A dozen times, and maybe just a little bit, each time hurt a little less. Kind of like drinking, he thought.
What was one more?
“C’mon, Kyle, so let’s check out that game. What do you say?” He flicked on the overhead TV and found the broadcast. “Bottom of the sixth. Four to two, Rockies …” Wade said. “De La Rosa’s still in there …”
Kyle nodded, his eyes glazy, staring straight ahead.
Wade reached and wrapped his fingers around his son’s hand. His flesh and blood. “Whaddya say, let’s root ’em in, okay? Ball and a strike. What’re thinking here, fastball or a slider? I’m thinking slider. What do you think, Kyle?”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
When they came, as Hauck already figured, they didn’t exactly march through the front door.
It was just past nine, that next night. Hauck had taken a break at the barn window. The one thing he wanted more than anything was to hear his daughter’s voice. A last time, if things didn’t go well. He punched in her number and she picked up on the third ring. “Hey,” he said.
“Dad?”
“Sorry if I woke you. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“You didn’t wake me. It’s Friday night. I was just watching Girls. With Carrie.”
“Girls?” Hauck said. “Isn’t there a lot of sex in that?”
“Dad, please. There’s sex everywhere today. Would you rather I be watching Game of Thrones? Or maybe Ray Donovan?”
“I was just saying …”
“Hold on, let me put it on pause. Where are you?”
“Still in Colorado,” he replied. “For a short time more.”
“You ever going to come back here? Mom says it’s because you have a beard. She says you’ve gone native.”
“I lost the beard. Didn’t do much for me, I thought. Made me look old.”
“I kinda liked it actually. Send me a new pix.”
“Okay …”
“So you want to give me a date when I’ll see you again? Like, maybe, before I leave for college? That gives you a year.”
He laughed. “Soon, I hope, honey.”
“You keep saying soon. Dad. What’s going on? You’re sounding a little strange.”
“I just wanted to hear your voice. That’s all.”
“I think you just have this dad antennae, to catch me doing something I shouldn’t be.”
“Yeah, kind of a police thing, I guess. We all—”
The power suddenly shut off. Outside, the house went dark. People started yelling. “Power’s down!” “What’s goin’ on?” “Chuck!”
This was it, he figured. “Jess, I gotta go.”
“What’s happening there, Dad? I hear a lot of shouting …”
“I just wanted to say I love you, Jessie. Don’t be worried, doll. I’ll see you soon.”
He hung up. He placed the phone on the ledge, rolled himself underneath the window, grabbed his rifle, and looked out. Two vehicles were coming up through the fields, their lights out, barely visible. He could make out four to five of them in them through the sight, with automatic weapons and even night goggles. Two of Watkins’s neighbors scampered around, ducking behind a wall of hay bales from the barn. Murmurs and whispers spread around like wildfire. These were farmers, cattle raisers, not soldiers. Everyone was scared.
Hauck kept cover behind the third-story window and looked through the sight.
Below him, Watkins ran into the barn with his shotgun. “You see ’em?”
“I see them,” Hauck confirmed. “There’s at least four in the fields. Tell your friends not to do anything foolish; don’t start a war. You know the police chief, Riddick?”
“Thirty years. But we don’t see eye to eye on much.”
“Well, this might be a good time to give him a call.”
He looked back outside and saw an SUV coming down the road. It was black, almost blending in in the darkness, its headlights shining. This car they wanted everyone to see. It came to a stop around fifty yards from the house. Hauck trained in on it. The rear door opened and someone got out. Fatigue jacket. High forehead. Under a military-style baseball cap. Balding on top. Hauck had seen him before. The guy from Alpha. The one who told him Robertson wasn’t around much. McKay.
One of the two who Dani said was at the river.
He stood behind the open car door, presumably for cover; it was probably bulletproof. “I’m Randy McKay,” he called out. “From Alpha. Some of you here know me. And what we’ve done for you. And the town. And you know why we’re here, right …? We just want one man. Just to talk with him, that’s all. There doesn’t need to be any bloodshed. We can all just put away these guns.”
