markwildyr.com, Post #128
INTERREGNUM, A Curt Huntinghawk
Story, Part 2
Hawk made his way around the building to a half-crumbled adobe wall at the rear of the property. Normally there’d be two or three groups sucking down beer, preferring the calm of the night to the noise of the bar. Tonight there was no one. “Shit!” he cursed softly.
Robert brought a six-pack
and stood hip-sprung while Hawk perched on the crumbling wall. They talked
about the Rezes, and Hawk shared a few experiences, including the Wolverine
shootout and the death of the rogue INS agent who had been murdering traficantes.
“I heard you got shot,”
the boy said.
“Just a graze across the
forehead. That was Wolverine.”
“Man! How’d it feel to get
shot?” Robert moved closer. A horned moon left the night dark. Occasionally the
boy’s eyes gleamed; otherwise, he was a black silhouette.
“Like you’d expect. Hurt.
Had a headache for a week. Still have a little scar across the forehead.”
“Yeah, I noticed it.”
Robert shifted his weight. “And then you tracked down the guy and killed him.”
“No, I discovered who he
was and reported it. The Feds set up the ambush. We were a part of it, but I
didn’t put a bullet near him.”
“Didn’t you want revenge?”
“Just wanted him caught. Turned
out I knew him and… liked him.”
“Man, that’s rough.” The
young man took an audible gulp of his brew. “Hawk, I wanna thank you for taking
me as your partner.”
“Don’t thank me, thank
Amadeo. When Grove comes back, we’ll go back to partnering.”
Robert moved to the wall
at Hawk’s side. His hip brushed Hawk’s leg. He moved away, but only slightly. “Well,
anyway, thanks for letting me sub for him. Here, have another beer.” The youth
set the cold can on Hawk’s thigh, allowing his hand and forearm to rest there.
For a long, awkward moment,
the boy’s flesh burned through the denim of his trousers. Hawk moved to rise. “Save
it for another time, Robert. I’m going home and hit the hay.” As he came off
the wall, Hawk’s groin pressed against Robert’s hand holding the beer. For one
infinitesimal moment, neither man moved. Then Robert backed away.
The rest of the week was uneventful. The big desert was quiet and empty of human life. Robert overcame his nervousness over what happened behind the bar. Hawk was glad; he was physically attracted to the youth’s rangy looks, but he foresaw problems with a relationship when Grove returned. And nothing was worth jeopardizing what he had with Grove.
The following Monday, they
got some action when Robert slammed on the brakes. “Tracks!” he called, bailing
out of the four-by.
Three men. At first it
looked like two because one “walked under,” that is having another smuggler
walk in his footsteps, but they’d made occasional mistakes. It’s hard to walk
under with so few people. They were traficantes,
not illegals. He reported their position by radio, and Amadeo promised to send
a team to close off the other end of the trail. The two Rezes locked their
vehicle, hefted rifles and canteens and started off at a fast walk.
Since one of the traficantes was trying to hide his presence, he was
probably important; someone key to this end of the supply chain. That made him
dangerous and Hawk more cautious. He voiced his suspicions and changed his
methods.
Determining the general
direction of the trail, Hawk abandoned the tracks for the low ground, walking
in large circles whenever they failed to cross the trail. It cost precious
time, but was safer. Ultimately, it paid off.
The traficantes
suddenly bore northeast. Hawk understood immediately they were heading for the
Dragon’s Back and water. Realizing these were no ordinary smugglers and might
carry a radio, he had Robert report on the hand-held to Amadeo in their native
tongue. Then Hawk abandoned stealth for speed. The men would make Dragon’s Back
before them. He set off at a trot, keeping to a network of arroyos and gulches
leading to the jumble of rocks that resembled a dinosaur’s tail. Safely at the
base, Hawk slung his rifle over his shoulder and began a hand-over-hand climb. Robert
had no sling, so stuck his weapon through his belt where the barrel rode the
crack of his butt.
Three-quarters of the way
up the rock, Hawk heard a motor. He kept up his steady pace, knowing that it
was too soon for Amadeo to have another team in the area, but taking comfort in
the fact that the best vehicle approach was on the other side of the hills. He
slipped over the top with Robert on his heels.
Below them, three men
were filling their bellies at the pool created by the spring rising from the
rocks. If they’d been drinking all this time, they’d be waterlogged, but it was
something he could not count on. He needed to make his move before the traficantes’
confederates arrived in the approaching vehicle.
The men were of some
interest. Two were mules and muscle. They’d lugged heavy packs across the
desert, which meant they were thugs to be respected for their strength and
endurance. The third was dressed casually but carried an air of authority. They
rose when the distant growl of the motor penetrated the natural hollow where
they hid.
“Keep your head down and
your eyes open,” Hawk whispered. “If they make a break for it identify yourself
as a federal officer and pin them down.” Robert nodded nervously.
It took Hawk ten minutes
to work to the other side of the crest. The vehicle, a black Lincoln SUV, was
barely within range. He laid the rifle along his cheek and put a bullet into
one headlight. Two people piled out of the car, weapons flashing in the
sunlight. They didn’t look to be long rifles, so Hawk figured they had a
problem…did they abandon their compadres or come give a hand in the face
of a long-range shooter? He put another slug through the grill. Gunfire behind
him let him know the others had made a break. He turned back to give Robert a
hand.
From his high vantage
point, he saw the three had scattered. There were only two ways out of Dragon,
up the steep sides or to the south in plain view of Robert. Two opted for cover
at the base of the cliff below the Rez rookie; the third edged around for a
break or a shot. Robert got edgy, exposing his position in an effort to see
where the other two were. The thug sprayed the rock with an Uzi before Hawk dropped
him.
“You all right?” he
shouted to Robert.
“Yeah. Took some meat off
my arm, but I’m functioning.”
Hawk showed himself and
motioned threateningly with his rifle, ordering the traficantes on the
ground. Robert edged around to where he could guard the two while Hawk went to
check on the Lincoln. It was limping back over the hard desert pan spewing
steam, but wouldn’t make it. Three Rez four-bys zeroed in on a collision
course. Hawk raised them on his hand-held and apprised them of the situation. Within
fifteen minutes, four healthy drug smugglers and one with a shattered leg were
in custody. One vehicle stood by until Hawk got Robert down off the rock. His
wound was a little more than he’d let on.
“Well, you asked how it
felt,” Hawk said when they were near the bottom. “Now you know.”
“Not much fun, is it?”
Robert grimaced. Suddenly, he halted in his tracks. “Hawk, about the other
night at the Mesa. Don’t know what got into me. Never acted like that before
with a guy.”
Hawk grinned. “You were
so damned pretty I almost took you up on it.”
Robert
accepted it as a joke, and they joined an anxious Amadeo at the pool. Declining
a ride back to his vehicle that would delay getting Robert to the clinic, Hawk slung
his rifle and retraced his steps. He’d seen something from the top of Dragon’s
Back he wanted to check.
* * * * *
Well,
well, it didn’t take long for temptation to rear its head. What was it, a week?
Next week, let’s see what happens. And what did Hawk spot that he wants to check out?
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