John Ross and Pamela, season two, episode 12 – Wolf Hunter

"Heard you're looking for me," the man said, as he lay his rifle across the table and pulled himself up a seat.

John Ross asked, "And who might you be?"

"Roy Silver, Wolf Hunter."

"Yeah, I am putting together a crew to drill on my oil lease. It's eight hours north from here. Do you know that country?"

"I'm Gwich'in Athabaskan."

John Ross wasn't sure what was the significance of his tribe vis a vis the lease location. But he assumed that meant he knew his way around. "They keep telling me I need a wolf hunter. So, I'm not from these parts, could you tell me exactly what it is that you do?"

"I keep the wolves off your crew while they work. "

"I see. And is that strictly necessary?"

The man looked at him long and hard and then said simply, "Men won't work without a wolf hunter."

"Alright then, you're hired. We leave at the crack of dawn. Can't tell you how many months we'll be up there in the wilderness."

"I'll work as long as the job lasts," he said, standing up. "Or as long as there's men left alive to do it."

Somewhat melodramatic, John Ross thought. Or maybe the man sought to inflate the value of his services.

It didn't sit well with John Ross' environmentally friendly approach to oil drilling to be hiring someone to kill wildlife. After all, when he'd heard secretary of the interior Ken Salazar talk about allowing additional oil and gas development in the National Petroleum Reserve in Alaska, what had appealed to him was the spin about protecting wildlife and the subsistence rights of Alaskan natives. As an outsider he didn't know exactly how true that was but at least he assumed it prevented them from selling drilling leases in the most sensitive parts of the reserve. He had no interest in disturbing the caribou herds that more than forty native villages depended on.

For that matter, he could have sought offshore drilling leases in the Arctic sea instead, but just the thought of an oil spill like the Deep Horizon one in the Gulf gave him the willies. On shore drilling appealed to him much more.

"No, just a land well, dug into the ground is good enough for me," he said, as he swallowed the last of his beer.

The smiling waitress appeared almost immediately, "Can I get you a refill for that?" she asked, "Or anything else?"

"I'm good, thank you."

He had absolutely no interest in what she was offering. John Ross was thinking about spending his last night in a comfortable bed (and with any degree of privacy), looking at the pictures on a certain cloud drive. He made his way up the stairs and to his room, taking off only his boots and pants before he got into bed. He now examined every photo and laughed at each one. Then he cried looking at them again. His arms ached to hold his boys. He was so damn proud that they were swimming like Trojans. His amazing, strong boys.

Regine looked very well. He was glad he had hired her, she was a good influence and apparently she and Pamela were getting along well.

As for Pamela, he touched the screen as if he were touching her. "You be happy, baby. It's your turn. Let it all go."

Mama Joy was in the terrace, sitting in the hammock. She dozed off for a while, as Pamela was settling the boys for their Sunday afternoon nap. Regine had gone out to the market for diapers.

When Pamela came back into the terrace with a pitcher of lemonade she looked at Mama Joy and suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of compassion. Mama Joy looked worn out.

Just then she woke, somewhat startled. "Oh my, I just dozed off here. It was that good food you cooked me, dear. So nice to have someone cooking for me."

"Is it, Mama? You don't get much of that, do you? We're always taking from you." Pamela said.

"Child, don't be silly. I do what I do because I love it."

"Doesn't mean you don't get tired."

"No, you're right. My feet sometimes hurt me."

Pamela gave her a glass of lemonade and said, "Wait a moment."

She came back with a tube of lotion and said, "I'm going to give you a foot rub, the way John Ross used to give me when I was pregnant." She sat on a pillow on the ground.

"Oh no, you're not. My ugly feet." Mama Joy tried to hide them.

"Your beautiful feet. I won't take no for an answer."

Mama Joy started laughing as if someone were tickling her ribs, instead of rubbing her feet. But it was in order to disguise her extreme dismay at what was happening to her. Her whole upbringing was being challenged. She had been taught to treat outsiders (especially white outsiders) with extreme courtesy and kindness, and to never, ever expect anything in return. There was no such thing as resentment in her heart, she was incapable of it.

But it was almost alarming to her, to allow this young woman to perform such a service as rubbing her worn and swollen feet. She found herself speechless and closed her eyes so as to not cry.

