by Hunt, Jack
“He didn’t work alone,” a man spoke up at the far back.
“Who said that?” He craned his neck.
A hand went up.
Bill didn’t know his name. They were just faces to him. He’d assigned recruitment to others, those within his loyal circle, those who he’d known since he’d gotten his feet wet in the world of drugs and sex trafficking. He motioned with two fingers. “Step forward.” The group parted and a young guy approached. “And who are you?”
“Gilbert Sanchez.”
“Sanchez?” Bill tapped the side of his chin. “Where have I heard that name before?” He moved closer and stared. He was at least ten years younger than him. Certainly brave to speak up after witnessing what he just had.
“I was put inside John Latorraca Correctional Facility last year for threatening violence on the teachers of the local high school.”
He clicked his fingers and smiled. “That’s right. Gilbert Sanchez. I remember the news reports about you. Tell me, Gilbert. What went wrong?”
“I trusted the wrong person. It won’t happen again.”
He smiled. “I like that. When did you arrive here?”
“Last night.”
“And how did you end up with us?”
He motioned over his shoulder to a few of his friends, ex-cons. “We got out at the same time. After visiting a few people, we heard you were recruiting. I know a smart man when I see one.”
Bill smiled. A compliment. He liked that. “Do you? You use dope?”
“No.”
“Even better.” He nodded. He was always on the lookout for new blood, those who were clear-headed. Those who didn’t need the incentive of drugs. “And so you were saying. The man who did this didn’t work alone. How do you know that?”
“Because I caught sight of the man who helped him before he rode away on horseback.”
“You could identify this man if you saw him again?”
“I can do one better. I can tell you who he is now.”
He smiled. “And who would that be?”
“My father. Hector Sanchez.”
It was like a lightning bolt struck him at that moment. “Your father?”
“That’s right.”
The others listened intently. Either this guy was stupid or they had more in common than he realized. “And why would he want to attack us?”
“You killed his dog. I mean, one of you did.” He shrugged.
“And this bothers you?”
Sanchez snorted. “If it did, I wouldn’t be here working for you.” Bill smirked and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
“Very good. Come, let us talk.” He bellowed at the others to get out there, search every house, every RV, every street for this man, and Sanchez’s father. Bill led him back to an old beat-up truck he’d obtained from an unwilling Gustine neighbor. “Take a seat inside.”
Sanchez hopped in and Bill got in the driver’s side. He offered him a cigarette. Sanchez took it and Bill lit the end, studying him. The tattoos, the confidence. He liked what he saw.
Bill said nothing for a minute or two, chewing over what he’d told him.
“So what is your relationship like with your father?”
“What relationship?” Sanchez replied. “It ended the day they sent me inside.”
“Hmm. He rejected you?”
“That’s right.”
“Did he visit you in prison?”
“Nope.”
“When were you released?”
“A few days ago.”
“And you waited until yesterday to come here and have a heart-to-heart talk with your old man?”
“I had business.”
“Business. Like?”
“Dealing with those who put me inside.”
He grinned. “And those would be?”
“The teachers, and a friend of mine.”
Bill was intrigued by this guy. All the other people who came to him were bums. Nothing but losers looking for handouts. Few showed any signs of potential. Sanchez reminded him of himself and his relationship with his father. Except his father hadn’t rejected him, he thought he could change him. Win him over. Bring him back into the fold like a lost sheep. But that wouldn’t happen. Not when his father had been the one to snitch on him. He couldn’t bring himself to kill his father but he had planned to make his existence a living hell — take what he had, prod, and poke him to get a reaction. That’s what he’d hoped to do when he had his guys take that Colby fella to his field. It was meant to shock him. To let him know that he hadn’t forgotten his betrayal.
“Gilbert Sanchez. I think you and I have a lot in common. Tell me more.”
Five miles from Santa Nella in the small community of Volta, Colby watched as the group of women prepared to continue into the safety of the city of Los Banos. It was the only place they knew where police were still operating in the county. Small towns and cities around had been evacuated to Los Banos because of its size. Instead of police trying to help multiple towns, they could just focus on one. It was easier that way. At least that’s what Hector had said.
After the raid, Colby thought Hector had been shot because they didn’t linger. He’d taken the women and headed across the highway and on to the nearest town of Volta to spend the night there. On their journey in the dead of night, Hector had appeared on the same road, riding like the dickens along Henry Miller Avenue.
“She said her name was Alicia Scott, that she was traveling with you, and your dog — Kane. Heading for a town called Garberville,” Callie said.
It sounded familiar. “What happened?”
“She didn’t elaborate. She said you were separated. I didn’t get to speak with her long as she was taken away.”
“That couple I saw you with. Matthew and Delores. Who were they?”
“I’m not sure. They help Bill. Lure in women in exchange for supplies. They are the ones that took her to Gustine.” She wrapped an arm around her sister tightly.
“Are you sure you can’t come with us?” Eva asked.
“I need to find them. Do you know where they were going in Gustine?”
