by Reed Hill
Callie beamed a broad smile, “They’re Mrs. Brodie’s.” She looked down and kicked out a boot playfully, causing a shot of pain through up her back, “Mine were a pretty much…done.” She rubbed her neck, and told herself not be so animated. Her neck objected to quick the movements.
“You look great,” Jeff looked at her, leaning back to take in the entire ensemble from head to boot. “It suits you. I’m guessing it’s not your first time in jeans and boots.”
“I grew up in outfits like this at my parents’ ranch near Sweetwater,” she enjoyed his hand her arm. Despite his haggard countenance, she still found him incredibly handsome with the stubble coming up on his dimpled chin and cheeks, contrasting his regal nose. “The question is ‘how comfortable is Jeff Doyle in a pair of cow-pie-kickers and jeans?’” A bit of a giggle escaped her lips and she cut it off thinking it sounded childish.
Jeff Doyle turned his head and offered a wide grin, “Well, I do all right for a city boy, I guess. There weren’t many cow-pies around Highland Park, I must admit, but I kicked my fair share of crap in the Army.”
Callie let out a loud laugh at the image as they turned to walk through the kitchen, “I bet you did.”
She relished the moment as they strolled arm in arm to the hearth room, but a glance at the courtyard through the large windows reminded her how she got here and how Bill Meacham had died. She abruptly felt a little ashamed to be standing around flirting like a sorority girl while he lay dead somewhere on this ranch.
“Hey, where’d you go?” he pulled back his hand from her arm and turned toward her, trying to see her eyes.
“I was thinking about Meacham,” she said softly looking down at the travertine and examining a maze of tiny cracks in the red tile. She felt his hand lift her chin up until she was looking into his steel blue eyes.
“This has been one agonizing day for all of us,” his expression was kind, reassuring and then narrowing as his brow furrowed. He inched a little closer. “I have something I want to bounce off you,” he was nearly whispering. “It’s about my boss, Lopez.”
Callie wasn’t sure where this was coming from, and nodded lightly, “Okay, yeah. What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure,” he put his hand on her arm again, and she took a quick glance at it before coming back to his face.
“Let’s go out on the patio and let me describe it away from…others,” Doyle straightened up and peered around while pulling her toward the front door. A large Texas Ranger was just inside and looked at the two of them, “Don’t leave the courtyard okay?”
“We’ll just be out here on the porch for a minute,” Doyle pointed to the covered patio that covered the front door.
“In that case, would you all mind the door for a second? I really need to hit the washroom.”
“Sure, no problem,” Callie waved him off.
They went out and he drew her close over by one of the large stucco pillars of the entrance, “Okay, I wanted to give you a heads-up. Something is going on with Lopez.” His face was very serious.
“Tell me,” her eyebrows tensed and she edged a little closer. “What’s going on?”
“So in that meeting earlier with the Governor and Lopez,” his voice was still not much more than whisper. “We’ve just finished the brief with the Texas Guard Commanders, and you saw when Lopez goes for his briefcase, right?”
“Yeah,” Callie groaned and leaned against the stucco close to Jeff, “the toad was trying to make you look bad in front of the Governor.”
Doyle passed it off with a little frown and the nudge of his hand, “He’s always doing that – putting me in my place. So, he drops his wireless as he goes for his briefcase and I pick it for him.”
“Nice of you.” Callie tightened her eyes sort of puzzled.
“Yeah, but we’re supposed to be on a communication lockdown, and I see texts on his phone. Written using code words. From a guy called El Chacal to him under the moniker Rodeo Maestro talking about ‘Papa Bear’ and El Chacal saying he’s going on a ‘Bear Hunt’. Really out there. Lopez is trying to get the Governor killed. There were GPS coordinates too.”
“Good Lord,” Callie’s hand had jumped to her mouth. “He’s talking to somebody about having the Governor killed. Are you sure, Jeff?”
“Yeah,” his voice had risen, and he ducked a little taking his tone down.
