Interregnum, A Curt Huntinghawk Story, Part 4

 markwildyr.com, Post #130

 

Okay, so Hawk’s gotten himself into another pickle… just as he had when he found Ramon out in the desert. But Luis Carlos Delgado y Ortiz is a different sort of guy. Educated… and not the typical wetback.

 As an aside to readers, I understand the term “wetback” is offensive to some. I seriously considered purging the word from the Huntinghawk stories but came to the conclusion that the language of the border at the time the events took place was more important than being politically correct. So with apologies, the term remains.

 At any rate, Luis is a different breed of cat. You will recall that last week, after a gun battle with drug runners during which his new working partner Robert was wounded, Hawk found some immigrants on the desert on their last legs and provided aid before calling in La Migra. One of them, however, eluded capture until Hawk found him at Dragon’s Back and took him home. He fully expected Luis to be gone when he came home after work. So what happened?

 

* * * * *

INTERREGNUM, A Curt Huntinghawk Story, Part 4

 Robert hadn’t been released from the clinic yet, so Amadeo assigned Hawk another partner, a kid they called Cooch, a stolid local tribesman who did his job and minded his own business. The kid did what he was told with grunts when he could avoid a more verbal response. Fortunately, the day was relatively uneventful, two mules who didn’t put up a fight and six illegals. The Rezes accounted for most of the wetbacks in this district even though illegals weren’t their responsibility.

When Hawk entered his house that evening, he was surprised to see Luis sitting on the couch watching television. “What’s for dinner?” he asked, drawing a puzzled look from his guest. “If you’re going to freeload, least you can do is help out.”

“You want me to prepare your meals?” Luis demanded. “Are you loco? I have never cooked anything in my life.”

“You know how to handle a can opener, don’t you? Open us some tuna, fix something, dammit!”

“You hungry, you fix it!” the boy flared.

“Come on,” Hawk said turning back to the doorway. “It’s La Migra or the desert, your choice.”

“No!” the boy said. “All right, I will fix your meal, cabron!”

“Fuck it,” Hawk said. “I’ll fix my own. But carry your own weight, Luis. You’re one strange wetback, you know that?”

The boy’s eyes smoldered. “I am no wetback!”

“You’re over here illegally, aren’t you?” Luis didn’t answer. “Then you’re a wetback. What’s your story, anyway?”

“Story? Ah, my history?” He shrugged eloquently. “I got born. I went to school. I sneak across the border to look for work. That is all.”

“Bullshit! You’re no peon looking for work. You ran away from home, didn't you?”

The eyes blazed again. “Why is it your business?” As Hawk glared at him, the boy relented. “All right, that is true. I go to university last year and meet some gringo students. They tell how good it is at their school and show me pictures. My father would not listen when I asked him to send me. He says I must stay in Mexico and become…” The kid bit his lip. “We have a big fight. I leave the estancia one night and leave a note saying I am going to America anyway. I have money with me, but only a small bag with extra clothes. I find a man who takes people across the border.” Luis shrugged again. “The rest you know.”

“So you’re some pampered patron’s son who stuck his neck in it when he didn’t get his way.”

Luis’ face clouded. “Yes, my father is a rancher…a big rancher. But I work hard for him and study hard at school. I do not want to be a rancher. I want to doctor the animals not butcher them…what you call it? A veterinarian. If I don’t leave, he will make me stay on the ranch.”

“Let me guess. You lost your money when you dropped your bag somewhere out on the desert.”

The kid flared again…he was good at it. “I drop it when I help the woman carry the baby. She was about to fall down…lag behind. The baby was more important than a bag.”

“You’re right about that, at least. Well, let’s drive into town and get something to eat at a drive-in.”

“No!” Luis protested. “You will take me to La Migra! It is a trick! You take me there, and they rape me!”

“What’s this with you and rape, kid? Curt Huntinghawk’s word is as good as Luis Carlos Delgado y Ortiz’s any day of the week. Let’s go get something to eat. You like hamburgers?”

The boy brightened. “With cheese, no? And fries. So that is your name, Curt Hunting…hawk?”

“You can call me Hawk.”

