Hawke's War

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  His mother rushed the brothers inside. The last thing he remembered seeing was the insects blotting out the sun. They stayed there for hours as the locusts covered their village, eating anything they could consume and destroying the cherry crop they depended on.

  He blinked away tears of pain and focused on the unconscious Ranger’s face. There was something he was supposed to do. Something to do with that face. Then he remembered. With an effort that almost exhausted him, Abdullah retrieved the knife and thick cloth bag Chino had dropped when the Ranger kicked him in the knee.

  A long knife wrapped in a thick cloth bag was what he needed. He held them and focused on Chino, the one with features of an Asian. He recalled that some said the American Indians might possibly be descendants of Asian tribes of long ago.

  He again tossed the items to Chino and repeated his order in Spanish. “This is for his head. Take it and put it in the bag.”

  Abdullah faded out and regained his wits to find the Ranger still alive with Calaka squatting nearby like a vulture, spitting blood. Abdullah still had obligations to honor his brother. He issued orders again in his native language. None of the gangsters moved, and, irritated by their lack of communication, his voice rose in irritation.

  They exchanged looks and turned their attention to anything but him. Their response enraged him, and Abdullah first cussed them in Spanish, then switched to his native language, getting louder as his fury increased.

  Chino turned the long knife, as if checking the keenness of the blade. Apparently satisfied, he rose and approached the red-faced Syrian.

  Abdullah met the man’s eyes, and saw Death there.

  Chapter 31

  “Now what?” Arturo huddled under a tent sheltering volunteers from the most recent rain shower. He’d never seen clouds so low to the ground before. A dozen people were gearing up from folding tables, or drinking coffee from the dispenser and waiting for the rain to stop.

  Jerry looked confused. “What do you think we do now?”

  “You don’t know what to do, now that we’re here?” Arturo’s aggravation rose as he stuck both hands into the front pockets on his jeans. Jerry was just like his dad, impulsive without thinking of any possible outcome. “I thought you had a plan.”

  “My plan was to get here, then figure out the next step.”

  “Look, if we go over there where all those people are, they’ll kick us out.”

  “No, they won’t. They need volunteers.”

  “With experience. We’re just a couple of kids that cut school.”

  The frustration on Jerry’s face was evident, and the frown line between his eyes also reminded Arturo of Sonny Hawke. He’d seen it more than once in the Ballard Courthouse a few months earlier.

  “So, we’ll talk to some of these guys and find out what they know about Dad. Then we decide what to do.”

  “Great.” Arturo pointed at a group standing in the far corner of the shelter, sipping coffee. “You know any of them?”

  Jerry studied the group and nodded. “That guy over there’s a highway patrol officer. Dad introduced us a few months ago.”

  “Go on, then.”

  Almost as if he were reluctant to follow up on the idea, Jerry moseyed in that direction, stopping to fill a cup with steaming coffee before he joined them. Arturo sat on a table and waited as the rain intensified, drumming on the taut roof.

  Jerry returned with a triumphant look on his face. “Got some news. As soon as this rain slacks off, they’re sending out more search teams.”

  “And how is that gonna help us?”

  “Well, we can tag along.”

  Arturo pointed. “You’re about to tag along with that Ranger right there, right out of the park and back home.”

  They watched Chief Park Ranger Tammy Rivera duck under the tent and head straight toward them. Jerry deflated at the look on the woman’s face. “Boys, you might be in trouble.”

  Jerry took a breath to argue, but Rivera raised a hand. “Hush and listen. I know you’re worried about your dad, son, but your mama called a little while ago and she’s worried sick about you.”

  “How’d . . . ?”

  Rivera’s eyes crinkled. “Because she’s a mother like me, and your sister ratted you out. I know you want to help, but here’s the deal, kid. You don’t have any experience in search and rescue, and if you boys go out with a team, you’d slow them down because they’ll have to fool with you and not what they need to do.