“Yeah, there’s an auto repair shop just off Yosemite in the southwest of town. Be careful though because they’re not alone. It’s one of the main locations in Gustine.”
He thanked her.
“No, thank you,” Callie said. “I know you took a big risk helping my sister.”
Colby smiled and turned to Hector. “Well, my friend, it’s the end of the road. Thanks for helping me last night.”
“You know I got him.”
“Who?” Colby asked.
“The guy with the dragon tattoo.”
“But it was pitch dark last night.”
“Not through this night scope it isn’t,” he said, lifting his rifle and showing him. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
“No. Someone needs to keep these women safe. How many miles to the city from here?”
“Another five. I could get them there and meet you in Gustine.”
Colby smiled. He was pleased to see that there were still good people out there. Those who knew right from wrong. Those who wouldn’t stand by idly and let their community go to hell. “You’ve done enough, my friend.”
Hector removed the duffel bag strap from his shoulder. “Here. Take this. Extra ammo. Bulletproof vest. A few other goodies inside. Take it. You’ll need it.”
Colby thanked him.
Hector continued. “I will alert the military and police when we arrive. Hopefully, once they learn what’s happening in Gustine and Santa Nella, they will deal with this asshole. In the meantime, be careful.”
“You too. Safe journey. Keep off the roads.”
“Will do.” It was early morning when he watched them head out on foot. Hector had given him the horse to ride into Gustine. It would save a lot of time and hopefully, he could find Alicia, and she could fill in the missing pieces.
Bill was impressed with his
new friend. Not only had he offered up a name for the one responsible for the siege on the hotel, but he’d given him insights into how they could potentially take the gun store in Gustine. It was risky but doable. Up to this point, all attempts were met with extreme force by the owners. That wouldn’t change but now he had an idea.
First things first, he had a bone to pick with his father.
He’d taken Sanchez with him to test his loyalty. To see how he reacted. As much as he wanted to believe that Sanchez was among them to help, he had this nagging thought in the back of his mind that his father Hector had sent him among them to spy. Maybe that was how they’d managed to get by his men. If true, he would join the others that had chewed on a bullet.
“What is this place?” Sanchez asked.
“It was home once.”
The farm stretched out for miles before him. He’d sent in several of his men to collect horses and goods but hadn’t heard anything since. As they rolled up in front of his old home, the storm door opened, and his father stepped out, rifle in hand.
Bill parked the truck. He turned to Sanchez. “Remember what I said.”
He gave a nod and they got out.
“Is that how you welcome home your son?”
“It is when he sends men to steal, and take a young girl.”
He laughed and looked at Sanchez. “See. We are two peas in a pod. The same.” He turned his attention back to his father. “I hear Lazarus has risen from the grave. Is it true?” Having grown up in a religious household, he knew how much religion meant to his folks. It meant very little to him now.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“No? And what about my men who I sent here? Where are they?”
“Men? I never saw anyone. Maybe you should keep a tighter leash on your dogs.”
As Bill approached the house he saw fear in his father’s eyes. “Okay. Okay, let’s play your games. You do know lying is a sin, Father, yes? The Good Lord would not want you doing that. Now would he?”
His mother appeared beside his father.
“Ah, mother dearest. God's beautiful ray of holy light.” He chuckled.
“Bill. Don’t do this.”
“Do what? I was just telling father here that lying is a sin, isn’t that what you taught us? Isn’t that what the good book says?” He prowled before them, handgun dangling at the side of his body.
“Son. Listen to me,” his father said, trying to reach him.
“No, you listen to me. I am no longer your son, and you are no longer my father. Your son died the day you ratted on him. So I’m only going to ask this one more time. Is he alive?”
“He is,” Bill’s mother said.
“Finally. Some truth. Confirmation.”
She stepped down a few steps. “There is still hope, Bill. Please, come home.”
He ignored her. “And what about my niece?”
“Far away from here. Far away from you,” his father replied.
He smiled. “And my men?”
“Buried.”
Bill sucked air in as if he was astonished by their confession. “Murder. I never thought you were the killing type, Father. Or was it you, Mother?”
He waited on the answer, watching his father adjust his grip on the rifle.
“ANSWER THE QUESTION!” he bellowed. They remained quiet. He turned to Sanchez. “Parents. You can’t live with them, but you sure as hell can live without them.” Without any hesitation, Sanchez did as directed. His arm swung up, and he fired off a round before Bill’s father could lift the rifle. His mother screamed and fell on top of Jeb, but she soon went silent at the squeeze of the trigger.
Bill felt nothing. No remorse. No guilt.
This was freedom, and finally, he was free.
SIXTEEN
Hank Strickland
Humboldt County
Hank was pissed. He wanted to get his hands on Alby so bad he could already smell his blood. He didn’t think for one minute that he’d acted alone. That wasn’t the way either of their families worked. There were no lone wolves. It was a pack mentality, and he was the alpha guarding his territory.