As she considered the implications of that, a lovely young blond girl hopped out the door with a bucket in her hand. Jeff looked at her and then put his focus back on Callie, who stood silent with her eyes moving quickly. GPS coordinates? Chief of Staff Lopez has betrayed the Governor. We’re all in danger.
Without looking Doyle shouted over his shoulder at the teenager who was quickly skipping toward the edge of the courtyard, “The Ranger said to stay close okay?”
“I’m just going to the garden – I’ll be back really quick” the blond teen was halfway there.
Callie thought about saying something else, but she was about to the garden and would a teenage girl even listen?
“We need to tell the Governor.” Jeff’s arms shot down. “Lopez has to explain that, because it really looks bad.”
“Yeah,” Callie pushed herself away from the house and the two turned to the door. “It’s really bad.”
“I’ll need to talk to my friend who owns this place. He’s running security outside, and this might mean something is going down.” Jeff stopped Callie and whispered in her ear as the Ranger came back and nodded to them reclaiming his post, “Those GPS coordinates mean something’s coming down on us. Something very, very bad.”
A wave of nausea his Callie as Jeff grabbed her hand.
“Come on,” Jeff pulled her inside. “We’ve got to find out what’s going on.”
*****
The sudden barking of a dog made Haslett’s head pivot. He performed a fast multi-level scan of the area and saw the animal a few hundred yards away back toward the orchards, just going nuts barking.
It was then he spotted the movement in the trees. Haslett blinked his eyes, because he couldn’t believe what he saw. Brodie’s tall blond daughter was out in the apple orchard, bucket in one hand, reaching into the trees picking apples with the other. He relaxed for a minute, but the dog continued to bark like the world was on fire.
That’s when he saw the crouching men.
He turned to signal to his partner when he saw Finnegan’s head snap backwards as if it had been pulled with a string at the hands of some cruel puppet master. The spray of crimson told the story of the lethality of the shot. Finnegan took one reeling step before he collapsed into the dust. Expecting a crack of a rifle shot that never came, Haslett knew they were being sniped.
Move!
The muffled scream from the girl caused Haslett to look back at the orchards where he saw two men descend on the tall blonde, clutching dirty hands over her mouth. Haslett ran forward up the rise and hit the dirt and saw a third man acting as a lookout.
Dammit why did these bastards only give me three of these little rounds?
The two men had the girl over their shoulders and were starting to take her up a little hill. Haslett cursed knowing that Finnegan had the radio. He couldn’t go back and get it. Another thirty seconds and the bastards were going to be over the rise and down into the swale beyond.
If they get her over that hill, she’s done.
Danny Haslett’s mind raced as he put the two spare rounds in his mouth. He looked back at Finnegan – who wasn’t moving. He cursed to himself and did a crouching sprint up the rise to a stand of bee brush and hit the dirt, splaying out his feet and peering through the cheap little 4x scope. The thugs were halfway up the ridge and Haslett did his best to slow his breathing as he put the crosshairs over the lookout, who was shuffling backwards up the hillside, revolver in hand, and watching all around him. Haslett looked at the wind pushing the dusty air and tried to quiet his mind.
Six inch holdover, four inches left windage.
Another twenty seconds and these guys were going to be gone, taking the innocence of that girl with them. Haslett felt the thump of his heartbeat as he settled his cheek-weld and found his target. Center mass, cross hairs on his right collar bone. Between breaths, Danny Haslett smoothly pulled back on the trigger.
Dear God, make me your instrument.
Chapter 16
Three Eagles Ranch
Outside of Hunt, Texas - July 5th, 2017 – 8:25 p.m.
The crack of a rifle shot made Brodie spin around, scanning the ranch. He pulled the radio to his lips. “This is Brodie. We have a shot fired, sounds like from the south or the east. Everyone report!” He stood up on the quad runner looking over to the east, but he saw nothing from his vantage point north of the main house.
“This is Kirk. We’re clear over at the northeast.”
“This is Duggan in the northwest. Looks clear here.”
