by London James
“You expecting to fight off an army?” he chuckles.
It’s a statement closer to the mark than he even realizes. I just give him a smile though, not wanting to draw him into the whole affair. The less he – or anybody else in town, for that matter – knows, the better. It’s safer for all of them to be ignorant of the wolves walking among them.
“You know me, Ed,” I reply. “I just like to be prepared.”
He sets a dozen boxes of ammunition for a few different guns on the counter. I look them all over and nod.
“That’s perfect,” I say.
“Half the folks in town think you’re one of them Doomsday preppers,” he chuckles.
“And what about the other half?” I ask.
“They think you’re one of those Jim Jones or David Koresh, anti-government militia types.”
I laugh. Nothing like small town rumors running rampant. But then, given that there isn’t much to do in town besides gossip, it’s about the closest thing to sport they’ll ever get.
“What do you think, Ed?” I ask, genuinely curious.
He shrugs. “I think it’s none of their fuckin’ business,” he says. “Or mine.”
I shrug. “Do a lot of target shooting out there on my land,” I tell him. “Like to keep the skills sharp. You never know when you might need them.”
“Spoken like a true jarhead.”
I pay for the ammo and haul the bags out to the truck, locking them into the lockbox in the cargo bay. With that done, I finish up the shopping, making sure I have everything on my list. I can see the inky blackness of the clouds rolling in on the not too distant horizon. That storm is coming and it’s coming soon. The news made it sound like we’d have at least until tonight before it hits but given how quickly those clouds are bearing down on us, I’m pretty sure it’s going to arrive long before then.
I hustle my way through the store, stocking up on everything we need – something I see quite a few other people doing in anticipation of the storm. That’s what tells me this is going to be a serious one – the locals are stocking up and are preparing to hunker down and ride it out. It validates my decision to knock this out now, rather than give into and indulge my erotic desires with Isla this morning. But damn, if that wasn’t a tough call. A really, really tough call.
I finish up the shopping and load that all into my truck, when my eye falls on the shop across the street – the Bearclaw Bakery. Hearing Isla’s voice and her request echoing through my head for something sweet, I head over to the shop and step inside.
The bell jingles over the door as I walk in, and the aroma of the place immediately wraps me in a warm, sweet embrace. In all the years I’ve been here, I’ve only come into the bakery a handful of times. And on those occasions, it was with something specific in mind. I was usually in, then out again in less than five minutes.
As I look at the array of sweets in front of me though, I have the sudden feeling that it’s going to take me considerably longer this time around.
“Hey there, what can I do for you?”
I look up and see a plump, middle-aged woman with a warm smile and a twinkle in her eyes looking back at me from the other side of the counter. My eyes sweep the glass case that’s stuffed with all manner of cookies, brownies, cakes, pies, and a thousand other goodies. I’m not the kind of guy who normally indulges in a lot of sweets, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a wicked sweet tooth. I just don’t ordinarily satisfy the craving.
This is a special occasion though, right?
“I honestly don’t even know where to being,” I say.
The woman laughs. “Yeah, it can be a little overwhelming. Stocking up for the storm?”
I nod. “Yeah, probably best to lay in plenty of supplies before we get snowed in.”
“Smart thinking.”
“Thanks, I have my moments.”
My eyes roam back and forth through the case again, but my decision is becoming less and less clear. I let out a long breath, and finally just start pointing to everything, giving her my full order – a dozen of those cookies, half a dozen of those ones, cupcakes, brownies, and half a dozen of the shop’s famous bearclaws are among the items I ordered.
The woman behind the counter looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You preparing for the storm or the end of the world?” she asks and laughs.
I shrug. “Could ending up being either if the weathermen are accurate.”
She laughs and nods. “Too true.”
I pay for my goods and haul the two heavy bags back to the truck to load. As I’m slipping them into the back though, I catch sight of two familiar faces on the sidewalk, just down the block. It’s the guys I’d seen in the hospital that day we’d brought Isla in to be tested.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself.
I quickly close and lock my truck, walking away from it as quickly as possible. The last thing I want is for those clowns to know which car is mine. Could make it easier for them to find me. Even if they don’t believe I’m holding onto Isla, I don’t want them showing up at my place looking for a little payback for making them look bad.
I walk across the street and head for another shop, just to get off the sidewalk and out of sight. I’m passing a small diner though when I have to stop short as somebody’s coming out. And when I see who it is, I feel a familiar tension in my body, along with a surge of anger.
The two men stop in front of me, the first man’s face twisting with a mixture of disbelief and rage.
“Son of a bitch,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper.
I stand firm, rising up to my full six-four stature and stare down at Hernan. Time seems to slow down as I take the man, as well as his bodyguard in, and start calculating the ways I can get the drop on them. They’re armed. I’m not. That makes the situation a little more uncertain and volatile.
Hernan elbows his man. “Check it out,” he says to the bigger man. “And it’s not even my birthday.”
