Hawke's Target

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  The Preacher pointed a finger, as if expecting blue electricity to shoot toward Buck’s pounding heart. “Don’t you dare blaspheme in my presence!”

  “Shut the hell up, Holmes!” Buck’s eyes flashed as bright as the lightning outside, and his lips quivered with fury. “I’m talking to Frank here and don’t need to hear any half-assed preachin’ from a man who’s as crooked as a dog’s hind leg!”

  “You boys take it easy. We don’t need that right now.” Daddy Frank’s voice was soft and low. “If they come down on us, only thing they’ll find is this fertilizer what we use on our crops and nothin’ else.”

  Buck shook his head in frustration. It was true that the Wadlers had diversified into row crops like strawberries, blueberries, pecans, and muscadines, as well as beef cattle, hay production, and hunting leases. He figured they had a fifty-fifty chance of convincing the feds that the surface business was legitimate, but there was millions in cocaine and marijuana squirreled away in the woods, buried deep in steel shipping containers, along with truckloads of prescription pills.

  Daddy Frank’s voice was calm as if they were watching the annual monarch butterfly migration that brought millions of the insects through the county each year. “Boone’s bringing Tanner out. We’re gonna get to the bottom of this and then ever’thing’s gonna be all right. It’s all been done, and there ain’t no gettin’ the genie back in the bottle.”

  “It’ll let us know what we have to deal with. Anything we do’ll increase our chances of getting caught for sure, putting all that stuff on the highway at the same time ain’t no good idea.” Buck sighed in frustration. “There’s no reason to go on like this.”

  “There’s every reason, and it’s called money. Keep these people off us ’til tomorrow, then everything’ll be all right.”

  The sound of an engine ended the discussion. The dog growled, straining against the chain holding him to the post. Buck wanted to continue the argument. Maybe Daddy Frank would listen if Holmes would keep his big mouth shut.

  “Shut up, Mud! There’s Boone and Tanner now.”

  The dog licked his lips and sat, still watching Daddy Frank. The truck stopped and the cab light came on when they opened the doors. Daddy Frank and Brother Holmes retreated into the barn and they watched Boone and Tanner trot through the rain.

  Chapter 44

  This kind of crap takes road rage to a whole new level.

  I slipped as fast as possible through the trees.

  Do all the bad guys have machine guns these days?

  The only thing that saved me from getting chewed up and spit out by those automatic weapons was the sky that opened up with a vengeance. So much water fell at one time that fish could have spawned in the woods. Trees thrashed and thunder vibrated my stomach as the storm roared overhead.

  And who the hell are they, anyway?

  I couldn’t imagine it was over a little highway altercation, so this was planned.

  Dammit. Those guys back there in the Monster Ford were part of it, too. Hope I didn’t get some highway patrol officer killed because of that little stunt I pulled.

  My knees were already talking to me, and I vowed I’d get more exercise once I got back home. I had no idea which way to go, but at the moment any direction away from those who ran me off the highway was good.

  Despite the storm, I heard shouting voices as I scrambled up the embankment and followed the creek for a ways, before angling upward, figuring the highway was at the top of the incline. Now I don’t know if I had a particular thought as to what I needed to do once I got up there, because the last two trucks that passed were full of men who wanted to kill me, and I didn’t doubt there’d be a third.

  The only problem was that I didn’t know who or why.

  Oh, I had an idea. Somebody knew I was coming, and it was mostly likely that Tanner guy who called Comanche and set me up. How they knew my truck and me was another story, but I figured that with the Internet, anything was possible.

  At least this time I had my cell phone that had somehow managed to stay in my pocket. It was probably because the kids had bought me a shockproof, waterproof protector after the last time I was in trouble.

  I’d outrun my pursuers for the time being, and the heavy rain helped cover my escape.

  Water funneled off the brim of my hat. I was soaked and hunted once again, but this time would be different. Help was just a phone call away. I finally found a hidey hole under a young pine tree growing against a larger, dead cousin. I crawled under the thick evergreen foliage and leaned over the phone to protect it from the rain.