Below Hauck, whispers shot back and forth amid the ranks.
“Anyway, I’ve got good news. Truth is, you’ve all already won. I just spoke with Wendell Moss, head of operations for RMM. He’s agreed to negotiate all water rights for farmers in Templeton in exchange for dropping the lawsuit. He guarantees full access to whatever reserves they have. For your fields. For anyone who needs it. They’re even prepared to talk about restitution for lost crop yields over the past six months. That’s up and beyond anything you could have hoped for. It’s a win-win, don’t you agree? No reason that a single drop of blood should be shed here. Just hand over who we came for, and we’ll be gone. And you’ll all be back in business.”
There were murmurs up and down. Hauck heard, “That’s a damn good deal. We’re back in business.” “That’s a whole lot better than we could’ve ever gotten on our own …” “Chuck, do you hear what they said, we’ve won.”
“What’d the police say?” Hauck called down to Watkins, who was standing behind the door.
“Said all their cars were a little busy right now.” The farmer spat, as if disgusted.
Hauck wasn’t surprised. “Kind of a waste of thirty years, no …?”
Watkins chuckled. “And a helluva lot of taxes.”
“Mr. Watkins …” McKay shouted. “You can step out while we talk. Don’t be worried.”
“No worries at all,” Watkins shouted back. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll wait for you.”
McKay remained behind the car door. “Congratulations, you’ve won a helluva victory for your friends here,” he said loudly. “Without a drop of blood spilled. What do you say?”
Watkins came out from around the barn. He went over and ducked behind the large combine that was set up below. “Not a single drop of blood …?”
“That’s a promise. We’ll be gone in five minutes once we have what we want. You have my assurance on that. And what I’m proposing has no conditions. All you have to do is get back in your cars and leave. You’re all witness to it. All we ask is one thing.”
“Hauck …” the farmer said back.
“That’s right. He’s not one of you anyway.” McKay came out from behind the open door and seemed to be speaking to everyone. “He’s only come here to stir up trouble. Look at you all now. Huddled here. You’re not with your wives and children. You’re readying for a fight. He’s not gonna be here once this all quiets down. He’s gonna leave and you’ll be high and dry.
“But we’ll be here. To make sure your fields have all the water and irrigation they need. Even before it gets allocated to our own wells. So which is it? Him? And a fight. A fight you can’t possibly win. Or this deal. The very deal you’ve sought for the past two years. Even better …”
“C’mon, Chuck.” Hauck heard murmurs below. “We can’t pass this up.”
“We’ve won, Chuck. We have to listen to him.”
Who was this Hauck? Hauck knew they were all probably asking themselves. They’d didn’t know him. He’d only been in town a few days, and since then the shit had hit the fan. Most had only met him the night before. They hadn’t been shot at like Watkins had. Or had their son taken from them. They were just farmers. And now they were getting the deal they had put their asses on the line for.
“Not one drop of blood, you say
…?” Watkins called back. Hauck thought maybe the farmer was weakening.
“You have my word,” McKay confirmed. “We just want to talk to Mr. Hauck.”
“Seems to me, you’re forgetting just one detail …” Watkins said.
McKay stepped forward. “I’m listening …”
Watkins slowly elevated the barrel of his shotgun in McKay’s direction. “My son.”
Someone scampered over in a crouch to McKay and spoke to him, as the Alpha man stepped back behind the door. Hauck focused in through the night sight. He had a beard—what Dani said—and his face was hidden under a military-style cap. He hoped it was him; hoped as much as he could without ever actually seeing him. Robertson.
“What’s done is done,” McKay shouted back. “We can’t take back the past. I’m sorry about your son. But all we can do is make his death mean something. Which it can here, sir. I think you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” the farmer said. He turned to his friends. “Any one of you who want to take this deal and leave, go ahead. I can’t keep you here. To me, seems they’re just buying us off all over again. But he’s right. It’s what we wanted. What we put our necks on the line for. Anyway, I appreciate you boys standing here with me. But anyone who wants to go, now’s the time.”
