markwildyr.com,
Post #129
INTERREGNUM, A Curt Huntinghawk
Story, Part 3
Hawk rounded a bend in a
broad, sandy arroyo at a trot and suddenly halted. A man stood in the middle of
the gully. It was seldom anyone took Hawk by surprise, and after a moment he
understood why. The man, a boy really, was motionless, mouth open, lips burnt,
hands shaking. He was on his last legs. For one giddy moment Hawk thought it
was Ramon, but this one was taller and there was something more of the man in
him.
“¿Agua?” the youngster
gasped. “You have water?”
Deciding the Mexican
youth posed no threat, Hawk led him to the shade of a scrub at the side of the
gully and gave him a modest drink.
“¿La Migra?” the boy gasped, wiping
his chin to save a precious drop.
“No, but I’m a peace
officer. Where are the others?”
The youth motioned with
his head down the arroyo. “Not far. Bad shape. You give them water, no?”
“How many?”
“Twelve of us. The coyotes
ran off after we got across the border. Women, children…one baby.”
“Shit!” Hawk cursed. “You
stay right here! Don’t move. I’ll be back for you.” The boy sagged against the
gully as Hawk hurried down the arroyo.
They were in such bad
shape nobody even tried to run. Hawk rationed his water carefully, trying to
ease the suffering until INS arrived. The agent in charge, someone Hawk had worked
with before, soon had them loaded in vans and headed for the detention center
and medical help. The vehicles had pulled away before Hawk remembered the kid
back up the arroyo. Oh, well, he’d take him to the center himself. But there
was no one in the shade of the scrub.
Hawk took off his hat and
rubbed his head. The son-of-a-bitch had more spunk than he’d thought. Wearily,
he followed the tracks out of the arroyo expecting to find the prostrate form
of a sunstroke victim. Nothing moved over the desert that he could see. The
little shit had lit out as soon as Hawk was out of sight!
Without hesitating, Hawk
made for his vehicle and drove in a big circle back to Dragon. They’d been
headed for water, so the kid probably knew about the spring. He kept his foot
light on the accelerator to hold down his dust plume. If the illegal spotted
it, he might shy away from the spring and die out there.
As he had once for Ramon,
Hawk settled himself against a shadowed rock wall and waited patiently for his
quarry to come to water. A tiny stream trickled out of the pool and straggled
down the wash, evaporating in something less than a mile. If the kid tried to
drink out there, Hawk would see him.
He did not. He made for
the cover of the rocks and fell to his knees at the edge of the pool without
spotting Hawk in the shadows. The kid took a desperate drink, ripped off his
shirt, soaked it, and doused his head to bring down his body temperature. He
swayed on his knees from his efforts.
“Hola, amigo”,
Hawk said quietly.
¡Dios, mio!” the boy gasped, staggering
into the small pool.
“I told you to stay put. You
don’t listen very good.”
“Please,” the boy said,
backing away and muddying the water.
“Get out of the pool,
idiot!” Hawk said. “A lot of animals water there.”
“¡Lo siento! Sorry!” the youth said,
scrambling out of the water on the far side of the little pool. “You won’t hurt
me, will you?”
Hawk recalled Ramon’s
fractured sentences. “You speak good English.”
“Thank you. Please, don’t
hurt me.”
“Why do you think I’m
going to hurt you?”
The boy swallowed hard
and tried again. “Don’t rape me!”
“Rape you? Why do you
think I’d rape you?”
“My friend, he was
caught. He… he got raped in detention.”
“Maybe,” Hawk acknowledged,
“but not by INS. He was probably raped by his own people, especially if he
looked as good as you.”
The boy’s eyes bugged. “I
know you’re an indio, but please don’t—“
“You think I’m going to
rape you because I’m an Indian?” Hawk asked half in surprise and half in anger.
“You think we’re savages?” Suddenly Hawk laughed. Half of Mexico was mestizo,
but they got their idea of “real” Indians from John Wayne movies. “Think I’ll
scalp you after I’ve fucked your ass.”
The boy squared his
shoulders. “You joke with me, no?”
“Yeah, I joke with you. What’s
your name?”
“Luis. Luis Carlos
Delgado y Ortiz.” That chore completed, the boy swayed and dropped to his
knees. Hawk made it to his side in half a dozen steps and pulled him to his
feet.
“Okay, Luis Carlos Delgado
y Ortiz, let’s get you some help.”
“Please, mister. Don’t
take me to detention.”
“What you want me to do
with you? Turn you back out on the desert?”
“No! Not the desert!” the
boy cried weakly. “Town. Let me go.”
“I might as well
take you straight to INS. They’ll pick you up within a couple of hours. All
right, I’ll tell you what, Luis. I’ll take you home, feed you, clean you up,
let you rest some, and then we’ll figure out what to do, okay?”
“Thank you,” the boy said
faintly, slumping against Hawk.
Hawk picked up
Luis’ soaked shirt and half-carried him to the four-by wondering what in the
hell he was doing? He'd taken Ramon home and it had worked out, but Hawk worked
for the federal government—indirectly, at least—and they frowned on breaking
their laws. He radioed that he was going straight home. In view of the skirmish
this afternoon, Amadeo made no objections.
Luis had lost his
possessions, so Hawk found something for him to wear. Still uncertain of Hawk’s
intentions, the kid had to be talked out of his pants. He washed the young Mexican’s
filthy clothing while the kid showered. Then Hawk studied the youth as they ate
green chile stew. When the swollen, blistered lips and sunburned face healed,
he’d be one good-looking son-of-a-bitch, as handsome as Ramon, but with a difference.
The nose was thin and patrician. The big, brown eyes, even exhausted, held an
air of insolence. Ramon had been a beautiful peon, a peasant. This one
came from the middle-class, if not the upper crust. What the hell was he doing
crawling across the desert? The kid was larger than Ramon too. He stood as tall
as Hawk and carried around a hundred and seventy pounds when he wasn’t
dehydrated, Hawk figured. Good, broad shoulders, long torso, slim hips and legs.
Educated too, probably.
“Do you take me to the
detention center now?” the kid demanded after two bowls of stew and a quart of
milk.
“Luis,” Hawk answered. “I’m
too damned tired for that, and I think you are as well. I’ll put you up in the
spare bedroom so you can get some rest, but I need your word you won’t sneak
off in the night. And I’m an indio, remember? We’re like cats…see in the
dark and hear things that aren’t there.
Luis looked down his nose
with as much of a sneer as he could manage with his swollen lips. “I give you
my promise.”
“Can I trust it?”
This time he managed the
sneer even if it cost him some pain. “The word of Luis Carlos Delgado y Ortiz
is good with any man in Mexico.”
Hawk tapped him on the chest.
“This ain’t Mexico, old buddy.”
They retired to separate
rooms after Luis showed some concern that there was no lock on his door. The
kid would probably sleep in his pants tonight, Hawk surmised with a secret
smile. As his groin tingled, silently acknowledged that might not be a bad
idea.
Hawk sipped his coffee on
the front porch the next morning by the light of the morning star and came to
the conclusion he would leave the boy alone while he worked. Luis would more
than likely be gone by the end of the day, solving Hawk’s dilemma.
Offhand,
I’d say fate’s laying a trap for Curt Huntinghawk, but maybe he’s right. Perhaps
Luis Carlos Delgado y Ortiz vacated the premises while Hawk was at work. After
all, the young hidalgo was worried about being raped by a wild Indian. Until
next week.
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
Email: markwildyr@aol.com
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Twitter: @markwildyr
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Mark
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