  I tried to swipe with my finger. Once again, technology defeated me because it wouldn’t work. Frustrated, I swiped several more times until I remembered that the kids told me my finger needed to be reasonably dry. That was hard to do in a rainstorm, but I rubbed my thumb against my forehead under the Stetson until it didn’t feel as damp.

  I swiped again, and a blinding light took away my vision. The heavy clouds and driving rain made it feel like midnight, and the screen’s intensity was like looking into a halogen bulb. To make matters worse, I figured some bad guy had me in his sights, thanking me for the assistance. I wished I’d listened to the twins when they wanted to turn down the display’s intensity, but through the years, I needed more light to read, and the bright screen was best for my eyes.

  I took my hat off and put the phone inside. It seemed to help some, but I kept imagining a circle of light five feet around where I crouched. My thumbprint wouldn’t work to activate the stinkin’ thing, but I punched in my code and it finally brought up the screen full of icons.

  At least the waterproof cover was working.

  No Service.

  Either all the trees were blocking the signal, or I was out of tower range. My face flushed as I made myself turn the phone off and put it in my pocket instead of putting a .45-caliber hole in the infernal device.

  Think, the Old Man would have said. They can’t find you, it’s almost dark, and you can’t leave a trail in this rain. Either follow the creek to where it runs into a river, then follow it to a town, or work yourself back uphill to the highway.

  Well, I wasn’t in the remote Big Bend, where towns were few and far between. In most of Texas, towns are little more than twenty miles from each other, the distance a wagon could travel in a day, back before automobiles. Little communities like Gunn sprung up in those open spaces when the times were right.

  All creeks and rivers eventually run to one of those towns or communities, so the thing to do was get to civilization and call the sheriff. I had Buck Henderson’s number saved in my phone and I could call him . . .

  Wait a damn minute. The only person who knew for certain that I was coming into Gunn was Buck Henderson. I’d called and said I’d meet him at his office, and he gave me directions down this exact highway.

  I wasn’t born yesterday. Not all lawmen are on the up-and-up.

  There was only one thing to do and that was follow the pocket on my shirt out of those woods and get some help.

  Chapter 45

  Daddy Frank hadn’t moved since the truck pulled up in front of the fertilizer barn. The storm had lessened, but wind still thrashed the pines and hardwoods outside. He lit a fresh cigarette from the butt and crushed it under his shoe.

  Tanner was terrified and shriveled. He stopped just inside the barn door, like a rabbit needing to be close to safety in case he had to bolt. The truth was there was no real safety with Boone leaning against the wall, waiting for orders.

  The air reeked of chemicals. One stall contained several bags of ammonium nitrate fuel oil, or AMFO, that would be used as the primary explosive agent when the fertilizer and diesel oil was mixed.

  Sheriff Buck Henderson lipped a cigarette from the crumpled pack in his shirt pocket. He was about to snap the lighter alive when he glanced toward the sacks. He stuck the cigarette over his ear, leaned one arm over the top board of the nearest stall, and laced his fingers to watch.

&nbs
p; After studying Tanner’s swollen and bruised face for a moment in the harsh light of bare bulbs, Daddy Frank broke into a grin. He’d switched from smoking back to the chew of tobacco tucked into his cheek. “Somebody done wore your ass plumb out.”

  “Daddy.”

  “You probably deserved it, then.”

  “I don’t think so.” Sullen.

  “I never did neither, when my daddy whipped my ass, but he was always right.”

  Tanner snorted a load from his broken nose and spat bloody mucus on the barn’s packed dirt floor.

  “I’magine you popped off one too many times.” Daddy Frank turned to Buck. “Had the same failin’s myself when I was a young man.” He addressed Tanner again. “How’s that new lease car of yours runnin’?”

  “How’d you know I had a lease? You’ve been gone for a week.”

  “I know ever’thing, boy. There ain’t a swingin’ dick in this county that don’t owe me in some way or turns their head when I pass. People give me information just to stay on my good side.