For the rest of the week Hawk expected the boy to be gone when he came home from work, but Luis was always there with some kind of meal prepared. The boy was right …he was no cook. They ate poorly made sandwiches, but at least he tried. After a not so subtle hint, Luis reluctantly picked up the house during Hawk’s absence, his distaste so obvious that Hawk had trouble keeping from laughing. He knew exactly what the boy was thinking…he was being turned into a house servant. Hawk could almost hear his unexpressed words: “Me, Louis Carlos Delgado y Ortiz, a fucking house servant!”

Coping with his houseguest made life more interesting, but what got Hawk through his week was a call from Grove. Painfully aware of Luis listening to his end of the conversation, Hawk eagerly absorbed the news from the other end. Stabilized further. Hopeful. Remission. All words of encouragement. Then…got a job. Helps with the bills. Words of dismay. He wasn’t coming back right away. At the end, they spoke of love and things that excited Hawk and filled him with an aching loneliness. Finally, the conversation ended.

Luis eyed him speculatively. “Your girlfriend? Where is she?”

Hawk stared at the instrument in his hand. “Back east. Mother’s sick.”

The boy laughed. “Your face stopped being so sour. It lit up and got…more handsome. Guapo. You married to her?”

Hawk drilled him with a stare. “No, not married.” Luis faltered, his eyes dropping away. Hawk realized that he was still half-erect, and that the boy had seen. The youth was nervous the rest of the evening.

Hawk came suddenly awake in the middle of the night. Footsteps! Maybe Luis had decided to leave. So be it. Hawk tensed when the door to his bedroom opened. Luis appeared at the side of the bed, peering intently through the darkness.

“What do you want?” Hawk growled.

The boy jumped in surprise. “You…you were calling out, saying things. I thought maybe something was wrong.” Hawk put his hands behind his head and gazed up at the boy, conscious that a patch of moonlight illuminated the bed while leaving Luis in deep shadow. “You dream about your girl, no? That call?”

“Yeah, maybe I was dreaming about that call.”

“Hawk…uh … I do not want you to rape me, but I can…help you, no?”

“Help me how, Chico?”

“What did you call me? That’s…that’s what my mama calls me. Chico.” The boy’s voice dried up, and Hawk realized with a start that he was lonely.

“Help me how?” Hawk repeated.

“I don’t know. Get relief maybe? But I don’t want to get raped.”

“And how would you give me relief if I don’t fuck you?” Hawk asked crudely. “You’ll suck my cock?”

The boy almost recoiled physically. “No! I just thought maybe, you know,” he lifted his hand. “Like that.”

Vulnerable, Hawk swept back the covers, revealing his nakedness.

“¡Dios!” the boy exclaimed. “You are so big!” Hesitantly, the boy placed a hand on Hawk’s chest. “Your heart is beating so hard.” The touch became a caress. The hand moved down his torso, paused a moment in the pubic hair, then grasped him. Luis fell to his knees beside the bed and slowly began a stroking motion.

Luis gasped as Hawk’s hand slid over the edge of the bed and groped him, coming alive at the touch.

Hawk drew in his breath sharply and came. Shuddering through his climax, scissoring his legs against the clean sheet, he waited for the dirty, smarmy feeling to engulf him.

Relieved that it did not, he drew the boy out of his shorts and stroked him slowly. Luis refused to get up on the bed but submitted to Hawk’s steady kneading. At length, the boy cried aloud and fell forward, his forehead coming to rest on one of Hawk’s chest. Recovering, the boy stood awkwardly and backed out of the room without a word. Hawk spent a few minutes thinking about what had happened and how he felt about it before falling to sleep.

 

* * * * *

Okay, temptation reared its head, and despite Grove, Curt succumbed to it. Or perhaps it was because of Grove. Did his partner’s phone call set Hawk up to fall? And somehow getting it on with Luis doesn’t have the same feel as it did with Ramon. What will happen next?

 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:

 DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWV

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2

 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. every Thursday until the story is completed. Then we’ll revers to the first and third Thursday of the month.

Hawk—Otra Vez (Part 2 of 3 Parts)

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.

*****

HAWK—OTRA VEZ

Part 2

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?”

“Ramon Aguila.”

“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

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

Twitter: @markwildyr

The following are buy links for CUT HAND:

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWV

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2

And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

Until next time.

Mark

New post at 6:00 a.m. on each Thursday of the month until this serialized story is completed..