markwildyr.com,
Post #106
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NOTE: For
the remainder of the segments in this story, I’m posting one at 6:00 a.m. each
Thursday. Once the five-parter is finished, I’ll revert to my 1irst and third
Thursday schedule.
Last week,
Hawk spotted his shoes in a bar. Does that mean he’s found Wolverine, a
notorious drug trafficker? Read on to find out.
*****
HUNTINGHAWK AND WOLVERINE
The man wearing Hawk’s
boots sat with his torso leaning forward and one leg tucked under him, exposing
the bottom of the boot. There were people in the way so Hawk couldn’t see the
man clearly. He meandered to the bar, bought a Mexican beer and took a chair at
a table behind the man. A couple of girls tried to strike up a conversation,
but he was so distracted, he was barely polite, but he learned from one of them
that the stranger’s name was Brit Guerrero.
Hawk was staring at the
back of the man’s head when the other man stiffened and slowly turned in his
chair. He held Hawk’s gaze for a long moment. Something in the eyes flickered
before he returned to the conversation at his table. Hawk nursed his beer until
closing. Ignoring everyone else, he kept his eye on Guerrero… hell, wouldn’t
you know the guy’s name would be ‘Warrior’? It was obvious Guerrero knew he was
being watched. In the parking lot, he saw Guerrero hand off his lady to another
car and dally at his truck, a shining new Blazer, pitch black in color with not
much chrome to reflect light. It looked to be a powerful machine. Hawk leaned
on the fender of his Dodge pickup and watched to see what would happen.
When most of the cars
were gone, the man strode purposefully across the lot. “Light?” he asked,
stopping in front of Hawk.
“Don’t smoke.”
“No? Neither do I. What’s
up, man. You been watching me.”
“Just want my boots.”
“Your boots? You crazy
man? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Course you do,
Wolverine. You took them when you shot me. That’s not so bad, but you’re using
them to leave tracks all over the desert. Even that wouldn’t bother me except
my partners think it’s funnier than hell. So I’ll just take them back.”
“Don’t know what the hell
you’re talking about.”
As they stood studying one
another, Hawk assessed Guerrero. About his age, twenty-eight. Probably within a
pound or two of his own weight. Mostly Indian but probably some other blood
too. Had the look of a breed. White blood, if Hawk had to guess. He was
disconcertingly good-looking, except his eyes held something that Ramon’s and
Grove’s lacked… cruelty. Not exactly cruelty, more like a don’t-fuck-with-me-and-expect-to-live
attitude.
After a long silence, the
other man couldn’t contain his curiosity. “Wolverine? That’s one I haven’t
heard.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re El Espectro
to the others. But to me you’re Wolverine. You ever run across one? Mean
spirited little beast.”
“Tenacious,” Guerrero mused.
“Brave. Aggressive.”
“Mean spirited,” Hawk
said again. ‘I’ll take my boots now.”
“I bought these off a
fellow, so can’t swear they’re not yours. But I paid good money for them. Good
boots. What’d you pay for them new?”
“Two-eighty across the
border. Best they had.”
“Worth it,” Guerrero said
with a smile. “Well, since I can’t swear they’re not yours, give me what I paid
for them and you can have them back.”
“Okay,” Hawk said,
turning to rummage around on the floor of his pickup cab. A moment later he
dropped a 30-30 cartridge in the man’s hand.
“What’s this?”
“What you paid for the
boots. And this is what I paid,” he said, pulling a finger across the hairline
scar on his upper forehead.
“Not sure I like your
attitude, Hawk,” the man said. “Don’t think we can do business.”
“How’d you know my name?”
“Same way you know mine. I
asked. Curt Huntinghawk, one of Rezagados Colorados best, so
I hear.
“If you know that, then
you know I’ll get you sooner or later. Right now, all I want is my boots. Give
them to me, and they can’t incriminate you. Keep them after I know you’ve got
them, and they’ll help put you away.”