  “I knew Jimmy Don ain’t here where he should be, neither. My own damned son’s out fartin’ around when he should be here.” Daddy Frank’s eyes went flat. “I might need to call him.” He held out a hand. “Give me your phone.”

  The young man produced a cell phone from the pocket of his loose jeans and offered it to him.

  “No. The other’n I gave you. I want to see who you’ve been callin’.”

  He slipped it back into his pocket and kept his hand there. “It’s in my car.”

  “Where’s your car?”

  “At the house.”

  He met Boone’s eyes. The strange man nodded.

  “You’re supposed to have it on you at all times.”

  “Well, I ain’t been thinking straight for the past few hours.”

  “Son, you ain’t been thinkin’ straight for the past few weeks.” Daddy Frank spat a thick brown stream of tobacco. “You know what’s wrong with you?”

  Tanner raised his eyes. He sighed. “Looks like ever’body wants to tell me these days. What’s your opinion?”

  “You’re a prissy smartass.” Daddy Frank backhanded him, the slap hard and flat. Tanner’s head snapped to the side, but he didn’t go down. Nose pouring blood, he set his feet for the next blow, but Daddy Frank stepped back. “And you better watch that mouth. I ain’t your daddy, boy.”

  Tears flowed but Tanner could no longer control his tears or tongue. “No, he hits harder.”

  Daddy Frank nearly punched through Tanner’s diaphragm with a fist hard as iron, doubling the young man over in agony. He went down on both knees, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come.

  “Yeah, but I won’t stop.” Hands on his knees, Daddy Frank bent down as if getting a foot lower would help Tanner understand. “You ain’t worth half of nothin’ at all boy, watch your mouth.”

  It seemed like an eternity to Tanner before his diaphragm finally relaxed to allow a short breath. He sucked air in with a whoop at the same time Daddy Frank kicked him in the same place so fast he never saw the boot coming. His breath whooshed out.

  “I’m mean as hell, and you’re about on my last nerve. Looks like you forgot who runs this family. Hell, I run the whole goddamn county, boy.”

  Tanner writhed on the dirt floor, curled in a ball and fully expecting the next kick to be in the face. He covered his head with one hand while the other held his stomach.

  The old man rubbed the gray stubble on his jaw. “Boone, get his keys and go get that phone. Leave Mike’s truck there and bring his car back.”

  Boone pushed off from the wall and stepped forward. Tanner heard the order, but it look almost a full minute before he could dig the keys from his front pocket. He pitched them to Boone. They fell short. Boone picked them up without blinking and left.

  Once the taillights receded down the dirt track into the woods, Daddy Frank watched Tanner struggle to breathe. “Buck, we’re gonna have to sink Mike’s truck. Don’t need it sitting out there at the house.”

  “I’ll get on it.”

  That piece of business finished, the old man checked his watch. “We’re just gonna wait ’til I can check that phone, then I’ll know for sure what to do. If he’s lyin’, I’m gonna be one grandboy short.” Daddy Frank crossed the barn floor to watch the rain falling through the arc of yellow light pouring through the open barn doors.

  Brother Holmes had been studying Tanner instead of the storm. “Frank, that boy’s doing something in his pocket there.”

  Daddy Frank turned his attention back to Tanner still lying on his side with one hand in the pocket of his loose-fitting jeans. “Tanner, you can’t be playing pocket pool at a time like this.”

  The young man twisted enough to see his grandfather. “Waiting for my stomach to settle before I get up.”

  “You’re messin’ with that phone in there.”

  “Thought I felt it vibrate. Alonzo might be calling.”

  Daddy Frank held out his hand again. “Give it here.”

  Realizing he’d made a mistake, Tanner struggled to his knees and passed it over. The old man studied the blank screen. “Unlock it.”

  “No.”

  Daddy Frank’s eyes flicked over Tanner’s shoulder at the arrival of Jimmy Don, Clifford Raye, and Sammy Saxon. “Boys. Glad you’re here. You’re just in time.”

  They came in out of the rain, one eye on the young man lying on the dirt floor, and the other on Daddy Frank. Clifford Ray’s face went blank, immediately understanding what was going on.

