Hawke's Target

by Reavis Z. Wortham

Glocks aren’t that heavy, made from nylon-polymer called Polymer 2, but the dangling pistol was enough to stretch the tendon of Alonzo’s nerveless finger until it slipped off the end.

  The simple flick of the three-dollar toggle switch shot current down the wires and into the Semtex plastic explosive he’d packed under his seat, in two hidden storage bins under the back floor mat and in the cargo space under the back seat. The resulting explosion equaling nearly two hundred pounds of TNT atomized Alonzo, Betty, and the truck.

  The old wooden barn itself was obliterated, and the Wadler crime family ceased to exist in a millisecond. Trees blown outward from the epicenter of the blast lay in ordered patterns, like iron filings aligned to a magnet.

  The federal agents who’d pulled back to a prearranged point only minutes before were lucky, even though they weren’t completely out of the woods.

  The line of DEA, ATF, and FBI vehicles were protected from the blast itself, but falling pines knocked loose from their shallow root systems were as dangerous as grenades to the men retreating through the woods. Stronger hardwoods like hickory, oak, and pecan survived the energy from the blast radius. Surprisingly, only two agents in the somewhat protected line of SUVs were killed.

  DEA agent Gerald Marrs kicked open the back door of his black Suburban and pulled himself out. Up and down the line, fallen pine trees looked like giant tiddlywinks scattered over the vehicles. “Son of a bitch!” He was relieved to see ATF Agent Hart Lowell appear from behind a downed tree laying square across the hood of his SUV. “Hart, that tip was right.”

  Five minutes later, stunned agents who’d been involved in the early skirmish against the barn’s defenders staggered into the now-blocked lane lit by the bright clear stars and moon overhead.

  * * *

  Running as fast as possible through the dark woods, a massive detonation threw Yolanda and Perry Hale to their knees. The blast wave of supersonic pressure slammed the tall pines overhead, bending them to near impossible curves.

  She landed hard, hands over her head as the wallop of compressed air felt like a sledgehammer. Perry Hale fell on top of her, almost knocking the breath from both of them. They didn’t have time to lay there long. Even though they’d gained enough distance to get clear of the blast zone, seemingly random trees began crashing to the ground.

  Perry Hale rolled off, scanning upward. “We gotta move!”

  Yolanda rose to her knees and finally caught her breath. “I’d move faster if you hadn’t fell on me.”

  A fifty-foot loblolly pine weighing almost a ton toppled with a crash only twenty yards away, vibrating the ground under their feet. Yolanda bolted to her feet and charged toward the dirt road. “We have to get out of these woods.”

  An unseen tree collapsed with a splintering roar. In the distance, still more trees cracked and went down, taking smaller, weaker vegetation with them.

  They broke out onto the road just in time to see a pair of taillights wink out far ahead.

  Chapter 72

  At first I thought someone had detonated a nuclear device behind the pickup truck taking me down to the river. The enormous blast lit up the sky, only seconds before a tremendous shock wave pushed the truck like a giant hand. Trees crashed in the darkness on both sides. My head rang as if someone had whacked me with a baseball bat.

  Taking advantage of the explosion, I flipped over the tailgate and dropped to the ground. The truck continued on for a short distance before it finally stopped with a squeal of worn-out brakes. The driver killed the engine and the gurgling sound of the Sabine took its place.

  The air that had been filled with the croaks of a million frogs singing in the glory of the recent rain was silent. Beyond the blast zone, the shallow root systems of weak, diseased, or dead trees anchored in nothing but sand gave up their tenuous hold. In that vacuum, the splintering sounds of falling trees crashing to the ground made me worry about Yolanda and Perry Hale.

  A low bellow punctuated the chorus, followed by a loud splash. I didn’t know for sure, but I imagined it to be an aggravated gator.

  The men in the truck didn’t waste any time in opening the doors. The dome light was bright as the sun and revealed that strange driver. He was the guy I’d seen back at the Evening Star RV Park, the one who’d shot his friend in the head. Something was strange about him. He had to have been wearing a mask, because I’d never seen anything like his rubber face that was smooth and slack.

