markwildyr.com, Post #115
Today, let’s find out if Hark can help Ramon, who was in the custody of La Migra the last time we saw him. And if he can, will it simplify his life or complicate it? Read on.
I’ll publish weekly until this story is finished.
The whole unit celebrated that evening. They’d caught five of the six breakaway drug runners. Only one had gotten safely across the border. And they’d scared up a bunch of illegals to boot. It was the “to boot” that was troubling Hawk. He walked out to his Dodge pickup to be alone and think, but Grove was right on his heels.
“Hey, bro, who were you looking at in that bunch of wetbacks this morning? Couldn’t be the woman, she looked like my old Aunt Martha. You see one of our drug guys?”
“A kid I knew.”
“Knew him how?”
“Brother of a woman I met when I first got here. She worked in one of the shops but went back before you’n me started running together.”
“Well, if she was as pretty as her brother, you shoulda held onto her.”
Damn, Grove didn’t miss a thing. His buddy knew exactly who he’d had been looking at. Hawk embellished his lie. “Looked just like him. That’s the only way I recognized the kid.”
“What’s his name?”
“Aguila, huh? Looked more like a cat dragged out of the river than an eagle.
Grove dropped it when they joined the others at the Blue Mesa where Amadeo was buying a round for his unit. Hawk left before the party degenerated into a riot and drove by the detention center where the INS held illegals while they checked them out. If Ramon had been caught in Colorado and deported, this would be his second deportation. They might end up giving him some jail time. At any rate, the kid wouldn’t be eligible to cross legally now. Despite the temptation, Hawk didn’t stop and make inquiries. Unusual curiosity would raise flags that wouldn’t do him or Ramon any good. He’d have to give this one some thought.
He did not sleep well that night. The sight of Ramon Aguila sitting in the dirt, his big, brown eyes following Hawk’s every move, voicing a silent plea for help played like a broken reel of film over and over in his head. The kid had grown some but was still as pretty as any girl Hawk had ever seen. Pretty, hell. He was fucking beautiful. Had to be around nineteen now.
Hawk dragged himself out of bed in time to greet the morning star, but he sipped his coffee like a zombie, failing to appreciate the Creator’s wonders this morning. He was uncharacteristically late pulling into the headquarters parking lot that morning. If there was one thing he had learned, it was the white man’s clock. The palefaces forgave a lot, but not for keeping them waiting. So he’d overcome his tendency to “Indian time” and become a slave to the minute hand. Grove met him at the door with their assignment for the day, so Hawk didn’t even get a second cup of coffee.
‘You hear?” Grove asked before they were out of the parking lot. “Seven of them got away.”
“Seven? We only caught six?”
“Seven of the illegals. Guess they walked in the front door of the detention center and right out the back door. Wonder if your friend was one?”
Hawk feigned disinterest. “Dunno. If he was, hope he makes it back to his sister.”
As they kept an eye on their section of the huge desert and the things that crossed it, Hawk had a moment of panic when they came upon two of the escaped illegals. He bit his tongue to keep from asking about Ramon, but Grove did it for him. The two wetbacks acknowledged that Ramon Aquila had run away with them. Hawk didn’t know of that was good news or bad. Although the Rezes’ commission was not for hunting illegals, they dropped the two escapees back at the detention center for fear they’d come to grief in the desert.
“You’re worried about the kid, aren’t you?” Grove asked as they checked in at Rez headquarters at the end of shift.
“Shit, Grove, I’m worried about all of them. A lot of wetbacks die out there.”
“But it’s different when it’s somebody you know. Want me to help you look for him?”
“Not much we can do for him now. Maybe one of the patrols will find him. Thanks, anyway.”
That evening Hawk cleaned up, ate some stew, and sat on the porch in the growing cold. A northern plains Indian, Hawk was continually amazed at how this place was a furnace by day and an icebox by night, but he liked it. He hadn’t realized his subconscious had been working on Ramon’s problem until he suddenly got up, grabbed a couple of coats and his rifle, and went to the Dodge. He drove as close as possible to The Dragon’s Back, a jumble of high rocks in the middle of nowhere. He closed the door to the cab quietly and approached the silent hills on foot. This was the highest spot anywhere close by, and it held an unmarked water source, a small spring known to only a few locals. It was also close to the spot where he first met Ramon and the place where Hawk had taken the boy for water. If Ramon didn’t make for Hawk’s place, he would try for the spring.
