Hawke's Target

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  Under his stained shirt, dried blood acted like glue, holding the makeshift compression bandage against the wound in his side. He’d eaten one pain pill after another until they finally kicked in, and, to play it safe, he ate a couple more an hour later. “You know baby, they say these things are addictive.”

  A wet laugh rose and caught in his throat. He finally switched on the wipers that sluiced water off in a wave on the first pass. “I think the problem was them doctors all told me to only take two every four hours. Hell, a good dose is eight of the damn things, at least. If I’da know that, I’da been eatin’ ’em like M&Ms since we left California.”

  He coughed again, blinking to clear his eyes. “It ain’t like they’re gonna kill me.”

  Another wet, phlegmy laugh filled the silence broken only by wind noise whistling around the truck, and the rhythmic beat of tires thumping on the highway’s expansion joints. Still driving with only one hand, he sat a bit straighter. “I’m still weak as a kitten, but I have an idea that’ll make me feel a little bit better. Since I couldn’t kill that feller back in Comanche, I want one more to pay for you before we get to the cherry on top.”

  His crusty eyes stung as fresh tears welled. Words poured out, released by the medication, and he talked as if Betty’s corpse in the back seat could hear. And maybe the dead could. He grunted. Who knows?

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t have stopped it, baby. It’s my fault, and Daddy Frank’s, too. If it wasn’t for him making us go out there and deliver that load ourselves, you wouldn’t be gone. I told him we didn’t need to be involved in that part of the plan, but he was always mad at you ’cause you turned him down when we were younger and he couldn’t take that.

  “I knew he’d try, ’cause he tried to get to every woman that came into the family. It was his way, and once I heard him say it was the Warlord’s right. Hell, I didn’t even know what a warlord was when he said it. Had to go look it up. But you were one of the few who told him no and meant it, and he’s had it in for you ever since.

  “Shit. That hardheaded old bastard always wants things his way, and he wanted all he could get his hands on. He thinks he knows it all, too.” Alonzo raised his hand from the wheel as if he were in church, instead of shooting down a two-lane highway, and mimicked Daddy Frank’s high voice. “I don’t want to hear any of what y’all have to say. I said, we’re gonna deliver that shipment to prove to them people how easy it’ll be and how much we can move. You’ll do what I say.”

  Alonzo switched back to his own, phlegmy voice as his face reddened with anger. “He thinks he’s a damned god!” His bloodstained hand slapped back down on the wheel as the truck drifted over the centerline. “And that god-damned preacher feedin’ into some kind of vision that’s gonna get the whole Family overextended and tied in with folks that’d just as soon kill you for your hat. We were doing all right until he had that ‘vision.’ We had a kingdom in East Texas. A by-God kingdom! There ain’t no one messed with us in years, ’cause they was afraid.

  “But the minute we expand the operation, somebody’s gonna get lazy or get caught and then every agency in the country’s gonna be down there, rootin’ around.”

  Squinting through the windshield, he thumbed the cap off the prescription bottle and dumped more pills into his mouth. Dry-swallowing them, he gagged for a second.

  “Here’s what we’re gonna do before we get home, baby.” A car passed on the left, and Alonzo realized that he’d unconsciously slowed down. He sped back up and engaged the cruise control, setting it exactly on seventy mph. “There’s a drive-through up ahead there in Woodville where one last target’s working. I read about it a week ago that one of two brothers got out of prison on a twenty-year-old plea deal. The youngest one rolled over on his own brother to get out.”

  His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror as if Betty was watching his reflection. “Yeah, that’s right. Rolled over on his brother after he admitted to a murder back in the 1980s. This guy’s name is Clem Gluck. How’s that for a handle? Anyway, he confessed he knew his brother was a serial killer and covered for that bastard who raped and killed eight young gals while ol’ Clem kept it all to hisself.

  “Well, that sorry bastard finally saw he was gonna Ride the Needle down in Huntsville and decided family wasn’t family no more. They got his brother all right and lit his ass up, and the good old American jury hung Mr. Clem with two life sentences, but the the government crawfished on the deal right after he fessed up and kept him in the brickyard ever since. But now some damned liberal judge just opened the cell door and said, ‘Come on out there, sweetheart, we’re sorry for what happened to you and don’t care about them dead girls or their families, but you go on out in the free worl’ and we’re gonna cut you a check for all them years in there and give you a job to boot!’ What kind of deal is that?”