  An old man I took to be Daddy Frank stepped out and slammed the door. “The boat’s right over there.”

  The other guy answered, but nothing moved but his jaw, his voice wet and mushy. “Careful here. The mud’s slick.”

  The old man raised his voice. “You boys out here?”

  “Don’t move, or we’ll blow you in half.”

  I froze at the order coming from behind me. Two voices rose from the darkness back there. “Here, Daddy Frank.” I glanced over my shoulder to see a pair of armed men in camouflage clothing step from the trees and into the road. They both carried shotguns that couldn’t miss at that range. “Look what we found.”

  The old man flicked on a flashlight, shining it directly in my eyes. “I told y’all somebody might come up from the river.”

  “He was in the back of your truck.”

  “Do tell.”

  I held out both hands to keep from being shot. Ignoring me, Baldy circled the front of the truck, heading toward the black ribbon of water. I had a clear line of sight to the old man, but there was nothing I could do with two guys behind me that I couldn’t see.

  “What do you want us to do with him?”

  Daddy Frank Wadler lowered the flashlight and turned away as if dismissing a mouse caught in a trap. “Kill him and then foller me in the other boat.”

  He and Baldy disappeared toward the water. One of them slipped on the muddy bank, and the old man cursed. “I told you it was slick. The river’s up with all that rain. It’ll take you off if you fall in.”

  I used their conversation as cover and spoke over my shoulder. “Y’all don’t want to shoot me.”

  One of the voices was raspy. “Why not?”

  I held up both hands. “Because I have people out here who’ll kill you if you do. Disappear, and they’ll let you go.”

  “You’re lyin’.” Raspy Voice spoke again.

  I heard the sound of a safety clicking off, and then two streams of reports that came from suppressed automatic rifles killed them deader’n nickel coffee.

  Both men lay in heaps not ten yards away.

  “Told you.”

  Perry Hale and Yolanda rose from crouched positions and stepped forward.

  I kept my hands up. “Hey, it’s me.”

  “We knew that.” Perry Hale swung the muzzle of his rifle toward the river.

  Breathing hard and keeping an eye out in the direction of the now-burning barn, Yolanda moved close. She reached out and touched my shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Y’all hurt?”

  Perry Hale’s voice was gruff, full of testosterone and exertion. “We’re fine. I don’t know who those two out there on the river are, but I’d bet they were dangerous as hell.”

  “I think the old man is Daddy Frank Wadler, the one who runs this whole sorry-assed clan, and he just disappeared down the bank over yonder with some other thing wearing a mask. I suppose it scares people and gives him an edge.”

  “Was that our target back there in what was the barn?”

  That gal was like a dog with a bone. We had all the excitement around us that we could handle, but she wanted who we’d come after. “I got a good idea the one that set off the explosion was our guy.”

  “Who you think was doing all the shooting?”

  “The feds I called in earlier. I say we lay low to see what happens back there, but I want this Daddy Frank guy.”

  A nearby tree crashed to the ground, making us all jump.

  Perry Hale nodded once. “Let’s take him.” Without waiting
for an answer, he brought his rifle to high ready. Yolanda paced him, and I followed them down to the river, looking back over my shoulder at the growing glow from the burning barn, and hoping all those men had survived the blast.

  Chapter 73

  Movement gives prey away and in some cases the predator.

  His hand on the side of an aluminum johnboat sticking halfway into the current, Daddy Frank pointed back the way they came as multiple shots echoed over the bottoms. “Something. Check that out.”

  “I’ll look.” The moment his back was turned, Daddy Frank produced a short-barreled revolver from his pocket.

  Dogs like you’ll eventually turn on their owners.

  “You had no right to turn my dog loose.” He shot Boone. “Besides, it’s every man for himself now.”

  Boone grunted and fell forward, slipping down the muddy bank toward the river.

