Hawke's Prey Page 4

  “Lordy.”

  “Yep.”

  Chapter 7

  The team of disgruntled Americans intended to change their country through revolution. Such an uprising worked in 1776, and they could see no reason why it couldn’t happen again.

  Richard Carver was their self-proclaimed “captain.” In between drinking beer and watching movies like the original Red Dawn, and Black Hawk Down, he’d trained the weekend warriors on his farm near Elgin, Texas, two weekends a month for the past five years. They called themselves Texas Regulars, and the tatted, rawboned men with military “high and tight” cuts had met in Valentine the day before.

  He had more than seventy-five believers in his “company,” but the three in the cab of his truck were the ones he trusted with his life. They were the cream of his crop and had pledged to give their lives for the Cause.

  Richard was anxious to get going, but they waited for half an hour before a fifth man joined them. They killed time talking about the upcoming mission in the warmth of Richard’s thirdhand H2 idling outside a local café when an elderly man tapped on the window.

  Richard’s right-hand man, Tom Jordan, rolled the passenger window down. “You looking for us?”

  “Wicked sent me. I’m Reddy Freddy.”

  “How old are you, Pops?”

  The man hadn’t shaved his gray beard in over a week. “Old enough to know better.”

  Richard jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Get in the back.”

  He opened the back door to find two others already occupying the window seats and waited in uncomfortable silence until a wiry man stepped out. “You get in the middle, old man.”

  He slid across, sat with both knees together to keep from touching the others, and stared straight ahead. He knew what their jobs were, but he had a different role in the revolution.

  One that didn’t require a gun.

  They were out of town minutes later. No one said a word until they met Burt Bowden at a scenic pullout not far from Ballard.

  Chapter 8

  I gave Mr. Beck a grin and a slap on his bony shoulder as a gust of wind plucked at my clothes. Not even the heavy material of his jacket could put any semblance of meat on his bones.

  The pop of metal and a soft crunch stopped us before we could get inside. We turned to see Burt Bowden’s truck and trailer headed in our direction. South Charles dead-ended at the courthouse and he must have been going too fast through town before hitting his brakes. The trailer started to jackknife at the turn and he came close to sliding up on the sidewalk before getting her reined in at the curb.

  We were close enough to see one another, but Burt turned his head so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact. He had a history of run-ins with the local law over the past several years after losing part of the family ranch to back taxes. Instead of letting the county auction his whole place, he sold off half his property for the funds, reducing his income but keeping the home place. Since then, Burt was angry with anyone who was part of the “government.” That included me, the school board, and the highway patrol, just to name a few.

  I didn’t recognize the bearded guy in a sock cap riding shotgun. That wasn’t a surprise. The new beard craze was making friends and family unrecognizable. I couldn’t wait for that one to pass, along with sagging pants and bubblegum country music.

  Without acknowledging us, Burt steered right and made an immediate left to loop around the square, skidding toward the sheriff’s car parked on the street. He let off the gas and made another left behind the courthouse.

  “Well, if that don’t beat all.” Mr. Beck kept a close eye on the icy steps. I matched his slow pace up the courthouse steps. “Burt knows better’n that.”

  I put my hand on Mr. Beck’s back, just to make sure he didn’t slip. He didn’t say anything, probably because he knew what a broken hip would cost him.

  The chattering of my wife’s class filtered through the closed doors, and Mr. Beck laughed at the sound. “I swear. If I knew then what I know now . . .”

  Chapter 9

  The mid-century modern sheriff’s office across the street looked as out of place in the historic town as a cat in a doghouse. A good man in all ways, Sheriff Ethan Armstrong sipped at the foam cup full of coffee he picked up at the Chat ’N Chew and watched Sonny Hawke and Mr. Beck making their slow way through the storm. The falling snow made it difficult to see much farther than the Texas Ranger and the rancher he’d known all his life.