  “These guys are splitting up into teams. They’ve all been trained, or have experience in search and rescue. Right now, it’s dangerous out there, what with the flash floods and washed-out roads. Here’s what I want you to do.”

  She grinned again, but it was forced. “Y’all come to the command center with us. You can see and hear everything that’s going on. I’ll keep you updated there and at the same time know you’re not in any danger. Then when Sheriff Armstrong gets here, you can hang with him, and when this is over, you can drive your old man home.”

  Arturo saw Rivera almost say something else. Her mouth had already formed the words before she thought better of it, and the youngster was sure he knew exactly what she was going to say.

  It was, “If we find your dad safe and sound.”

  Chapter 32

  I woke up lying on the ground. The world was sideways, and the first thing that registered were legs walking back and forth. I swallowed and winced. Despite the pain in my throat, I was pleased my head was still nailed on.

  The world wasn’t clear, so I blinked a few times to clear my vision. Rocks and mesquite beans half buried in the sand came into focus, along with bleached sticks, and dried leaves leading to the Beard sitting beside his backpack. It took a few moments to register the sounds of angry voices and rustling leaves.

  I was still in la-la-land and couldn’t make out the words, but I didn’t need to hear what was going on. Even though I couldn’t follow the lingo, the Beard was giving the guys around me a dog-cussin’, and rivaled the Old Man’s fury that always arose around bob-wire.

  Beard was still bleeding, but to be honest, it wouldn’t have made any difference in the long run. His eyes flashed, and he got louder. Somebody stepped over my head and stalked toward Beard, who kept rattling away. I recognized ol’ Asia when the guy walked up close to the terrorist and tilted his head like a dog looking at a new pan. Beard’s eyes flicked from the others who were apparently behind me, up to Asia.

  I waited for him to say something, but he surprised us both. Asia spat a mouthful of blood, then as casually as swatting a fly, he sank a big knife in Beard’s chest. I recognized it as the one that was supposed to cut off my big ol’ grape. The entire blade disappeared for a minute, looking like one of those toy knives we pretended to jab each other with when we were kids.

  The gangster drew it out at the same lazy speed and walked away with no expression at all, as unconcerned as if he’d just killed a fly.

  Now, I wasn’t in the Beard’s corner by any means, but it was still surprising to see someone murdered with absolutely no emotion whatsoever. His dark eyes widened in shock, and he gave a weak gasp. It must have taken everything out of him to make that little sound, because the guy wilted. Chin on his chest, it looked like he was examining the bloody wound, before he fell sideways. His head bounced against a flat rock and he lay still, blood pouring from his mouth and onto the dry ground that soaked it up like a sponge.

  We lay face-to-face, staring into each other’s eyes. The sight of the blood running from the corner of his mouth made me lick my own to be sure I wasn’t in the same condition. I barely felt my own dry lips, but at least there wasn’t any blood. His eyes widened slightly, as if realizing that I was watching something intensely personal.

  I’ve killed enough deer to recognize when the light flickered out and his eyes filmed over.

  The guy was dead as nickel coffee.

  I swallowed, and the pain from my strangulation yanked me back into the world. I was next. The
bag for my head lay only three feet away.

  That’s a helluva thing to think. I’d seen images like that, and recalled stories of the French Revolution, when they beheaded people with guillotines and some mean sonofabitch picked up the victim’s heads as soon as they dropped into a basket and asked them questions to see if the brain still functioned.

  I swallowed and croaked out the first thing that came to my mind.

  “Hey guys, does this mean you’re gonna let me go now?”

  No one answered at first, but then a voice translated my words and they lifted my spirits by laughing.

  Chapter 33

  Sheriff Ethan Armstrong took the radio’s handset from the dash bracket. “Dispatch, this is Armstrong. You copy?”

  “Go ahead, Sheriff.”

  “Finally on the way. Anything new?”