  Partially blinded by the muzzle flash, the old man fired again, the blast echoing across the water. Blinking away the spots, he shifted his focus, not looking directly at where Boone’s body lay, but to the side, using his peripheral vision.

  Boone was gone.

  Maybe he slipped into the water.

  Not believing his own deduction and frightened for the first time in decades, Daddy Frank wasted no time. He put one foot into the flat-bottom boat and pushed off. The current immediately caught the light watercraft and took it swiftly downriver.

  Fearful that it would tip, he bent low and crawled to the back to sit on the rear seat in front of a small ten-horse outboard motor. He pumped the bulb on a rusty gas tank and flipped the engine’s choke. He yanked the cord and twisted the handle to give it gas.

  The engine coughed and died.

  The current running high with runoff took the boat sideways. He yanked once again with the same result. Glancing back upstream, the old man braced his feet and jerked the starter cord with all his might. The engine coughed again and caught with a roar and a cloud of exhaust. Straddling the seat, he settled himself and twisted the throttle with his left hand.

  The boat responded immediately and swung around, headed downstream.

  Staying in the middle of the channel, he roared away to a dock he’d fished for years, the one jutting into the river only yards from Shi’Ann’s quiet house.

  The escape plan dissolved when two intense beams of light came around a bend in the river. Side-by-side cruisers running wide open meant one thing. The law.

  Turning so sharp a spray of water sheeted the surface, he reversed direction and headed back the way he came.

  Knowing the Thicket like the back of his hand, the old man had another idea.

  If I can’t get away on the water, I’ll use the woods. You bastards don’t have a snowball’s chance in Hell of catching me.

  Chapter 74

  I instinctively ducked at the sound of a nearby gunshot. Beside me, Yolanda took a knee and brought her weapon to her shoulder. Perry Hale did the same, and we waited. The frog chorus paused. The bottoms held its breath.

  Another bang in the darkness close by was absorbed by the trees. We waited some more.

  Sensing it was over, a few frogs in the distance tuned up again, and Perry Hale rose. He pointed toward the river and moved out. I followed as Yolanda dropped in to cover the rear. We crept forward in single file along the edge of the woods, close enough to see the silvery, roiling Sabine, but deep enough for cover.

  A familiar roar filled the air as an outboard caught.

  “They’re getting away.” Perry Hale broke into a half-run, angling into the open lane, rifle to his shoulder.

  A few more steps brought us to the edge of the woods and the riverbank. The low moon reflected off the river’s surface, giving us a good sight picture of a long, flat boat motoring away.

  Yolanda peeled a piece of tape off her tactical light and flicked it on. She swept the river with the softened beam that was half as bright as usual. “There were two. I see one.”

  The .45 held close to my chest, I edged sideways to see down the riverbank. “Could have been a little dispute about who was gonna drive.”

  “The winner’s getting away.” Perry Hale crept forward at the same time the sound of two heavy engines filled the air, followed by the high whine of the old man’s outboard coming back in our direction.

  All three engines were drowned by the roar of a helicopter coming from the direction of the barn. A searchlight bright as the sun lit up the world and probed the river.

  Movement attracts attention. I froze. “Wait.”

  The light’s glow lit up the surface of the water. I could see neither of my friends, and wondered how they’d disappeared so quickly. Moving nothing but my eyes, I found Yolanda on one knee again, partially under a yaupon. Standing, Perry Hale had become part of an oak tree growing over the bank.

  The helicopter banked, first lighting up the truck, I imagined, then following the cleared lane to the riverbank. The light swept the bank, moving downstream. It banked again and steadied.

  “The boat!” A loudspeaker blasted orders. “You in the boat. Beach now and don’t move!”

  Three loud bangs caused the helicopter to flit to the side like a dragonfly. It had to be the old man below, firing at the helicopter with a handgun. A long pause was interrupted by automatic return fire. Muzzle flashes told me someone in the chopper was lighting the boat up.

  Perry Hale relaxed. “Sounds like . . .”

  That’s when a dripping, howling wraith appeared at his side.