My jaw clenches as I stare at the two men. The bodyguard starts to slip his hand beneath his coat, but it’s Hernan who stops him with a hand on his arm.
“Not here,” he warns. “Too many eyes. Can’t afford to do something stupid.”
“You’re right, Hernan,” I say. “Which means you should probably leave town.”
He smirks at me. “I should have finished you that night.”
“Yeah, you should have,” I state flatly. “But you didn’t. And believe me, if it comes down to it, you’re going to regret not doing it.”
“Hey, jefe,” says the short, fat man from the hospital as he waddles up on us. “This is the puto from the hospital I told you about.”
The man falls silent and looks down at the ground as Hernan turns his attention back to me. A slow, greasy, and predatory grin crosses his face.
“Damn, Redmond, you’re lookin’ a little rough with that beard and all,” he sneers. “Almost didn’t recognize you.”
“The fucking stench of rotten grease and cheap cologne makes it impossible to not recognize you, Hernan.”
He laughs and nods along, elbowing his bodyguard in the ribs again. “This guy is fucking funny, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, I’m hilarious,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
Hernan turns his attention back to me. “Should ask the same thing of you, amigo,” he says. “I mean, this place isn’t exactly a tourist mecca.”
“No, it’s not,” I respond. “Which brings me back to the question at hand – what are you and your boys doing here?”
“Not your concern,” he tells me. “Unless – it is?”
He’s fishing. Trying to get me to slip up and tell him whether or not I’m helping to hide Isla from him. Hernan is a smart, perceptive, and intuitive man. I know he’s looking for my tells or any sign that his questions triggered any sort of a response in me. I make my face carefully neutral, hoping it betrays no hint of emotion whatsoever.
When I don’t bite, he presses me with a
nother question. “What were you doing at the hospital the other day?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Indulge me,” he says.
I shrug. “Just getting checked out. Thought I had a cyst on my ass. Turns out it’s just you though. Nothing big,” I say. “Not until your two boys there started threatening and harassing a nurse who wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
Hernan nods but says nothing. I know he believes me about the nurse, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t believe me about anything else. Not that I care. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, a confrontation becomes impossible to avoid.
Like the storm, a fight with Hernan is coming. The question is – when?
“Why don’t we just kill him and be done with it,” the short, fat man asks.
“How many times do I have to tell you to shut up before you actually do it, Carlos?”
He looks down at the sidewalk again but falls silent. Hernan turns his attention back to me, a gleam of malevolence in his eyes.
“You never answered me, Marshal,” he says. “What are you doing here?”
“You a cop? Or a writer?” I ask.
He smirks but says nothing. The air between us is thick with tension and the whispered promise of violence and bloodshed. But Hernan is smarter than to do it out here on the street. He’ll sit back, bide his time, and wait for the most opportune moment to strike.
It’s only a matter of time now before he finds out where I live, and the clock in my head starts to tick. I need to get prepared because the war is coming, whether I want it to or not.
“You have the girl?” he asks.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply. “I haven’t been a Marshal for a long time now. Not since you tried – and failed – to kill me.”
That bitter little smirk touches his lips again. “Yeah, you’ve got her stashed somewhere.”
“Hernan, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not a Marshal anymore, which means that I’m no longer in the business of stashing people.”
“Uh huh,” he smirks, clearly not believing me. “I’m going to figure out where you’re stashing her. And when I do, I’m going to kill her and then I’m going to kill you.”
I step closer to him. He’s a lean, fit, athletic guy, but I have a few inches and plenty of pounds on him. I also have training he doesn’t. I could kill him right here and now and put an end to all of this. I have no doubt that I could drop him. But he’s got the advantage of having more men with plenty of weapons at his disposal at the moment, which would lead to some complications and potentially, collateral damage. The last thing I want is to have civilian casualties.
Hernan, sensing the challenge I’m posing steps closer, moving so that we’re just a few, scant inches apart. His eyes narrow, and his jaw clenches as he looks at me.
“You want to take a shot?” he mocks. “You want to do this right in the middle of downtown shitsville here?”
“You and your boys need to pack up and get the fuck out of here right now.”
“Not until we get what we came for.”
“You’re going to get a lot more than you came for if you don’t leave, Hernan.”
“That’s good,” he sneers. “I like that little bit of fire in you. It’ll make it much more enjoyable when I fucking gut you.”
I scoff. “You couldn’t gut a dead fish, you insignificant piece of shit.”
He looks at me a long moment and then chuckles. “Yeah, I guess we’ll see about that.”
“I guess we will.”
“Last chance to hand her over,” he tells me. “Do that, and we’re square. I’ll stop trying to fucking kill you. You have my word.”
I laugh. “Your words mean about as much as – well – I honestly can’t think of something your word means less to me than. Fresh dog shit maybe?”
“Final chance,” he says. “I walk away without the girl or your promise that you’ll deliver her to me, and we go to war.”