  His vision swam, and a deep warmth washed over Alonzo. For the first time since the shooting, his entire trunk relaxed. Both tight shoulders unknotted and leveled out. He leaned back with a sigh, almost forgetting to keep his left hand against the compress.

  “Well, I got that sonofabitch! Found him a couple of days ago on that MyFace . . . no, wait, I’m feelin’ a little fuzzy. That ain’t right. Facebook, yeah, that’s it. Read how ol’ Clem Gluck is living with his sister who’s so proud her sorry-assed baby brother’s out and told ever’body on the news how she felt and that now he had a good job’n ever’body can sing Kume by Y’all together.

  “See, people tell ever’thang these days, and when I went to what they call her Facebook page, she had pictures of them together in their house, all happy as little pigs in the sunshine. But the best thing is she told me where that bastard’s working now.”

  He took his hand off the wheel once again to shake the half-full prescription bottle. Eyelids hooded, he peered at the label as if wondering how it had gotten there. “What the hell?” He shook two more into his mouth, and choked them down.

  “So we’re gonna pull up in the drive-through of that mom-and-pop burger joint there in good ol’ Woodville, Texas, and order us up a burger so I can drive up to the window ’n blow that sonofabitch’s head plumb off. That’s close enough to home, and then we’re gonna settle up with the old man and ever’body else for what they done to you.”

  Getting more swimmy-headed, he tapped the brake with one foot. Everything within view narrowed as if he were wearing blinders. The truck slowed until a sedan whooshed around him, startling Alonzo so much that his right-hand tires drifted off the pavement and onto the grassy shoulder. He jerked the truck back onto the highway and slapped his cheek to throw off the drug-induced blinders. The jolt of adrenaline cleared his vision. Alonzo took his eyes off the highway for a minute, studying the suddenly unfamiliar controls on the steering wheel. Punching at the buttons with his thumb, he finally engaged the cruise control again and steadied the pickup.

  “Riddle me this, Betty. How can Daddy Frank be the way he is? Sent them boys out after us like he did. I grew up with ol’ Mike. We had some times together, but that’s all done with now.”

  Alonzo quieted, withdrawing and contemplating what he could remember of the past few hours. “Daddy Frank and that Preacher’s ideas are what got us here. Well, what I’m about to do is what Daddy Frank would have done if somebody messed with him, but you know what the . . .”

  He drove in silence for a moment, searching for the word that was lost in the drug-shrouded closets of his mind.

  “. . . well hell . . . oh, the irony, that’s it, the irony of all this is that I’m gonna blow that old man straight to hell. Daddy Frank don’t realize I’m the same as he is. He made me what I am, and I’m gonna drive this sonofabitch right up next to him and set the whole damn thing off. It’ll look like one of them A-bombs, and me and you’ll go straight to heaven with all our mol . . . moly . . . molecules mixed up together.”

  Steering with his knees, Alonzo searched with one hand along the seat, feeling through maps, pill bottles, a .357 handgun, an
d fast-food wrappers, until he found the burner phone Daddy Frank had ordered him to carry. Without looking down, he thumbed it alive and punched a button, ringing the only number loaded into the phone’s memory.

  He listened as it rang twice. A gruff voice answered on the third ring. “It’s about goddamned time you called.”

  “I been busy. Daddy Frank, I’m almost home.”

  “What? I can’t understand a damned thing you’re saying. You drunk or something. You’re slurring your words. Straighten up and answer me, boy!”

  Frowning, Alonzo swallowed, wondering what the old man was talking about. “I said, I’m almost there.”

  “Shit! Can somebody listen to this drunk bastard and tell me what he’s sayin’?”

  There was a few seconds of silence before Sheriff Buck Henderson’s familiar voice came through the receiver. “Alonzo?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Uh, somewhere. Coming into Woodville.”

  “Say that again. I can barely understand you.”

  Alonzo focused. “I. Said. Woodville.”

  “Good. You’re almost here.”

