markwildyr.com, Post #109
|Photographer: Bobby Mikul, Courtesy of CCO Public Domain|
NOTE: As this is the last installment of the story, I’m going back to my schedule of posting at 6:00 a.m. every first and third Thursday of the month. My next post will be March 5.
What can possibly come of a relationship between two handsome, sensual men when they stand on opposite sides of the law? Especially, since they had two earth shattering intimate encounters? Does Hawk’s “half-baked” plan hold the answer. Does it work out the way he wanted? Read on for the conclusion of the story.
HUNTINGHAWK AND WOLVERINE
Nothing much happened over the next week. Hawk didn’t even pull out his transceiver. Brit didn’t return, so Hawk considered making the move this time, but it didn’t seem right. Like maybe it was a trap Wolverine had set up. No, he’d wait until Brit showed up.
After two weeks, Hawk brought out his transceiver, but had little luck with it. Grove began to grouse that Hawk never had time for him anymore, but Hawk could hardly confess he was running all over the place at night tracking a black Chevy Blazer.
The break came about a month after Hawk bugged Wolverine’s truck. Just before dawn on a Friday, the Blazer began to move south toward the desert. Hawk stayed a half a mile behind with his lights out. When the truck turned off the main road, he dropped back even farther. Finally, the Blazer stopped moving. Hawk parked and waited half an hour before getting out of the Dodge and hoofing across the desert. Even with the bug sending out its little beeps, it took Hawk a long time to find the truck in a small draw hidden from the air by a thin cover of mesquite and Apache plume. The vehicle was deserted. By the light of a small mag light, Hawk retrieved his bug and found tracks that were recognizably Wolverines. He backed out of the small balsam and returned to his truck.
His heart was heavy as he pulled into the headquarters parking lot, and he almost abandoned his plan. Amadeo Tomé, the bossman of the Rezagados and a few others, including Grove, were huddled around drinking coffee and planning the day.
Hawk filled his cup with the bitter black liquid and stood at the edge of the group. They all looked at him, recognizing that he had something to say. ‘I found him,” he finally forced the words through his vocal chords. “Found his Blazer parked in a blind draw about ten miles south of town and two miles west of the main road.”
“When?” Amadeo asked.
“Just left there. They hadn’t been gone long. Motor was still warm.”
“They’re making a run,” Amadeo said. “They’ll come back to the truck. Everybody hang on, and I’ll call the patrol. You’re sure, Hawk?”
“It’s Wolverine. Found his old track since he returned my boots.”
“Never could figure that out,” one of the others put in.
“Tired of making a fool of me, I guess,” Hawk said with a shrub.
“Thumbing his nose at you,” Amadeo said. “At all of us. Hang on fellows.” He disappeared into his office, leaving the others to discuss the situation. Hawk glumly answered questions, keeping his words to a minimum.
In a few minutes Amadeo was back, unable to hide a small smile of satisfaction. “Well, boys, we’re gonna be in on it. And those nitwits finally come to their senses. We’re stopping over at headquarters so they can swear us in and issue weapons. So don’t none of you embarrass us by shooting off your toes and peckers… mine neither come to think of it.”
By late afternoon the force of Border Patrol and Rezagado officers were in place in the brush and rocks around the Blazer. Hawk and Grove had the high ground atop a pile of boulders directly above the black vehicle. Both had eschewed side arms for their trusty rifles. Hawk looked around and had a sudden feeling of dismay. Why hadn’t he and Grove come for Wolverine alone? Why had he come at all? Because that’s what he was hired to do, that’s why. And because the traficantes, including Wolverine, were ruining lives and killing people with their filth. Oh, God! If only Brit had agreed to stop!
“I see them,” came an excited, muffled voice.
“Watch those glasses. Don’t want them warned by a reflection,” Amadeo grumbled.
For one wild moment, Hawk wished for his pair of binoculars so he could flash a warning. But they were in his truck. He could see the four men approaching now, still a distance sway. Torn between personal and professional loyalties, Hawk lowered his head and prayed for the moment to be over.
“What’s the matter, Hawk?” Grove whispered. “Aren’t you glad you finally got the bastard. I can hardly wait to see what he looks like.”
“He’s my size. Name’s Brit Guerrero. Breed, but mostly Indian. Except for what he does for a living, seems like an okay guy.”
“What the hell are you saying? This is the bastard who shot you!”
“Yeah, he is, isn’t he?”
“How’d you know all that? Be damned,” Grove breathed. “That’s why you wouldn’t go anywhere with me. You been scouting the bastard on your own. Well, you got him, bro. You got him!”
Hawk lifted his eyes and watched the four men plod steadily onward. All carried heavy packs on their backs. Two were armed. They were the traficantes, the others were mules.
The Border Patrol commander, John Haleca, waited until they were in the draw with the Blazer before he spoke over the bullhorn. “This is the Border Patrol. Drop—”
Wolverine acted as if he almost expected the ambush. His weapon rose, spraying the whole area with bullets at an incredible rate. To Hawk, it looked like an Uzi. Without waiting for instructions, the entire force returned fire. The second traficante dropped like a stone, and the mules fell to their stomachs with arms held above their head. Hawk saw Wolverine stagger, then withdraw out of sight through a cover of mesquite. Bullets shredded the bushes.
The commander sent some men to flank Wolverine’s retreat, but Hawk jumped on the roof of the Blazer and vaulted over its side, marching straight through the mesquite where Wolverine had disappeared. Grove was right behind him. He ignored Amadeo’s call to come back.
They found Wolverine at the base of a small buff not ten yards from where he’d disappeared into the bushes. He lay on his back, knees crooked, one arm across his belly, the other thrown out still holding the Uzi. Even with the two red blotches on his chest and the one in his thigh, he looked as if he were asleep. Hawk thought everyone died with his eyes open, but Brit’s were closed and his long, dark lashes lay peacefully against his cheeks.
Now, when it was too late, Hawk understood Brit’s promise that no one would never send Wolverine to prison. Hawk took one last look at his fallen lover and turned to stalk back to his four-by. Grover Whitedeer dogged his footsteps all the way.
Don’t think that’s the way Hawk intended things to end with Wolverine… Brit. I’m sure he planned on doing what he promised, capturing the drug runner and then seeing him through the prison sentence. But things don’t always work out the way we plan, do they?
I have more Huntinghawk adventures, but we need to take a rest and look at some other things before we explore them.
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
The following are buy links for CUT HAND:
DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-b
And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursdays of the month.