Even though Bruce was gone, it meant very little. Martha Riker was a different beast and he could only wonder what she was thinking now that her youngest had been damaged by his own. He gritted his teeth thinking of Seth, and those that helped him. He understood the anger. They wanted justice for their family, as did he, but acting flippantly or worse — reacting when drunk — was always a bad idea.
Ruth, his wife of thirty-six years, came around the back and rubbed his shoulders. She was a good woman. His guiding light. The only one that had kept him on the tracks when he could have easily crashed.
“Give it time, Hank. Dan will come around,” Ruth said.
“No, he won’t. The man has placed this community before his own blood. He’s harboring Alby, and knows full well that we want justice.”
“What do you expect him to do? Hand him over to be slaughtered?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
She sighed as she ran her hands through his hair from behind as he devoured a bowl of soup. “These aren’t the old days. Maybe it’s good that Dan is there. To act as a mediator. Maybe we can…”
Hank slammed his hand on the table. “Our sons are dead, Ruth. They are never coming home. Do you understand that? They were brutalized and hung out like trash for the birds to feast upon. And what?” He paused. “I’m meant to just settle for seeing him placed in jail? Protected. Fed. It’s an insult to every generation of Strickland that came before us.”
“Then what will you do? Have our family attack another Riker? Then they will lash back at us, and we will keep going back and forth until all our kin is dead. Do you want that?” She took a seat beside him and took his hand and placed it between hers. He studied her soft, aging features. Buried below weathered skin, lines and gray hair was the woman he adored. She still looked every bit as beautiful as the first day he laid eyes on her. They’d met at church. She was new to the area. Her family had just moved to Garberville. Her father built homes for a living, and her mother stayed home to raise six kids. She was as loyal as anyone could be. The heart and soul of the family.
“I don’t know what I want anymore,” he said, setting his spoon down and placing his hand on top of hers. “I miss my boys. I just don’t understand it. I got a sense that Bruce wasn’t lying. He had no reason to kill Ryland.” He paused. “Ten years. That’s the longest our families have ever gone without issue. Why would he jeopardize that peace?”
“I wish I knew. Maybe if you had listened instead of putting a bullet in him, we could have avoided burying three of our own.”
“You want to blame me?”
“Of course not. I’m just angry.” She lifted her head and sighed. “Angry at the way things have played out. Angry at Luke. Angry at Seth. Angry at you. I’m just so tired of being angry, Hank. I want peace, not war. We have enough on our plate to deal with. I want the rest of our family to stay alive, for goodness’ sakes!” she said, tears welling in her eyes.
“What do you want me to do, Ruth?” Hank asked. He genuinely meant it. If she’d said let’s move, he would have done it in a heartbeat. But she didn’t. Her answer was interrupted by Faye, one of his daughters. “Father. Martha Riker is here.”
“Here?” He shifted his chair back and it screeched against the rough stone floor. No Riker had ever approached their house. They’d driven by. Hurled insults. But like them, they had always given their territory a wide berth.
“Hank,” Ruth said in an admonishing way.
“It’s okay.” He walked out onto the porch to see Martha approaching on a horse. He scanned the tree line, searching for her kin. Was this an ambush? Some form of payback for what had happened to Miriam? She was a bold woman. Far more fearless than Bruce ever was. She looked like Little Red Riding Hood with a red cloak that covered her body and a hood that concealed that stone-cold face. Martha stopped short of the home a
nd threw back her hood to reveal those silvery dreadlocks. Her eyes scanned them. No fear. No hint of her intentions. “Hank. Ruth.” She gave a nod. “I wish to pass on my condolences for your loss.”
“For our loss?” Hank scoffed. “I buried three of my boys. Good boys they were.”
“I’m not here to question their morals. I’m here for a truce.”
“A truce?”
“Yes, now that you have the one who murdered your children.”
“No, the law does and I hardly think he acted alone.”
“I have his word he did, and I passed on that evidence to the sheriff.”
“You turned in your kin? Bruce’s brother?” Ruth asked.
“I did.”
“Bullshit,” Seth said.
She eyed him with contempt. “You can ask Dan.”
He was baffled. There was no way on the face of the earth a Riker would willingly hand over one of their own, especially if they were responsible for the death of a Strickland. Even after hearing what Seth and the others had done to Miriam, he wouldn’t have turned them in. They were family. All he had.
“Why?”
“You’re asking why after three of your sons are dead? It’s obvious, is it not?” Her gaze roamed their faces. “We can continue to shed blood or we can stop now before all of your family is dead.”
“Our family?” He chuckled. “You think it would be us lying dead?”
“You’ve buried four, we’ve buried one.”
He stepped off the porch. “Well, I can even that out for you if you like.”
“Hank!” Ruth said, sidling up to him and placing her hand on his arm as he went for his gun. She was the anchor, always the anchor. Ruth stepped forward. “You must forgive my husband, he’s still grieving.”
“And you’re not?” Martha asked.
“Oh, don’t mistake my calm demeanor for weakness. I would love nothing more than to rip you off that horse and bury a blade in your heart… but where would that get us?” Her nostrils flared.