  “Going to the fertilizer barn.”

  “I think you said you’re going to the fertilizer barn. That’s good, we’re here waitin’ on you. Boy, you sound terrible. You drunk?”

  “Shot. High as a kite.”

  “Shit.”

  There was silence on the other end as Alonzo steered. By the time the sheriff came back on, Alonzo had forgotten who was on the other end and why the phone was at his ear.

  “You there, Alonzo?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Why, it’s still Buck. Look, drive careful and try not to get pulled over. If you do, tell them to call me right then. You got that? We’ll be looking for you.”

  “Yeah, and tell that sonofabitch I’m looking for him.”

  “Alonzo, I can’t make out every word you’re saying, but you’re in trouble for sure and you’re leading a whole damn conga line of lawmen straight for us. Put that phone down and drive with both hands. Stay just under the speed limit until you get to Newton County, and then I’ll take it from there if you get into trouble, but drive careful. You hear me?”

  The sheriff’s tinny voice barely penetrated the fog clouding Alonzo’s mind. Locking in on Buck’s orders, he’d dropped the phone onto the floorboard and was concentrating on the fuzzy highway stretching into the distance.

  He had a present for Daddy Frank, and the rest of them, if they were there.

  Chapter 42

  Perry Hale was standing beside the bed in their Jasper hotel room when his cell phone rang. He’d been searching through the television’s guide for The Weather Channel. Yolanda sat at the desk by the window tapping on her iPad. It wasn’t a number he recognized. “Hello?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Well, this is the guy who answered the phone. Identify yourself and we may continue this conversation. If you’re trying to sell me a vacation, I’m all in. Since you have this number, you have my address. Just send me the cash or plane tickets, and thank you.”

  There was a long silence on the other end, followed by a grunt. “A Texas Ranger by name of Sonny Hawke gave me this number and said to call it if I couldn’t get him to answer his phone.”

  Perry Hale laughed and settled on the end of the double bed covered in white hotel towels and weaponry. Two customized AR-15s shared space with the same number of Glock 19s, along with a pair of Beretta M9 handguns. The bottom fell out of the sky and water hammered against the hotel room window.

  “Well, you’ll be talking to me all the time then. That old boy seldom answers when I try to call, and half the time he’s where there ain’t no service. I’ve been trying to call him for a while myself. My name’s Perry Hale.”

  “Are you a Ranger, too?”

  His radar immediately went up. He glanced across to Yolanda who tilted her head at his hesitation, or maybe it was the loud clap of thunder. He wasn’t sure. Laying the phone on the desk, he punched the speaker icon so she could hear. “More like an answering service when folks can’t get Sonny. How can I help you?”

  Yolanda swiveled the chair to listen. There was silence again on the other end. Perry Hale could imagine the man trying to decide what to say.

  “Well, I’m Sheriff Gomez from Comanche, Texas.”

  “Sonny told me he talked to you. I know why he was there.”

  “Well, I’m not sure I can tell you everything I know. I probably need to talk with Ranger Hawke.”

  “That might be tomorrow.” Perry Hale had no intention of telling him they were getting worried about Sonny. He and Yolanda’d been calling for hours with the same results, and now a knot in his gut told something was wrong. “If it’s about the vigilante he’s chasing, I know it all. If it’s about Semtex that’s moving across the state, I know that, too.”

  Yolanda leaned forward, elbows on the knees of her 5.11 tactical pants.

  A couple of small, wet crackles told Perry Hale the sheriff was likely weighing his thoughts, deciding what to say. The man on the other end sucked a tooth with a Bugs Bunny kissing sound before answering. “Fine then. So you know about the call I took in my office referring to explosives.”

  “Sure do. Came from a young man who told y’all it was headed to East Texas.”

  A deep sigh into the phone. “That’s right. Tell Hawke the guy called back to say he thinks he’s been made. His name is Tanner Wadler for sure, and he lives in Gunn. I called the sheriff of that county, Buck Henderson, and told him what we’d heard. He promised to look into it. I left a message on Sonny’s voicemail with the sheriff’s number. I’ve also talking to the DEA, ATF, and the FBI about the explosion and the shooting Hawke was involved in. Do you have anything to write on?”