“This is Tucker. All clear in the southeast.”
Brodie waited for the call from the southwest.
Nothing.
He cursed and pounded at the quad runner as it squealed out at the three attempts to get the electric starter to fire up. He reached and grabbed the radio from his hip with his left hand, “Southwest, report. Come in Finnegan.”
No response.
Brodie replaced the radio at his hip and took control of the ATV, twisting the throttle to max as he sped across the main lot. What the hell is happening?
*****
Haslett slammed the bolt back, throwing the empty casing out and snatched a round from between his teeth, replacing it in the receiver and slamming the bolt back down in about two seconds. His eye was back on the glass in a moment and he saw his first target, writhing on the ground grabbing his sternum. The pair carrying the girl stumbled a little as they wrestled with her, and that’s when Danny’s blood ran cold.
He saw the back of a pickup obscured behind some brush. He watched through the cross-hairs as they set the girl down on the edge of the truck tailgate, and when she sat up flailing her hands, one of the two, a greasy one with a black leather vest, gave her the back of his hand sending her flying further back in the truck bed. I have to do something. Fast.
The thug jumped to the back of the truck on his knees, sliding forward to tie up the girl with a yellow plastic tow-rope that lay in the back. Haslett took a deep breath and tried to calm his pounding pulse as the second thug, the one in the dirty tank top with the red bandana wrapped on his forehead, turned and faced the action in the back of the truck, taking out the pistol held in his belt.
The girl was screaming, and he saw her eyes widen as the red-bandana criminal turned and started to get into the truck bed. For a moment, the red bandana bobbed as he climbed up the tailgate. The black vested one moved closer toward the girl rope in hand. Haslett breathed out slowly and felt the breeze pass over him as he settled the cross-hairs just over the bouncing red bandana, trying to track with its movements. He felt a mosquito buzzing around his ears and inwardly tried forget about it.
Steady now – like a rock.
Haslett heard the faint screaming of the girl in his ears as the wind kicked up the dust in front of him, and there was the whine of an engine off in the distance. The black-vested thug was about to pounce and the red bandana bounded up perfectly in line with black leather, shiny in the last glints of the fading sunset. He pushed the sounds of the world away and ignored the mosquito that had settled on his neck.
Almighty God in Heaven, help me do your will.
He found a spot just above and left of the red bandana as it moved, and he gently squeezed the stiff trigger. The little rifle kicked like a spoiled three-year old against his shoulder, and he saw the force ripple of the bullet in flight as it hit just below the red bandana. The thug dropped the pistol and grabbed at his neck, falling forward in the truck bed, landing on the legs of his partner, who was writhing as he dropped the yellow rope.
Haslett saw the girl’s open-mouthed shriek, noting that most of her was covered with bloody spray as if someone had turned an aerosol paint can on her. The black-vested thug teetered on his knees as his hands rose to clutch his chest and then fell forward next to the screaming teen.
The crying girl sat up and managed to roll over the side of the truck bed landing in a heap in the dust, and Haslett lost sight of her when someone seized him by the shoulders and pulled him up off the ground.
*****
Brodie heard another shot from very close by, and suddenly saw Danny Haslett on his belly, rifle pointed off in the distance. He leapt off the ATV, letting it roll away and ran to Haslett, snatching him up off the ground, “Haslett what the hell do you think you are doing?” He dropped his rifle, which hung awkwardly from his forearm and pulled Haslett closer, “Why are you shooting?”
Haslett dropped his rifle, and in that moment Brodie saw movement off in the distance. Oh my God. Is that Lauren? He spied the truck and the dead thugs as Lauren tried to get to her feet and fell on all fours heaving and spitting.
Danny Haslett pushed himself away from Brodie. “Damn, man. Get off me! I was just trying to help the girl.”
Brodie was already running through the brush down the swale toward his daughter, who was covered in blood. His heart was racing, and Haslett said something else but he couldn’t make it out. It seemed like an eternity as he sprinted across the rocky little valley and up the hill toward her. His lungs began to cry out for air. She better be all right. He came closer, seeing the dark red stains that covered her as she turned and fell on her back.