After a while of silence Pamela asked, "When can you retire, Mama?"

"Oh, that's a long way off." She answered.

"Really? Why?"

"Too many people depending for their living on that restaurant."

"Yes?"

"Plus, I don't want to depend on my children to feed me. They've got their way to make still. Godwin's company. And Regine's got to get to the end of her schooling."

"Can't you sell the restaurant and live off that?"

"Wooh!" she laughed. "Who'd want to buy my old shack? The stove is going bad. The fridge is failing everyday. I keep it together with tape and bandaids."

"Mama, you have the best recipes on the island, yours is an authentic island restaurant, with an established clientele and ambiance. That's worth money. I know these things. I studied business."

Mama was looking at her as if she had lost her mind.

"I'd buy it."Pamela said, in surprise. "I'd buy it in a heartbeat."

They heard Regine come into the house from the driveway now. Mama Joy said, "Please don't talk about this now." She put her sandals back on. Pamela understood she did not want her daughter to witness her as anything less than a strong woman.

"Alright. I'll come see you tomorrow." Pamela whisked the lotion away.

That night while Pamela was nursing John Robert she had a visitor.

"Huh. Never heard such a crazy idea. Buy a restaurant." Pam sneered.

"What's so crazy about it?"

"You're a crazy woman, with some serious psychological problems, and you're thinking of taking on more than you can chew."

"True. But I need a distraction. What do you want me to do? Lay around crying over my husband who's left me?"

"You'll leave me holding the bag every time one of the boys starts teething. I know you, you can't handle it all."

"Ha! That's where you're wrong. I CAN handle it all. And if I send you in my place, what's wrong with that? You're supposed to be another me, anyways.

"I'm tired of being kicked around. Left to do your dirty work. You're the supermom and I'm the slave." Pam's bitterness showed.

"Slave? Gosh that's harsh don't you think?" Pamela couldn't help but feel compassion now.

"Yeah, I'm your slave. You whip me, you kick me, you make me do all the excess stuff you take on, and really can't get done. You're weak—"

"I'm not weak. Stop calling me that!"

"Well, you're unrealistic then. You don't realize how you get overwhelmed. All your life you kept trying to please other masters, your mother, your father, society, the perfect model, you've got the worst superwoman syndrome I've ever seen. But when the stomach starts to ache, when the shit hits the fan, when the anxiety is gnawing on your bones, you shut down and send me in. TIRED of doing your shit!"

"Alright. Alright." Pamela was speaking out loud now. "What do you want me to do?"

"Think about what you're taking on. Don't overload. Ask ME if I want to do it. Ask yourself if you want to leave the boys. 'Cause that's what you do every time I take over."

"I…I never thought of it that way. Sorry."

That advice was uppermost in her mind the following day when she met with Mama Joy at the restaurant.

They sat at the back table, the family table, side by side, each with a glass of star fruit juice in front of them.

"What's the recipe for this?" Pamela asked, eying the delicious thing she had just tasted.

"No recipe, darling. Just throw it in a blender."

"Really, and then what?" she asked. "See, it's not so simple for somebody who doesn't know."

"What you getting at, girl?"

Pamela reached for her hand. "Mama, I want to help you. What do you need?"

"I need to keep my nose to the grindstone, baby. That's all."

"How about a silent partner? I'll front the cost of new equipment you need, and you give me ten percent of the profits."

"Profits? Ha ha ha. Darling, after I finish paying the folks that work here I barely take home a penny. I can't even pay my little girl's room and board so she can finish school."

"Okay, okay. I don't expect any profits!"

"Listen here, Pamela. I don't take charity—"

"Mama. Listen, before I risk offending you, and ruining this friendship that means everything to me, let me tell you that what I'm offering you has nothing to do with charity. I used to be a pretty ruthless business woman where I come from. If you work with me I'll show you that everything you have here is worth money. You think it's just hard work and some good cooking. It's more than that. It's what we call a brand, and a brand is worth a whole lot of money in the business world."

Now Mama Joy looked out at the sea and said conversationally, "Darling, if you're thinking of growing my business and getting more customers in here that's not going to help much. I can barely keep up with what we have now. We're full every day. If we have to produce more meals, we'll have to take on more workers, and this place is already bursting at the seams. My garden is good, but that would have to grow too."

"Okay, what If I can show you that without changing a thing, we can increase your revenue stream."