  Perry Hale raised an eyebrow at Yolanda, who swung back around and placed her fingers on the iPad’s screen. She nodded she was ready.

  Perry Hale unconsciously nodded at the question, as if Gomez could see. “Go ahead.”

  “Well, this is just to keep him up to speed. I done called a Ranger named Foster, and he said he was on the way, too.” Sheriff Gomez gave them directions to Tanner’s house off in the woods and told him about the war that was about to start in deep East Texas.

  Chapter 43

  Sheriff Buck Henderson met Daddy Frank just inside the fertilizer barn as rain hammered the rusty tin roof with a roar. He and Preacher Brother Holmes were watching the roiling sky through the open door. Daddy Frank’s pit bull, Mud, was tied to a horse-chewed post. The dog didn’t take his eyes off the old man.

  Bare bulbs on ancient knob and tube wires dangled like dusty, glowing jewels from the long center beam over the great, open hallway running the length of the barn. Dark, hand-hewn timbers threw geometric shadows against the roof. Other bulbs lit old, unused stalls. Some were full of fertilizer, others contained barrels of diesel fuel stacked three high.

  Lightning melted the seams between the clouds, fracturing them into individual streams of electricity. Like their daddies before them, they watched the sky when such a storm arose, looking for the telltale signs of an approaching twister.

  Thunder cracked as Buck closed his car door and ducked through the rain. Stepping into the wide aisle, he didn’t wait for either man to speak. “It’s all going to hell, Frank.” He took his hat off, flinging water onto the packed dirt floor. “This is all your fault.”

  The old man waited with both hands in the pockets of a brand-new pair of khakis. His voice was mild, conversational. “Watch your tone, Buck. Don’t forget who you’re talkin’ to.”

  “Might as well. I’m having to watch everything else around here. We’ve got a mess on our hands, and I think you oughta clear out all your stock tonight and squat in a bush somewhere until everything blows over.”

  “We won’t be doing that.” Brother Holmes raised a hand toward the thrashing trees tormented by the wind. “For God says, in a favorable time I l
istened to you, and in a day of salvation I have helped you. Behold, now is the favorable time; behold, now is the day of salvation. Second Corinthians, Six, Two.”

  “He’s right.” Daddy Frank slipped both hands into his pockets. “We have to meet that delivery first thing in the morning, cash on the barrelhead and I intend to hit that damned oil pipeline at daylight.”

  Buck snorted. “You can come up with a verse for anything you want, Holmes, but the truth is we have a Texas Ranger on the run in the bottoms and I doubt my men can root him out before he realizes who’s after him and calls it in. That means a whole company of Rangers might be here in the morning to tear our playhouse down. We can’t take that chance.”

  “What do you mean you have a Ranger on the run?” Daddy Frank’s voice was hard and sharp. “You were supposed to take him somewhere and bring the sonofabitch to me.”

  “I mean your idea of grabbing that guy was the wrong decision, just like those two DEA agents. Whatever happened to just shooting the bastards and gettin’ it over with?” Buck told him what had happened after the Ranger wrecked his truck and disappeared into the Big Thicket. “I have contractors beating the brush for him, and all we have is his truck. He’s on the run in the bottoms and they ain’t found hide nor hair of him and we don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of chasing him down before it gets full dark. After that, people are gonna come looking for him.”

  Brother Holmes shrugged. “How much does he know?”

  Buck pointed his finger. “I’m talking to Frank right now. You be quiet. Frank, I don’t know how much of this I can hold back.” Buck felt as if the rain symbolized how everything was falling in around them and there was Daddy Frank, cigarette dangling in his lips and as unconcerned as if he were at a picnic.

  The old man inhaled and blew smoke from his nose. “You have ever’body in your pocket you need.”

  “I have people in my pocket just like you do when you spread the money around, but the Rangers are different. Jesus Christ, this county’s gonna be workin’ alive with all kinds of feds, and once they talk to the right people in Jasper, folks who don’t have sense enough to keep their mouths closed, they’ll head this way as fast as they can, and it’s all because of that damn-fool boy of yours. They never so much as turned an eye towards us all these years, and now we’re like a magnet, drawing filings.”