  The Old Man glared at Jimmy Don. “Remember what I told you?”

  “But Dad . . .”

  The old man interrupted. “Shut up. You didn’t handle this boy like I told you. Now I got to do it.”

  Instead of answering, Jimmy Don slipped both hands into the pockets of his jeans and stared at his own shoes, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

  The man with the rattail, Clifford Raye, didn’t take time to make niceties. “We got troubles. What’s going on here?”

  Buck simply spread his hands in answer. No one answered for the old man when he was there.

  “I keep hearing that.” Daddy Frank scowled at Jimmy Don, daring him to say anything. “We have a little Mexican standoff going on right now, but one thing at a time. Boy, unlock this damned phone.”

  “I said I won’t.”

  The Old Man studied Tanner as if he were a new life specimen. “Sammy, go back there in the tack room. There’s a pair of hand pruners hanging on the wall. If this boy won’t put his thumb on this damned thing and unlock it, then we’ll cut it off and do it ourselves.”

  Jimmy Don turned his back on the scene as Saxon’s face paled. “You sure you wanna do that? What’s going on?”

  Tanner’s attention went directly to the stump of Clifford Raye’s finger. The man’s sad eyes spoke volumes. “That’s gonna hurt like hell, boy. You better do what he says.”

  Trembling, Tanner struggled to his feet and pressed his thumb on the Home button. The screen flared to life. “Daddy, you ain’t worth the dirt I’m standing on.”

  Jimmy Don’s shoulders slumped and he spoke to the stacks of fertilizer. “I know it.”

  He passed it back to Daddy Frank, who looked at the screen and tapped the glass. “Now you’re using some of that brain of yours. Looky here, somebody’s been talking to my wife.” He raised his head and gave Tanner a wolfish grin. “We gonna have to talk about that, ain’t we?”

  He went back to the screen and his face hardened. “You just sent a text.”

  Tanner squared his shoulders. “Yes.”

  Daddy Frank read the screen. “He just told some sheriff where we are.”

  Buck came off the stall in a rush. Daddy Frank turned his back to Tanner and offered it to the sheriff, who snatched the phone from his hand. “Gomez out in Comanche. Goddamn it!”

  Behind him, Preacher Holmes shouted. “Don’t use the Lord’s name . . .”

  “Shut up, Holmes!” Buc
k whirled, drew the Glock from the holster on his hip, and shot Preacher Holmes between the eyes from only three feet away.

  The back of the man’s head blew out, spraying the dog with blood and brain matter. Mud snarled at the smell and lunged at the body as it fell backward, yanked back only inches away from the body by the chain wrapped around a support post.

  Every man in the barn froze in shock. Buck stuffed the pistol back into its holster. “I can’t stand that sonofabitch.”

  Clifford Raye swallowed. “Well, you won’t have to worry with him no more.”

  Daddy Frank snorted a harsh laugh. “How come you to do that?”

  “Because I’m done with stupidity.” The sheriff crossed his arms. “All right. Let’s get back to business.

  Daddy Frank pulled a compact handgun from his pocket and turned back toward the barn doors and his grandson. “Boy, you done seen what happens . . .”

  Every man in the barn froze at the sight of the empty dirt floor.

  Tanner was gone.

  Jimmy Don hid a relieved grin.

  Chapter 46

  Perry Hale and Yolanda slowed as they passed the turnoff leading to the Wadlers’ house. The rain had come to a stop as the fast-moving storm pushed toward the Gulf, though lighting still flickered to the south. The humidity was gone for the time being. The croak of thousands of frogs chimed in with the tenor of crickets fiddling their legs.

  Using information and directions Yolanda found online, Perry Hale pulled up to a farm gate a mile away. A padlock secured it in place, telling him this wasn’t the driveway to a house. “I sure hope Sheriff Gomez was right about that text he got from the kid.”

  “You and me both.” Yolanda put on a camouflage cap, pulling her long black hair through the adjustment hole. “He said it was full of typos. My nephew got in trouble for texting in class while the phone was in his pocket.”