  Ethan knew Sonny wanted nothing more than to be back on the job. He smoothed his brush-pile mustache and took another sip of the strong but lukewarm coffee. Burt Bowden’s pickup and horse trailer almost jackknifed at the dead-end in front of the courthouse before sliding to a stop against the curb. It looked like he’d picked a bad time to move stock. Ethan relaxed when Burt straightened the heavy rig and crept to the corner.

  “Roads are gettin’ bad.” Deputy Frank Malone tore his attention from the tube TV mounted high on the wall and joined Ethan at the window, finger through the handle of his own coffee cup. Ten years younger than the sheriff, he was growing his own thin and listless mustache.

  Ethan grunted. “Most lawmen get their information from the DOT, not the local weatherman.”

  Frank took a sip. “Us younger folks use everything available to us, including Facebook and Twitter. We need to get one of those flat-panel TVs and throw that antique in the ditch.”

  Ethan didn’t take his eyes off the Ranger. “Young people have given up on Facebook. They’re into other things now.”

  “Dayum. You know more than you let on.”

  “Um humm. And I know Burt’s driving like he had a stroke or something. He oughta at least kick them wipers to a higher speed.”

  Burt turned left and gave it too much gas again. The trailer’s tires broke free, and Ethan was sure the rear end was going to hit his cruiser. He hunched his shoulders. Deputy Malone hissed through his teeth. They waited for the impact, but Burt regained control and the trailer came back into line, missing Ethan’s car by a hair.

  He took the next left much slower and stopped at the curb on the “back,” or the west side of the building.

  “He knows better’n that.” Ethan switched his gaze back to Sonny and Mr. Beck Terrill, indistinct behind the white lace of falling snow. “Burt’s been driving longer than I’ve been kicking up grasshoppers.”

  “Snow makes people act funny.” Deputy Malone’s attention turned back to the television mounted high on the wall. “The TV says some of the roads were already closed because of the ice, and the rest of the highway’ll shut down pretty soon. Checked in on the radio, too, boss, just to make you feel better. Both TexDot and the highway patrol says it’s worse in El Paso, Midland, and even over in Ft. Stockton. We’re in kind of a belly here right now that’s gonna fill in pretty quick ’cause it’s snowing heavy over in Alpine. They say it’s a hurricane meeting a blue norther. It’ll be bad for a while.”

  Ethan considered the day. “You prob’ly need to let the Mayo brothers out, then.”

  Wild and free as old-time cowhands, Danny and Luke Mayo were single, middle-aged, hard-working brothers who lived to ranch, but when the weather went bad, they headed for town. The boys dropped by the Chat ’N Chew café if they hit town before noon. After dinner, they made a beeline for the Sagebrush Bar, the local watering hole, where they stayed until their pocket money ran out or the weather cleared.

  “You gonna charge them with anything?”

  “Naw, Danny was asleep in the backseat of their truck when I found ’em parked in front of the Posada, and Luke was sawing logs on the passenger side. We’ll do ’em a favor this time, since neither one was behind the wheel. Besides, they need to get gone. If this is as bad as they say it’s gonna be, they’ll need to tend to their cows. We’ll charge ’em next time.”

  “I hope they won’t be too late getting back.”

  “Well, they never drove slow in their lives.” Ethan realized the snow was getting heavier. H
e turned away from the window.

  Chapter 10

  I held the metal-and-glass door for Mr. Beck and followed him into warmth and a wall of noise. He flinched. “I need to go wet. I’ll see you d’rectly.” He threw me a wave and headed for the ground-floor restroom.

  My little brunette wife, who weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet and full of bananas, was square in the middle of the hallway intersection under the rotunda. Yapping schoolkids surrounded her, every one of them talking a mile a minute and more thrilled about the snow than the tour of the building. Overhead, half a dozen renegades on the second floor leaned over the circular railing, testing the strength of the pecan banister and railing, I guessed.

  Kelly caught my eye, waved, and mouthed one word. “Help.” One of the girls whispered in her ear and her distinctive laugh mixed with the rest of the excited voices.