  “Negative. It’s started raining, and that’s not gonna help one damn bit. Their Hasty Team checked the murder site and came up empty. They found hoof prints on the way in and figure it’s Sonny’s horse. They’re backtracking now to pick them up again, but like I said, the rain’s making it hard.”

  “Ten-four. Keep me updated. Out.”

  He replaced the handset and steered around the courthouse. “You need anything before we head out?”

  Herman Hawke was silent. Ethan glanced over to see the old Ranger’s furrowed brow. Those and the crow’s-feet in the corners of his eyes reminded him of the arroyos and canyons they were headed for.

  “Herman?” Ethan figured he was so deep in thought he’d missed the question. “You need anything before we go?”

  The old man cocked his head, peering from under his hat brim. “What if this is something else?”

  “Such as?”

  “What if Sonny ain’t lost? I know that ol’ horse coulda throwed him. You can’t be around them jugheads much without ’em hurtin’ you at some point, though they don’t mean to. But what if Sonny tangled with something else?”

  “I still don’t get your drift.”

  “I can’t explain it, son. I’ve got an itch that’s tellin’ me we’re on the wrong track.”

  They drove past the Chat ’N Chew, the café where he met Sonny and Perry Hale for breakfast at least three times a week. The crowd inside looked thinner than usual, and Ethan figured some of the men had volunteered in the search.

  “It’d be hard for Sonny to get lost. He knows the park and that kind of country. Even if he did, he’d sit his ass down and build a fire and wait. He wouldn’t be gone far off the trail, neither.”

  “So what are you thinking?”

  “A lot of things, but none of it sounds right.”

  They passed the high school on the way out of town and Herman held up a hand. “Rein up there and turn around. Take me to Sonny’s house.”

  “What for?”

  “I don’t know that, either, but Kelly’s still there, I bet. I need to be with her instead of stringing off to the park and getting’ in folks’ way.” He dug a flip phone out of his shirt pocket and punched at the screen. “Hang on before you do anything.” The call was answered on the second ring and the volume was turned up so loud Ethan had no trouble hearing the conversation with Herman’s hired hand and unofficially adopted step-son, Gabe Nakai.

  “Hello, jefe.”

  “I told you not to call me that, knothead. You’re as much my kid as Sonny.”

  “Sí, padron.”

  “I changed my mind.” Herman didn’t respond to Gabe’s warting. They both liked to aggravate the other when they had the chance. “Get my Winchester out of the house, that M1 you like so much, and both shotguns, then hoof it on over to Sonny’s house.”

  The fun was over. “Trouble?”

  “Yep. Grab plenty of shells for everything, too, oh, and the thirty-eight over the refrigerator.”

  “Remember I don’t have a truck.”

  “Dammit. Fine.” Herman spun his finger. “Call one of the Mayo brothers and have ’em bring you out.” He hung up. “A man ain’t no damn good to anybody when they don’t have wheels. It’s fixin’ to rain, and they’ll be headed to town anyway.”

  An odd pair, the Mayo brothers worked their ranch like the old-timers, from dawn ’til dusk in good weather. But if it rained or snowed hard, they headed for town like any good cowboy to blow off steam in the bars. The first sign of clearing weather, and they headed back out to their ranch.

  Knowing better than to quiz the old man, because he’d been taught to do what his elders said, Ethan took a left and cut through a residential street lined with houses built eighty years earlier. Several older folks sat on the shaded porches and waved as the cruiser went by.

  Herman absently threw up a hand in response, because that’s what you did in the country.

  “I got a feeling that I need to be here with Kelly.”

  “You’re expecting trouble, then.”

  “Not expecting, but I intend to be in the way if it comes.”

  They pulled up in front of Sonny’s house.

  “Much obliged.” Herman stepped out. “I got a bad feeling that won’t go away, so I’m gonna stay right here.”