"How?"

"How about a recipe book. You can sell it right at the counter, when people pay."

"Darling, I don't know nothing about making a recipe book. Everything I cook is in my head. And it's just what my mama taught me anyways. I've taught you how to do some of it. Anybody can do it."

"Oh no. No-no-no. I beg to differ. You're one of a kind. Your daughter can't do what you do."

"She's destined for more important things."

"Mama. Let me take down your recipes. Photograph your magic and this place. I'll make a book, and from there we'll share the profits. The content is yours, the formatting is mine. If I do the marketing right, it will generate a passive income for both of us. In the meantime, I'll front the money for some of the equipment you need."

"I can't be taking from you and your babies." Mama said. "Especially right now."

"Mama. John Ross left us well provided for. You wouldn't be taking anything from us. I have some money of my own I need to invest and I think you're a really good business opportunity."

"Excuse me." Mama left the table to check on something. Pamela felt she wanted time to think. When she came back she said, simply. "Alright, ten percent."

They sealed their contract with a hug and Pamela said, "I'll come by tomorrow and we'll make a list of the equipment you need."

Pamela thought on the way home that she had to make sure their contract specified Mama Joy had a high salary before anything was considered profit. The last thing she wanted was for Mama Joy to turn up at her doorstep with ten percent of her cash register take. The woman was so painfully honest she might do that before she took her own cut.

John Ross had fallen asleep with the phone on his chest and woken up to the rude vibration of the alarm at six a.m. It promised to be a cold and brutal day. The first of many more. He was exhilarated.

They had been on the road for four hours and the GPS was telling him at some point this little dirt road was going to end. He could only hope when this happened the terrain would still allow them to advance further north. They were traveling in a caravan, composed of two four door long bed vehicles and a larger truck with a trailer on its flatbed. That trailer had four bunks on either side of its interior. It would be their sleeping quarters.

John Ross had spent several very busy weeks gathering a crew and equipment to start exploration and drilling on his lease. The window of opportunity before the ice froze him out was a few very short months. He had no idea what they would find in this remote, untouched piece of wilderness. The only thing he knew for sure was that the airborne reservoir pinpointing technology his contractors had used to map the Global Energies leases had revealed a substantial reservoir on this site.

It looked to be the richest of all the leases Global Energies had. And that is why he stole it. Legally, of course; by dumping it on the open market and letting his little front company, DIG, scoop it up.

But was it really stealing when you walked away with something that belonged to you in the first place, after some Mafiosos stole your company?

He had saved Global Energies tens of millions of dollars by using this new Stress Field Detection technology to gather oil intelligence from the air. He'd bypassed ninety percent of the cost of exploration. But it didn't show exactly where to drill or what fluid types they would find when they did. The seismic studies now needed to pinpoint that were expensive. He wondered how long his Wall Street nest egg would last at the rate he was spending.

Even though he was a-wall, he had no intention of becoming a deadbeat dad. The monthly check to Pamela had to keep going out.

He had no intention of being an absent dad either. He would go back ... some day. When she had settled her life and he could stand to be near her again, without wanting to fall on his knees before her and bury his head in her waist.

That was just impossible right now.

That's why he was out here on the ends of the earth. That, and a certain obsession to find oil and build his fortune.

"Alright, this is it." He spoke to the driver and the two other occupants of the Toyota Tacoma. There should be a smaller road or trail in the next five hundred meters, let's keep our eyes open."

It was dense and forested ahead. If there ever was a trail it had been grown over by now because they didn't find it. "Pull over."

He got out and the crew followed suit. "Alright. We need to cut through now, and end up another four miles north of here." He showed them the map on his phone. "There's a bonus in it for the first guy who finds us the best way in. We may have to build our own road in, but it can't have too much of a slope 'cause we've gotta haul barrels back out of here once we hit oil."

Roy Silver spoke now, in a tone that brooked no argument. "That'll have to be for tomorrow. It's getting dark. Time to piss and shit and chow down in your bunk. In that order. Nobody leaves the truck once it's dark."

John Ross was slightly taken aback that the man would supersede his orders. But the speed with which the others obeyed his directions made him think there was a good reason for them. Later that night, when he heard the eerie howling of the wolves outside, he was extremely glad he had hired a wolf hunter.

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