  I flashed back to the first time I really paid attention to her. She was sitting in her daddy’s truck when we were in high school, a cigarette in one hand and a cold Coors between her legs. Her daddy didn’t know she smoked or drank, and we kept that little teenage rebellion to ourselves. They’d just moved from Houston, and she was the most exotic thing I’d ever seen.

  Lordy, even after all those years of marriage, that gal’s smile made me want to take her in my arms right then and there.

  Her students were running around like chickens with their heads cut off. She rolled her eyes. I gave her a wink and thought about wrestling with her later that night after the kids went to bed, with a fire in the master-bedroom fireplace and the snow piling up outside.

  “One second.” I knew she couldn’t hear me, but I held up an index finger and ducked into the first office on the right to pick up an envelope for my superior, Major Chase Parker. Captains used to run the Ranger companies, and mine was Company E, but they changed things here awhile back and put us under majors.

  The wooden door was open and a little round secretary was at her desk, talking into a desk phone. Carlita hadn’t changed a bit in all the years I’d known her. She built a smile bookended by two deep dimples and palmed the phone’s mouthpiece. “Hang on a minute, Joy. Hey, Sonny. It isn’t ready yet. Mr. Calvert’s on his way in but the snow slowed him up. He said to give him about half an hour.”

  “Morning, girl. I need to drop something off upstairs anyway. I’ll be with Kelly and her class. I bet Dollins won’t be hard to find.”

  Carlita jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “He’s in that satellite office of his back here.”

  “He offices down here now?”

  “Since about a year ago. His knees are bad and he was tired of that creaky elevator. He still uses the second-floor office when court’s in session, but his new schedule pushes appearances back to three times a week. Hang on and I’ll tell him you’re here in a sec.”

  She went back to her conversation. “No, Joy, it isn’t scheduled until January sixth, and then I don’t know if the judge will grant an extension . . .”

  Katie Bright slipped past me, cradling two cups of coffee with one hand and talking on her cell phone. “Hey Ranger.” A little bundle of energy, she shared secretarial duties in the tax office with Sally Gordon. She puckered up and gave me a Betty Boop air-kiss.

  “Behave, my wife’s around the corner.”

  Katie raised her eyebrows twice. She put one of the cups on Carlita’s desk, leaned a hip against it, and continued her conversation as if we weren’t even there. “Daddy, you never answer your phone. Anyway, it’s snowing like we live in Colorado. They’re talking feet of the stuff before it’s over with. There’s kids here on a field trip, but I bet they’ll shut the schools down by dinner. We’ll probably all go home, too, about then . . .”

  The kids weren’t the only ones excited about the snow. I doubted there’d be much work done by anyone after noon. Not interested in settling in for the day, Sally Gordon, the redheaded firecracker from across the hall, inclined her head toward Katie. “She’s right, Sonny. Did you hear about how deep it’s supposed to get?”

  “The snow, or the bullshit from Judge Dollins?” He’d been around for years and liked to tell stories. The storm would impact the day, and I knew the Judge’d wind up holding his own personal court in there with the girls when everything slowed down.

  Sally laughed. “The snow, silly.”

  “More’n we’ve ever seen.” I handed Carlita an envelope and pointed toward the back. I turned back to Sally. “Tell the old fart to shut it all down and y’all go home. See ya later.”

  “I wish.”

  I gave Katie a good-bye wink. She returned it and kept on leaving her message to her dad in Washington.

  Bracing myself, I stepped back into the short hallway that led to the noisy rotunda full of high school juniors. The smell of the courthouse reminded me of my college library, old books and Pine-Sol. I took a deep breath and grinned at the animated kids.

  Kelly clapped her hands until the chattering tapered off. “Quiet down, everyone. You’ll all get the chance to tour the building in a little while, but right now we’re going upstairs to the Grand Jury room. Remember, the Grand Jury’s responsible for reviewing all criminal cases filed by any law-enforcement agencies, including federal authorities, where the crime occurred in Presidio County . . . what, Christie?”

  “Are they going to cancel school because of the snow?”

  “Not until we finish here. Everyone! Off your phones. Put ’em on silent and in your pockets or purses or they’re mine until Christmas.”