“Chuck,” one of them said. “I know it’s personal to you, but to us, it’s what we’ve been fighting for. We’ve got businesses. And families, too.”
“I understand.”
“So put down your gun, too. Take what he’s offering. They only want to talk with him anyway. We understand he stood up for us. But you heard him. It’s not like they’re going to kill him.”
“Yeah I heard him as well,” the farmer said. “You all better just go.”
“I’m sorry, Chuck …” Two of them lowered their guns and stepped out from behind the combine. “We’re coming!” They put up their hands. Two others, Milt and Don, stayed a few more seconds, trying to reason with their friend. “Chuck, please …”
“I’ll be all right,” the farmer said. “You guys head out.”
“We’ll call Riddick,” Don said.
“Yeah, you do that,” Watkins said. “Tell him I want a rebate on my town taxes. He’ll know what I mean.”
The two looked back at him one last time. Then they came around the bales. “We’re coming out!” They stepped out with their hands visible.
“You men made the smart choice.” McKay stepped out to greet them. “Just head to your trucks and go on home. Don’t you worry about anything. We’re just gonna talk it all through. Man to man.”
“We’d like to stick around if that’s all the same,” Milt Yarrow said. “And see how that goes.”
“I told you to get in your trucks and go.” It almost sounded like an order. “That’s the deal. Unless any of you want to reconsider. Go on. You can talk with your friend here in the morning.”
One by one, they all took a last look at the house and loaded into their trucks. They started up their engines starting up, slowly backed out onto the drive, and headed down the road, glancing behind as they drove.
“You boys, too,” Watkins said to his hands. “I appreciate you staying. But it ain’t your fight, Miguel and Lupe, any more than it was theirs. Go on.”
The two hands said goodbye and thanks, in broken English. Lupe handed Watkins the two improvised Molotov cocktails. Then they scampered away into the dark fields.
“So now I guess it’s just us,” McKay said.
“And now I got you an offer,” Watkins called out.
“Go ahead,” the Alpha man said. “We’re not looking to make this any more difficult than it has to be.”
“You give me Robertson, I give you Hauck. How’s that?”
McKay smiled. He seemed to think over the proposal, maybe just long enough to make Robertson sweat a bit. Then he shook his head. “No deal.”
“What I thought. Well, you want him so bad, you might as well come and get him then.” The farmer glanced up at Hauck. “But you’re going to have to come through me.”
McKay stood there without making a move. He just nodded. The person next to him in the fatigues waved his arm, and the two Jeeps out in the fields began to close in, the Alpha men ducking behind them.
McKay shook his head. “If that’s how you feel about it then.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
The first sound was a spurt of gunfire directed at Watkins that didn’t penetrate the hay bales. With his good arm he hurled one of the improvised explosives toward McKay, which shattered on the grill of the black SUV.
A small fire erupted.
Hauck squeezed on the trigger. He advanced a second round into the firing chamber of the single-shot hunting rifle, and fired again. The man next to McKay buckled, the car window in front of him shattering. A burst of automatic fire came at Hauck from out in the fields, bullets illuminating the darkness like tracers zinging into the barn window. Hauck spun and threw himself down. This was a mismatch, it was already clear. The others running off meant McKay could do anything he wanted to them now. He peered back out the window and saw one of the teams in the fields scurrying toward the house. He grabbed his handgun and sent four, quick 9 mm shots at them. Hauck heard a howl, and saw one of them come up hobbling, throwing himself behind the vehicle for cover.
Two down. That evened the odds just a bit. Hauck put another round into the Remington’s chamber.
Watkins had run inside the farmhouse and was firing back at them from window to window. Rounds clanged loudly off the advancing Jeep. Hauck peered out the barn again and saw McKay with what looked like an M-16 scampering in a crouch toward the house. He ducked behind a baling machine. Watkins knew the layout. He wasn’t a fool. Maybe he’d be able to lure him inside.
Hauck took his handgun and the rifle and got ready to climb down to get over to him.