I’ll kill the son-of-a-bitch if she’s hurt.
Brodie flashed to the moment he and his twenty-year -old bride were bringing home their precious little package from the hospital. They had been too blissful to care about how exhausted they were as they made the drive through the country, and his mom and dad had been for them in the courtyard of the ranch, arms draped around each other. His father’s stern gaze softening as a broad smile appeared inside the short brown beard peppered with gray, and he slapped Brodie on the shoulder. His mother was beaming warmth as he hugged Sara and then her son.
If my baby girl is shot, there will be hell to pay.
*****
“Governor, I think we have a problem.” Doyle came into the kitchen with Callie closely on his heels. They dropped their grip on one another’s hand as they took up stance in front of the Governor. Doyle didn’t see Lopez anywhere nearby, so he took a step forward and looked the Governor in the eyes, “There are people descending on this farm and I believe they have it mind to kill you, and the rest us too.”
“We’ve been betrayed,” Callie glared at Lopez who appeared in the doorway to the dining room.
“How’s that possible?” Lopez had his hands on his hips, and gently slipped one hand in his pocket and the other behind his back.
“Good, God,” Chase gasped, looking around when he heard the crack of gunfire coming from somewhere outside.
“You know, Joe.” Doyle walked to the center of the kitchen, casually moving between the Governor and Lopez. “To find out precisely, we would need to look at your wireless.” Doyle took a step closer to Lopez, who shuffled backwards into the dining room.
“What the hell are you talking about, Doyle?” Lopez took another step back.
“Jeff, what’s this about?” the Governor moved away from the kitchen sink and window there, as another shot rang out somewhere nearby on the ranch.
“We’re under attack, and Lopez has brought them here,” Doyle took another step toward Lopez, who backed up once more, continuing their antagonistic dance.
“Nonsense,” Lopez hissed like a coiled snake as his backside hit the dining room table.
“The evidence is on his wireless,” Callie shot back, pointing as Lopez feverishly dug his handheld from his pants pocket.
Doyle started to make a move toward Lopez, but stopped as the squat turncoat produced a small semiautomatic pistol from his pocket.
“Don’t mak
e a move,” Lopez sneered and produced the wireless from his pocket with one hand, pointing the gun with the other toward Doyle and the Governor, who was just behind him. “It doesn’t matter what happens from here. The Governor is already dead, and I’m walking out of here. There’s a revolution under way. Can’t you see it? The southwest is going to back to Latino rule. Not just Texas, but Arizona, New Mexico and California too.” Lopez paused, fumbling with the handheld, and risked a quick glance at it before setting his gaze on Doyle, “I’m going to be an important man in the new government of Norte Mexico, Jeff. I’ll have a place for you in it. Be smart.”
What was he offering? Did he really think I would want to work for him?
“Joe, stop this madness,” the Governor bared his hands to the Chief of Staff. “Put the gun down.”
“Come on Jeff,” Lopez looked at Doyle. “The Governor is going to end up dead. I can see to it that you, and your lovely friend here,” he bobbed the gun toward Callie, “make it out alive.”
Jeff’s mind raced. Maybe I should do it? If it meant Callie would survive.
“Put it down, Joe,” he repeated, crouching down ever so slightly. “There’s been enough killing today.”
“Oh, there will be more,” Lopez started to fiddle once more with the handheld, “but it doesn’t have to be you. I’m going to be the Governor of Texas or New Mexico. Maybe both combined, Jeff. I’ll need people I know around me. People who can work with the public. Think about it.” He was trying to use the wireless one-handed and it made Doyle pause.
No, he’s an opportunist. Trying to bend the odds.
He’s using me.
When Lopez looked down to type again, Doyle reached and drew the 9mm Brodie lent him from under his un-tucked shirt. Sensing Doyle’s movement Lopez looked up and raised the gun.