The man seemed to
consider this for a moment. “All right, stud, you can have them. But only
because I’m feeling good tonight. Had a good day,” he said with an infuriating
smile, “and gonna have a better night. You wanta come join me'n my mama? I can
get you a woman.”
“Thanks, I get my own
women.”
By the light of the
parking lot lamps, Hawk saw the haughty eyes, as deeply black as his own, raked
him insolently. “I’ll bet you do. Probably have them waiting for you all over town.
You’re a good-looking fucker.”
Hawk felt himself
coloring. Did the man mean anything by that? Did he know something? Hawk calmed
his breathing as Guerrero leaned against the pickup and unlaced first one boot
and then the other.
“Damn! Pavement’s still
warm. Not as hot as the desert, I guess,” Guerrero said with a wink and smile. He
called back over his shoulder as he walked away. “Maybe I’ll stop by your place
one night. You rent the old Marta Hokkai place, don’t you?”
Hawk watched until the
tall, well-built figure reached the Blazer before crawling in his Dodge and
following the other vehicle out of the lot. He thought about tailing the man,
but they’d just drive around all night and accomplish nothing. Hawk went his own
turn and soon pulled into his driveway.
As he lay in bed later,
he reviewed the evening. He knew who Wolverine was now, and he’d retrieved his
boots. There wouldn’t be any more jokes about that, but how should he handle
things? He thought about it so long and hard that he failed to rise with the
morning star, something he habitually did.
He remained home the rest
of the weekend and was cleaning his Winchester at the kitchen table Sunday night
when he heard a noise outside. Suddenly nervous, Hawk eased out the back door
and sidled around the corner of the house.
“Over here,” came a deep
baritone. Hawk turned and walked openly to the back of the parked Blazer. Wolverine
leaned against the rear. ‘You spooked about something, Hawk?”
“Not polite to lurk
about.”
Guerrero laughed aloud. The
sound was pleasant. “Lurk about? Is that what I was doing?”
“Yeah, probably had some
nefarious deeds planned too,” Hawk said.
That brought a second pleasing
gust of laughter. “You got a cold one in there?”
“Yeah. But I wouldn’t
want some bozo planting something in my house.”
“If this bozo was gonna
do that, he wouldn’t do it while you were home.”
“Then come on in.”
When they were settled at
the kitchen table, Hawk resumed putting his weapon back together.
“Good rifle,” Wolverine
said admiringly. “You know, somebody stole mine. Probably in Vera Cruz by now.”
“You don’t need to
worry,” Hawk said. “We didn’t recover a bullet.”
“I don’t—”
Hawk leaned forward and
pounded the table. “You shot me, you bastard. And you stripped me and left me
to die. What I can’t figure out is why you didn’t finish the job.
Guerrero considered him
for a long time. “Maybe I should have. “But when I saw you lying there
helpless, I decided you deserved a fighting chance. You were so damned.…”
“Damned what?”
“Never mind. Anyway, when
I saw the Mexican kid, I knew he’d help you get to your stash at the water
hole.”
“You hung around that long?”
“I was hightailing it
when I saw a kid stumble up the arroyo. I almost laughed aloud when he saw you.
Fucker died in his tracks, then he took another few steps. Leaned over to touch
you, but when you moved, he jumped like he’d been shot.” Wolverine laughed. “Wanna
guess what he was gonna touch? Tell me, you fuck him that night or wait till
later? Pretty little son-of-a-bitch. Almost as good-looking as—” Wolverine
looked as if he were reconsidering his words, then finished his sentence. “—you.”
“Me?”
Whoa! Did Wolverine make a pass at Hawk? If so, how will the Indian react. Tune in next
week.
For those
of you who have not already done so, please order Cut Hand
and Johnny Two-Guns from Dreamspinner Press. I’d like to
convince them to publish the rest of the Cut Hand Series, including the
unpublished manuscript Wastelakapi…
Beloved, It’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.
My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
Email: markwildyr@aol.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr
Twitter: @markwildyr
The
following are buy links for CUT HAND:
And now my mantra: Keep
on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
Mark
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and
third Thursdays of the month.
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