  Groans and snickers filled the air, but after one last peek at their screens, they put away their devices. I knew her rules on phones in class and it was a surefire bet that she’d be collecting them if she caught anyone, but the losing battle against the technological tide showed no signs of ebbing.

  I made a note to bring up phones with Mary and Jerry over the supper table that night.

  I caught my son’s eye from across the room. Jerry’s a lot like me, with a head full of wavy red hair and an impulsive nature. His brief smile said he saw me but didn’t want to take it much further. I didn’t respond, remembering when I was his age. Peer pressure was strong, even among juniors.

  His twin, Mary, was with a gaggle of girls. She’d straightened her wavy strawberry-blonde hair that morning.

  A student tapped me on the shoulder and I looked down at the dark-haired girl who called Sheriff Ethan Armstrong Dad. She pointed up and at an angle in the general direction of the courtroom. “Mr. Sonny, will you have to appear up there over that shooting you were in?”

  I wondered if her interest was because of the careers in law enforcement her dad and I had chosen, or for other reasons. “Hey, Gillian. Yep, I’ll be up there pretty soon.”

  “I wish I could watch. I love field trips like this. I’ve decided I’m gonna make an attorney someday.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “Mr. Hawke?”

  The young lady beside her couldn’t have been any more different. With her blue-black hair and a darker complexion, Evangelina Nakai caught the eye of every boy in her class. Her dad was Gabriel Nakai, the Old Man’s hired hand on our family ranch that dated back to the 1880s.

  We were interrupted when Matt Burke hugged me around the waist. I grinned and hugged him back, because no one could ever be around Matt without getting some love from the happy little guy with Down syndrome.

  He pushed back and rubbed the badge on my shirt with a soft, chubby hand. “I’m gonna be a Ranger someday.” His speech sometimes made it hard for others to understand, but in our town, we’d all been around Matt enough to figure out what he said, even if his comments were sometimes confusing. “Can I come to work with you?”

  “You’d be bored, hoss. I’m on the desk right now, so all you’d see is a lot of paperwork.”

  “Don’t you have a TV there?”

  “Sure do, but we don’t get to watch it for fun. It stays on the news all the time.”

  His eyes still on my badge, he said, “
No, we’d watch movies. Do you have Finding Dory?”

  “Not at the office.”

  “Finding Nemo? That’s the first one.”

  “Sorry, buddy. Hey, did you know you have your shoes on the wrong feet?”

  He glanced down. “Yeah, I do, don’t I?”

  Kelly clapped again and pointed up. “All right, gang. Let’s go.”

  “We won’t all fit in the elevator.”

  “Kerry, we’re not riding it, because there’s too many of us and besides, we’re walking up those stairs. We all need the exercise.” Her voice went up a singsong lilt. “You people are lazzzyyyy! Please do not leave those empty water bottles sitting around. There’s a recycle bin beside each exit and I expect you to use them.”

  Exaggerated groans again filled the rotunda as the kids split up and flowed in opposite directions toward the north and south staircases. Gillian put her arm around Matt. “C’mon. Let’s see what’s upstairs.”

  Matt started to pull back, but Mary put her hand on his cheek and turned his head. “C’mon, boyfriend. It’ll be fun.”

  He gave her a sincere look. “You’re very kind, but no thank you. We’re talking.”

  Mary hugged him, and he leaned into her arms. “We’ll talk to Mr. Sonny later.”

  He gave in. “Okay. I’m gonna be a Ranger someday.”

  Gillian linked his other arm. “You’ll have to work hard.” She gave me a look that was years beyond her age, and they led Matt toward the stairs. I made a note to tell her daddy how good she was with him and caught Arturo’s eye.

  The short, skinny little junior was the smallest kid in high school. He had olive skin, combed and gelled hair, and looked more like a little package of trouble from Brooklyn than West Texas. He was still on the fence and could go either way, depending on what happened in the next year or two. I intended to do my part to try and steer him in the right direction.