One of the Alpha men had sprinted in and made it as far as the combine in front of the barn. Hauck leaned out the window with the 9 mm and tried to get off a shot, but a sharp burst of automatic fire came back from behind the Jeep from the guy with the wounded leg. One round grazed Hauck on the arm, like a fiery poker. Another felt like the poker was thrust in his right shoulder. He shouted out, spinning backwards, the 9 mm falling to the ground. Hauck threw himself behind the window. “Shit.” All he had now was this stupid hunting rifle. A bolt of pain immobilized his right arm and shoulder. Blood seeped from his shirt. He felt for his back and saw blood there as well. It must’ve gone through.
“Wait out here,” he heard someone shout to the guy behind the Jeep who had shot at him. “If he jumps out that window, cut him to shreds.”
The next thing he heard was the sound of footsteps front around the front and the barn door thrown open. Someone stepped in. Hauck pushed his back against the wall, hidden by the wall of hay bales.
Whoever it was crouched behind the inside tractor. Hauck moved away from the ledge, his arm limp, as an extended spray of gunfire shredded the spot around the window where he’d just been.
“You wanted to meet, Mr. Hauck, well here I am …” the guy called out.
Robertson.
“Don’t be so shy … I’m easy to talk to. Your niece certainly seemed to find it that way.” He slithered his way around the tractor and the wall of hay bales, intermittently spraying gunfire up in Hauck’s direction. Hauck scrambled down onto the stack of bales, a trail of gunfire following him. He was safe for the time being, hidden behind the bales. But he was also trapped in here. And outmanned.
“You ought to just come out.” Robertson jammed in a fresh ammo clip. “It makes me mad as hell when I have to go dig someone out. Did a lot of that back in the day. Overseas.” Hauck heard him going along the wall of hay below, looking up, spraying sporadic gunfire whenever he thought he saw a shadow or something moving, sending Hauck to the floor, his arm on fire.
“Taking fathers away from their families … Not fun work. But trust me, that was only the start of
things. But you already know all about that, right …”
Hauck crawled along the top of the stacks of bale. There were maybe fifty or sixty piled high in three-foot cubes. A metal hook that was probably used as a stacking device hung loosely from a pulley maybe ten feet away.
“Why am I telling you all this …? I guess, so you know this kind of shit is nothing to me. It’s what I do. Look at the Watkins boy. And your niece, right …? Only she was a wily one. I’ll get my chance again. But let me tell you what your best chance is …”
He unleashed a prolonged burst of gunfire up at Hauck, shredding hay bales a couple of feet away. Hauck crouched behind them in a ball, his shoulder throbbing, and tried to figure out how he was going to get out of here alive.
“To me, your best chance is to throw down whatever you still got up there and come on out while you can. And here’s why … You like a good steak, Mr. Hauck? You know, right off the fire, smelling like hickory chips. Mmmm, I sure do. Well, that’s exactly what’s about to happen to you. A burnt piece of meat, Mr. Hauck.”
Gunfire erupted from what seemed inside the main house, then Hauck heard a single shotgun blast. Watkins. Hauck hoped the farmer had hit home.
“So check out what I have here, Mr. Hauck. I know you can see me. From between one of those bales …” Hauck leaned through a crack in the stacks and saw Robertson, at least his arm, high in the air, holding up one of the Molotov cocktails the Mexicans had made.
“It certainly didn’t do a whole lot of damage outside. That’s for sure. But I bet in here, with all this hay, we’ll have a totally different result. Probably all go up in one big whoosh. Tons of smoke. Suck all the oxygen out. Not to mention the heat. One big ol’ barbecue. Take about three or four minutes, I suspect, for the whole place to go up. You willing to burn to a crisp in here, Mr. Hauck? For some ol’ farmer you only know a couple of days? Who’s probably dead now anyway. Or some kid on a river you never even met? So I was saying … short of jumping out the window from up there and having my guy outside shoot you up like a duck with one wing, your best chance, seems to me, is to just show your face and save us all the aggravation and the mess. I’m sure Mr. Watkins would appreciate saving his barn, too. If he’s still alive, that is …”
One Mile Under Page 28