Chad figured the country boys were in Pacheco’s scope, their denim-clad asses filling his reticle. By swimming the river, both Chad and the boy had these guys dead to rights on the wrong side of their roadblock. The only thing left was the crying.
Chad stood up behind the engine block of the Chevy Blazer and took his time formulating what he would say. He didn’t like to rush a sweet coup de grâce.
“If you turn around, I’m going to shoot you another asshole, right through your Wranglers.”
Of course, the dumbest one of the bunch turned around, startled.
Boom!
Chad’s 1911 punched a hole in the guy’s shoulder, deliberately hitting him off-center.
“Stay put, dumb ass!” Chad yelled. The guy he’d shot whimpered loudly.
“Shut up, numb nuts. Put your guns down on the asphalt and show me your hands over your heads.”
The boys complied.
As soon as they were disarmed, Chad glanced over his shoulder, checking his six. About seventy yards down the road, he saw a shadow scamper across the pavement—Pacheco, moving to cover the road from town in case someone heard the shots and came to investigate.
Navy SEAL material, Chad smiled. The boy had just needed a bad-ass instructor.
“Step away from the roadblock backward and stand in front of your lawn chairs.” The cowboys shuffled back toward the chairs. “Keep your hands straight up, shitkickers. Look straight forward. Don’t look at me.”
Chad walked behind and checked them one at a time for other weapons, finding a handgun and a knife on all but the guy he’d shot.
“Now sit your asses down.” The guy who’d been shot squealed as he flopped into the chair.
“Where are the other guards?” Chad yelled at them.
“There ain’t no one but us.”
“Well, if anyone else shows up, I’ll be ventilating your fool heads. So speak up now or you’ll get some brain juice in your lap.”
“Honest. It’s just us.”
Chad slipped off his go-bag and pulled out a roll of duct tape, still soggy. He stepped to the side of the biggest cowboy, a sloppy-gutted giant of a boy, and dropped the duct tape into his lap.
“Okay, Lennie Small, you’re going to tape these two other shitkickers real tight to their chairs and you’re going to do it without looking at me. I’ll save you the trouble. I’m a Special Forces operator and I have a huge hand cannon and night vision goggles. You’re about as fucked as it gets, so your best play here is to go with my program. If you don’t believe me, it’s all good. I’ve got plenty of night-night pills in this hand cannon.”
Even though Chad was positive the hicks wouldn’t catch his Steinbeck reference to Lennie Small, it amused him and he had to take his pleasure where he could get it.
As soon as the big cowboy finished, Chad ordered him back to his chair and taped him up, too.
Chad refocused his NVGs and walked around to the guns the boys had left on the ground.
“Hot damn,” he said and whistled. Two AR-15s and another long rifle with a scope. “Now that wouldn’t happen to be a 30-06, would it?” Chad looked at his prisoners and one of them nodded.
“Sweet.” Chad scooped the guns up and ran them over to the Blazer, popping the back door and awkwardly tossing them inside. Next, he ran back and grabbed the handguns and knives, dumping them in the Blazer, too.
Chad whistled and Pacheco came running.
“I’d love to stay and drink with you, boys, but we gotta git. At some point, I imagine your mamas will come looking for you for breakfast, and I wouldn’t want any of them to be tempted by my sweet loving and maybe bail on your papas.”
Pacheco jumped in the Blazer, moving to the “getaway” phase of the plan. He fired up the SUV and flashed the headlights four times, Audrey’s signal to drive the Jeep forward.
Chad hopped in one of the beater trucks and backed it out of blocking position. Audrey rolled though the gap and Chad climbed out. Before he shut off the ignition, he paused.
It was a stupid idea, but he couldn’t help himself. He ran over to the big cowboy and pulled off one of his boots. Chad ran back to the old pickup, still idling.
He jammed the boot on top of the gas pedal, making the engine scream like a chimp on fire. Chad shut the door, reached in the window and threw the gear selector in reverse.
The truck launched into gear and just about ripped Chad’s arm off. It caromed into the other truck, crossed the lanes and punched through the guardrail, falling eighty feet into the Medicine Bow River.
Chad couldn’t hold back his shit-eating grin, even though his arm hurt like hell.
Audrey gave him the look of death. “Asshole,” she said.
He ran around to the driver’s side of the Jeep, switching places with his ex, and sped off into the night, westbound, with Pacheco following behind him in the Blazer.
Ten miles down the road, Chad turned onto a dirt road, and Pacheco followed him. They pulled over and Chad came round to the passenger side of the Blazer. He yanked the door open and the dome light came on.
“Lookey here.” Chad could see that the backseat and the rear cargo compartment were full of supplies. Ammo, food, booze, and the guns Chad had taken from the men. Apparently, the Blazer was where the cowboys stored the “road tolls” for the day.
Pacheco hopped out and opened the tailgate. Chad joined him.
“We’re in business. High five, amigo.” Chad held up his hand. Pacheco smiled big, looking like he was twelve years old. He gave Chad a big high five.
“Good swim?” Chad joked. “Was it like when you swam into los Estados Unidos?”
Pacheco had no problem understanding the insinuation and he glared at Chad.
“I crossed the border in a minivan.”
9
“THIS IS YOUR HOST AND humble servant, JT Taylor, getting the evening started with a brown bottle and a bunch of news―none of it good.
“Two days ago, Turkey decided to roll into Iraq with their main fighting force, blowing past the Kurds and working their way toward the oil fields. Not sure there’s much of a market for oil right now, boys, but old dreams die hard, I suppose.
“Here’s where I read the list of cities that’re now burning: San Fran, Sacramento, San Diego, San Antonio―shitty night for ‘S’ cities, apparently. Phoenix is burning. There’s a ‘P’ city for you. So, that’s pretty much all of them. All of the cities are burning, so please stop calling me and asking which cities are burning. You’re harshing my mellow.
“Oh, and Europe. I got a questionable call from one of our Army bases in Germany saying that ISIS is taking down civilian targets. How the hell did ISIS get to Germany? Weren’t they in Syria?…”
Peña Residence
Rose Park, Salt Lake City, Utah
Life was serving Francisco a fleeting opportunity, like a beautiful woman across a room—once she walked away, the threads of fate would whither to dust and there would be nothing but regret. He needed to act now and act with boldness.
The American ways were quickly dying. The blood of white Americans had grown thinner each decade with greed, wealth and too much power. They turned their backs on their poor. They cast their elderly aside. They slaved away in corporations to buy one week per year on a beach in Mexico, sipping drinks and tanning their lily-white skin in the sunshine.