confirmation. She nodded.

“But he threw me a curve,” he said.

Marybeth cut in, still angry. “So in order for us to install the sprinkler system we have to make sure none of the old paint contains any lead, which means we have to hire special testing crews to take samples and analyze the old paint before we can do anything.”

“What a pain,” Joe said. “But weren’t you going to repaint anyway?”

“Of course,” she said, “but it doesn’t matter that we weren’t going to keep any of the old paint. And it doesn’t matter that in eighty years of people using this building, nobody ate any paint chips and got sick from it.”

Donnell rolled his eyes and said, “They’re worried flakes of the paint will come off when we strip it and kids will eat them, I guess. So we have to hire guys in hazmat suits and with special certification to strip the walls.”

Before Joe could speak, Donnell said, “And that’s not the worst of it.”

“Tell him the worst of it, Matt,” Marybeth said.

“He’s worried about asbestos in these old buildings. The wallboards and the insulation might have asbestos in them. The shingles, too. And all of the wiring needs to be replaced.”

Joe said, “So they want you to gut the entire building?”

“Worse,” Donnell said. “We have to hire a specially certified asbestos-removal company to gut the entire structure down to the bricks and framing. Then we can’t proceed until the fire marshal sends up his own personal inspector from Cheyenne to give us a permit.”

Joe understood the look of panic in Marybeth’s eyes now.

“And we can’t do any of the work ourselves,” Marybeth said, “because we don’t have certified training or licenses.” Then, to Matt: “Tell him about these certified asbestos-removal companies.”

Matt sighed and looked away. “There aren’t any.”

Joe said, “What?”

“The closest one is in Salt Lake City,” Donnell said. “They’re backed up for eighteen months. And the cost of getting them up here to all but demolish the hotel. .”

“. . is more than Matt paid for it,” Marybeth finished for her partner. “All these new costs are way beyond what we budgeted to rebuild the hotel.”

“Oh, man,” Joe said, rubbing his face. He’d forgotten about the gunshot burn on the side of his head, and it stung when he touched it.

Donnell said, “No bank is going to even talk to us until we have all the permits and sign-offs.”

He stepped back and raised both of his hands, palms up, toward the old vaulted ceilings.

Donnell said, “I’ve been buying and selling real estate in this valley for twenty-five years. There have been up and down years, but it was based on free market. It’s just the way it is, and I never bitched about the bad years because the good years made up for them, and I always knew that if I worked hard and didn’t screw anyone, I’d succeed-and I have, up to now.”

Joe interrupted and asked, “What’s it going to cost, Matt?”

Donnell made a pained face and said, “If I were to guess, I’d say rebuilding this hotel like we wanted it will cost us four times more than we thought and take three times as long.”

Joe narrowed his eyes. Marybeth looked stricken. He wanted to knock Matt Donnell’s head off. He said, “You’re supposed to be the expert here. You’re supposed to know this stuff. Marybeth trusted you.”

“I know,” Donnell said, lowering his arms and listing his head slightly to the side as if defeated already. “This wasn’t my first rodeo. But it’s the first time I ever tried to rebuild a historic building. I thought the bureaucrats would want to help us. I honestly thought-and I remember telling your wife this-that removing the blight from the middle of a small town and building a business incubator in its place would be cheered on. I had no idea they’d throw every possible regulation and roadblock in our way.”

Joe still wanted to punch him.

“Look,” Donnell said, “thousands of people passed through this hotel over the years. They ate and slept here, and nobody got sick or died. But all of a sudden, when we want to fix it up so people can use it again, it’s considered a goddamned death trap. It’s like it’s painted with poison and infested with toxic waste. Knowing what we do now, who in their right mind would want to build anything, or fix anything, anymore?”

Donnell’s face was bright red, and he looked to Joe like he might break down. Joe and Marybeth exchanged worried glances.

Then Marybeth said softly, “We’re screwed, aren’t we?”

Donnell looked up, took a breath, and said, “I think we should give up on this project. I’ll take my losses while I still can. It’s not worth it trying to push back because they hold all the cards. They’ve got paid lawyers and regulators with no personal financial stake in this building like we do. They can sit at their desks and tell us what we can and can’t do, and they can drag this out for years or until we’re both bankrupt.”

“You’re saying we should just walk away from our deal?” Marybeth said, and Joe noticed the welling in her eyes.

Donnell nodded. “Yes. I’ll put the hotel back on the market and sell it for whatever we can get, even if we’re just selling the lot itself. A corner lot on Main Street in the middle of town has to be worth something. I’ll do what I can to return some of the money we’ve already sunk into it, I swear. I’m sorry I got you two involved.”

Joe took a deep breath.

Marybeth said to Donnell, “I’m sorry you’re going to take a loss, and I appreciate the opportunity you gave me.” She looked at Joe. “I’m sorry.”

He knew how much it meant to her. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s fine.”

And it was a hurdle removed from not taking the job in Cheyenne, he thought but didn’t say.

Then he looked at his wristwatch. “I’ve got to go.”

“Call me,” Marybeth said to his back.