A grin tugs at one corner of my mouth. “Bitch, unlike you, I’ve actually been to war. Being some two-bit gangster wannabe isn’t the same as being a soldier,” I bite out. “And when the bullets start flying, you’re going to see that.”
I reach out, and all of his men go instinctively for their weapons. Hernan holds his hand up to stop them as I take hold of the lapel of his coat. His gaze bores into mine with a fearsome intensity, and he’s doing all he can to project an image of self-possession and cool, calculated indifference.
I rub the material of his suit between my fingertips. The jacket is obviously very expensive, and it’s tailored to fit him well.
“When the bullets start flying for real, I have a feeling that you are going to shit that nice, expensive suit.”
“Jefe, the pigs are coming.”
We stand there staring at each other with nothing but pure contempt and hatred in our eyes. I look away long enough to see Pinkman’s Sheriff’s SUV rolling down the street.
“Go back to the car,” Hernan instructs his men without turning around.
His men walk off, and I return my gaze to him one final time. I clench my jaw and narrow my eyes as I look at him. I just have a sudden flash of – something. The fight is coming, and it’s not going to end well. It’s going to end in fire, bloodshed, and death. As Isla said earlier, it’s a certainty I feel all the way down in my bones. It’s an ominous, heavy feeling that presses down on me.
“So, is this a no?” he asks. “You’re not going to turn her over to me and avoid an entirely unnecessary war and bloodbath?”
“Fuck off, Hernan.”
He grins at me and shakes his head. “Always the charmer.”
Hernan turns around and walks away, and I watch him go. I wait until I see them drive away before I turn and walk back to my car, my sense of dread and trepidation growing with each step I take.
War is coming, and with it, copious amounts of violence and death. I need to prepare.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hernan
Fucking Baker Redmond. Live and in the flesh. I have to admit, it’s a little bit of a thrill and a rush knowing he’s not just alive and kicking, but that he’s here in this shitty little one-horse town. It means the girl is still here too. I know it. I can feel it.
I pace my hotel room and punch in my father’s number, holding the phone to my ear. I dread having to make the phone call at all, but I don’t have a choice in the matter. I close my eyes and remind myself again that it’s a matter of time before I’m in charge. I just need to keep biding my time. My chance will come. He picks up on the first ring.
“Is it done?” he asks without greeting.
“Not yet,” I tell him.
“Why not?”
“I’m still trying to locate the girl.”
He sighs, and I can tell he’s not happy. Of course, my father is never happy.
“How difficult can it be to find one girl in a town as small as that, Hernan?”
“It’s more problematic than you think.”
“I don’t want your excuses,” he says, his voice cold. “I want you to get this job done. We are running out of time.”
I walk to the window and stare out at the world beyond, doing my best to rein in my temper. My father knows how to get under my skin. Always has. He claims it’s to help make me be a better leader and prepare me to be the one in charge, but most days it simply feels like I’m simply his personal punching bag.
“Baker Redmond,” I grit out. “He’s got the girl.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“Because he’s the man who killed Tito,” I say. “My brother. Your son.”
“That’s right. The man you failed to kill after he murdered your brother.”
I grip the phone tightly and have to physically fight to keep my temper in check. I turn away from the window and pace the room again, trying to will the rage out of me.
“I thought thi
s man, this Baker Redmond retired after you shot him?” my father asks.
“He did.”
“Then how do you know he has the girl?”
“It’s too much of a coincidence otherwise,” I reply. “That he’s here at the same time as the girl? He has to have her.”
“Then it should be easy for you to take care of it,” he snaps, his voice cold. “One man and one woman? Alone? What are you waiting for?”
“Backup,” I tell him simply. “I have more men coming.”
“How many men do you need to take down this one man, Hernan?”
I would explain it to him, but he wouldn’t understand. He’d simply see it as another excuse.
“I’m being prudent, father,” I say. “I want to make sure the job is done once and for all this time.”
“See that it is, Hernan,” he replies. “Do not fail me again.”
He disconnects the call, and the line goes dead in my hand. I drop the phone on the table and turn. The rage inside of me builds until I lash out and punch the wall. My fist goes straight through the drywall, leaving a big hole in its wake. I pull my fist out of the hole and look at my bloody knuckles as I feel the rage in me begin to subside a bit.
I can’t afford to have emotional outbursts. Now is the time I need to think coldly. Logically. With not just the girl, but the man who killed my brother in my sights, I need to have my head on straight and be at my best. It feels like I’m being given a second chance to right an old wrong and I need to be sure to do it right. To not let the opportunity go by since I know I won’t get a third bite from this particular apple.
The truth is, after I learned he was still alive, I became something of an expert on Baker Redmond. I learned everything I could about him, absorbing every last scrap of information I could find. I obsessed about him a bit simply because I obsessed over the fact that I hadn’t actually killed him when I thought I had.