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
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.