  No stranger to a lawman’s sixth sense, Ethan leaned across the seat to speak. “I’ll check back with you when I get to the command post. Y’all call if anything happens. Deputy Murphy’s on the desk and he’ll come a-runnin’.”

  Herman slammed the door and stood rooted to the ground, scanning the nearby houses. “Okie doke.”

  Chapter 34

  Lying in the maze of shallow canyons, I was invisible to everyone in the world except for the four Indio-looking gangsters covered in tattoos. They were having a great time, though, jabbering at each other and talking about me.

  I listened for aircraft, hoping for a search plane or helicopter. I knew enough about search techniques that they would deploy ground and search parties, but the timing was off. There was no way they could have tracked down the truck and trailer, and then pinpointed where to look from there.

  The clouds had thickened since they’d knocked me in the head, and thunder grumbled in the distance. I was at least thankful for that. Had I been lying in the sun, I doubt I could have been in good enough shape to think. But then again, it made matters worse.

  I’d heard the spokesman before when he told a news crew about a similar situation a year earlier when we were looking for a lost climber in the mountains.

  “Our problem is this low-level cloud ceiling. We’re basically socked in by these sitting on top of us, and the higher-level clouds that are pouring in from the southwest that are providing additional cover. Right now, all this is preventing aircraft from participating in the search, so it’s basically ground crews.”

  The problem with the spokesperson’s answer bothered me the most right then. It was his way of saying things weren’t good. The rain was going to hamper their search efforts, whenever they started looking for me.

  Our people are doing the best they can right now.

  “I need to sit up.”

  The Asian-looking Indio gangster squatted in front of me. “Be quiet, amigo.”

  I had another smart-ass answer ready, but one of the other guys cut me off.

  “Maybe we take this dog’s head instead, and tell Chatto it belongs to the Ranger. He is not afraid, and I like that. Let’s let him live.”

  “No.” I didn’t like the speaker behind me. “Chatto will know the difference. American police don’t have beards. He’ll know the Ranger is alive, he will send men to kill our families and then us.”

  “Abdullah has already told him we have the Ranger.”

  “What?”

  “He made a call with that satellite phone and sent our brothers to this man’s house to wipe his seed from the earth.”

  The statement hit me like an electric shock. Twisting on the ground like a wrestler, I screamed in fear and frustration. I’ve never felt so helpless in my life. Trying to gain my knees, I fought harder than the time before, finding enough traction to
lurch forward, trying to knock someone, anyone, off their feet. I needed to get free! A strange keening sound rose at the same time they put the boots to me.

  They worked me over pretty good, but it didn’t matter. Their kicks didn’t register because I was numb with a fury I’d never felt before, spurred by the sheer horror of what I’d just heard. I lashed out with one boot. A shrill voice yelped and the others laughed as the unseen gangster behind me knelt to rub his shin. A worn-out tennis shoe caught me in the nose, flattening it with a crunch of cartilage and knocking me senseless.

  I lay there, gasping for breath and struggling to stay conscious. Every second counted in getting back to Ballard to warn my family. Squatting with his elbows resting on his knees, Chinese guy laced his fingers. He dropped to one knee beside my head and picked up the bag, examining it as if he’d found it lying in the desert and wondering how such a fine bag came to be lost.

  He leaned forward and dropped it over my head in one smooth motion, yanking the drawstring at the same time. I didn’t like that kind of efficiency, having my head already in the bag before they went to work with the knife. I flipped like a crawdad, struggling to regain my feet, but more kicks to my ribs knocked the breath out of me.

  A body dropped onto my back with one knee. I gasped and struggled for air while footsteps crunched up and stopped only a couple of inches from my broken and bleeding nose. The man put a knee to the side of my head, crushing my cheek into the ground.

  I couldn’t do anything except make my last words count. “You bastards can go to hell! You don’t know what you’re tangling with!”

  Chapter 35

  Yolanda Rodriguez quit tapping Perry Hale’s shoulder so suddenly he noticed.