The rock saddle holding the water hole was deserted except for an aggressive javelina that wasn’t about to let some redskin cheat him out of his drink. Hawk looked around carefully since the viscous little pigs normally traveled in packs. This one seemed to be the exception and went off squealing and grunting to himself when Hawk wouldn’t abandon the place. He propped his back against a rock in the deep shadows and settled down to wait. He was good at waiting.
Hawk woke from a light sleep when he heard the boy… or at least some human. No self-respecting animal would announce his approach so loudly. By the light of the moonlight, he watched Ramon make his unsteady way up the high ground, slipping and sliding on loose rock. The boy fell on his belly and sucked loudly at the water in the small pool. Hawk let him have a good drink before he spoke the boy’s name quietly.
The youth whirled. ¿Quien es? Hawk? That you, Hawk?” the light baritone broke slightly.
“Hi, kid,” Hawk said, rising to his feet.
“Hawk! Thank Dios!” The boy rushed to him and threw his arms around him. “Oh, Hawk! ¡Mi amor!” The youth reached up and pulled Hawk’s lips down to his, wincing in pain. As the cracked, blistered lips pressed against his own, Hawk responded gently. The boy drew away. “Maybe Hawk don’t want—”
“I want,” Hawk answered quietly. “I want very much!”
Hawk pulled out his cache of emergency supplies he kept hidden in the rocks and made them comfortable. Ramon ate from the tins of food ravenously. Then he stripped naked and endured the cold night air and frigid waters to bathe in the small stream below the pool. When he walked to where Hawk sat on the blankets. Hawk covered his shivering body and held him close, lending his warmth. At length, Ramon looked up at him.
“You fuck me now, Halcón. I clean now.”
Hawk drew him down into the blankets and roved the boy’s long, lean frame, remembering the beautiful brown flesh, each mole and every scar. Finally, Ramon turned on his belly. As Hawk entered him slowly, Ramon stretched and purred with pleasure.
“Is long time, Hawk. Ramon miss you so much he hurt in his cojones some time.” He groaned pleasantly. “Ramon still love Hawk… much. Muy, muy much!”
Six months ago, Hawk would not have hesitated in declaring his feelings, but now a conflict raged within him. He had once loved the boy. Did he still? Certainly he was fond of him, wanted him, needed him. But thoughts of Grove intruded. At length, he murmured. “I love you too, Ramon.” It was true, but the nature of his love had changed.
The warmth of their lovemaking spread from Hawk’s groin into his torso, exciting and sensitizing his nipples, causing him to rub them against the boy’s smooth back. It spread to his legs as he pressed against Ramon’s thighs, seeking maximum contact. The boy hooked his lower legs over Hawk’s calves. Chemical and electrical impulses flooded his brain. Hawk’s loved with his entire body, his being. He gloried in the difference between this and casual sex of his recent trip to Phoenix. Hawk and Ramon enjoyed one another because they loved, each in his own way… Ramon without reservations; Hawk withholding some part of himself. Orgasm, when it came rocked him more than expected.
Ramon, shoved hard against the blanket with Hawk’s last thrust and gave a long, satisfied sigh.
“Is good, Hawk. More good than I remembered.” Almost instantly, the boy fell asleep in a pool of his own semen.
“I missed you, too,” Hawk whispered as he kissed a brown ear. Aware Ramon could no longer hear him, he continued. “More than I can tell you. I’m not very good at saying things, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel them.”
In the middle of the night, Hawk roused an exhausted Ramon and half carried the boy to his pickup. The handsome youth fell asleep again the moment Hawk tucked him into bed in the spare room. Sometime later, Ramon crawled into bed with him to absorb warmth and comfort.
Looks like Hawk didn’t get his little Eagle out of INS’ clutches. The kid did it himself. But now he’ll need Hawk’s help. Can Hawk provide it? Can he stop himself from trying? And where does Grover Whitedeer fit in now? Tune in next week for the answer to everything. Well, almost everything.
Please consider ordering 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 post at 6:00 a.m. on each Thursday of the month until this serialized story is completed..