  Chapter 75

  I’ve never been so scared in my life. The soaking wet, screaming booger that simply materialized and grabbed Perry Hale was the thing of nightmares. I’ve fought men up close and personal, and in those encounters, their faces were always twisted in rage.

  This terrifying attack from the guy in the mask was surreal. Perry Hale made a sound in his throat that I’ve only heard once, right then and there, and never want to hear again. It was a sound of dread, of primordial, genetic fear of the unknown.

  The thing howled long and loud through a mouth that simply opened when its jaw dropped. Yolanda and I were a beat behind when Perry Hale responded with training I’ve never had.

  I would have turned and run with my tail between my legs, but he attacked, pressing forward and using the AR hanging over his chest to push the thing away. Yolanda’s tactical light snapped, revealing the bald, tattooed man from behind the wheel of the truck.

  I was close enough to see he wasn’t wearing a mask. The man had no expression at all. Only his unnaturally wide eyes revealed life in that terrifying head. His wife-beater shirt was wet, and dark rivulets ran bloody from a bullet hole on the left side of his chest and onto baggy cargo shorts.

  Damn, things happened fast.

  A blade flashed twice in Yolanda’s light. Blood flew from Perry Hale’s arm.

  Digging in with his feet, Perry Hale pushed again with his rifle, gaining a few inches. His right hand dropped to the gunslinger-style holster on his thigh, drawing his Beretta M9. It rose at the same time I stepped forward. Using my arm and shoulder, I swept the man’s arm up and back, trapping the blade.

  Even though the odds were with us in that two-on-one dance, the straight razor in the man’s hand produced a feeling of dread I’d never known before. The thought of getting cut, getting slashed deeply by that thin edge, made my skin crawl.

  Odd things registered.

  The helicopter clattered overhead.

  Another tree toppled nearby with the sound of snapping wood, the impact rising up through our feet.

  “Drop!” Yolanda’s voice barely carried over the noise. “Drop!”

  I wasn’t sure who she was talking to.

  Perry Hale’s left arm also rose, fending off the razor. He grunted with a sound that could have been terror or pain. I plowed in, matching the Thing’s movement. It was the three of us in a macabre dance.

  The Thing’s slack face turned toward me, still howling.

  I almost fell in
to the depths of those eyes full of madness.

  The Thing threw an elbow into my side. I gave with the blow that was followed an instant later by that same elbow against my jaw. Lights flashed in front of my eyes. With three people fighting, it was hard to know where to hit or grab.

  A shot rang out and I realized it was my Colt, pressed into the Thing’s side.

  I squeezed the trigger again at the same time another pistol opened up. Perry Hale’s weapon matched mine in a roll of thunder.

  Like one of the falling trees, the Thing toppled backward and his head snapped to the side as it exploded under Yolanda’s 5.56 round.

  The slack face didn’t change as he collapsed, rolling down the steep bank and into the river.

  Perry Hale staggered back, holding his wounded arm. His face splashed with blood, he holstered his pistol. “What the hell was that?”

  The voice that answered didn’t belong to any one of us.

  “It was the son I never had. I knew that bastard would be hard to kill.”

  Chapter 76

  The old man I assumed was Daddy Frank stood only a few feet away, hidden from the knees down by the riverbank. I don’t see how the man was drawing air. Soaking wet with river water, blood ran from wounds in his chest, abdomen, and left arm.

  Daddy Frank!

  Time slowed.

  Salvadore warned me about that old man who he called the Devil, and said to kill him more’n once when we got the chance.

  A flat-bottom boat drifted downriver behind him. “Who the hell are you sonsabitches?”

  He fired and Perry Hale oofed, stumbling sideways.

  “Who the hell are you?” The old man fired a second time, then shifted his aim.

  From the corner of my eye I saw Yolanda’s rifle swing up. I was between her and the old man and turned away from the intense light mounted on the weapon, one thought going through my head. She’s gonna shoot me by accident.

  He beat her and fired again. The muzzle blast made me think I was shot, too. She went over backward.

  Damn, this old man can shoot!