by Vince Milam
“This is it.”
“For the moment,” Catch said, tucking his shirt.
I had a small clue what Catch referenced, and didn’t ask. The less chitchat around Garza, the better. It was peculiar the way Garza didn’t ask for names, just home locations. Perhaps he figured he’d never see us again, and it didn’t matter. Or maybe he suspected we’d all lie about our names, including me. Hard to say.
Catch carried his rifle to Marcus’s SUV and deposited it across the back seat. Garza remained silent. He didn’t remain silent when Catch pulled the massive .500 out and strapped the holster around his waist.
“That’s quite the hogleg,” Garza said. “But I’ve got some bad news for you, Mr. Portland. Here in Elko County, we’re running short on rabid elephants to use that thing on.”
Catch returned a wide smile, bright white teeth shining through the thick black bristle, and climbed in beside Marcus. Garza turned and locked eyes with me. I shrugged. Garza shook his head, tossed a “Shit” toward the world in general, and climbed back into his vehicle. We were off.
I wasn’t privy to the Marcus and Catch conversation during the drive, but I was certain it involved multiple commands from Marcus regarding engagement with Spetsnaz operators in the county sheriff’s presence.
As we rolled into Montello, it wasn’t a challenge noticing a single-horse trailer hooked to an old pickup at the motel. Alongside the trailer, tied with a halter and eating hay, was a donkey. I started laughing with a mile-wide smile as I parked, filled with pure joy knowing my best friend, Bo Dickerson, had joined us. Joined the entourage. Catch must have called him. Marcus wouldn’t have, unless a situation called for desperate measures.
Bo was nowhere around. I stood next to my vehicle while Marcus and Catch wandered over. Sheriff Garza and Sam Everson held a brief conversation, and Sam headed into the bar. Garza leaned against his SUV, arms crossed, and watched us.
“Dammit, Catch,” Marcus said, firing another cigar.
“You never know when we might could use Bo,” Catch said. “Besides, I haven’t seen him in a while. Cool burro.”
“She goes by Jezebel,” Bo said from five feet behind us. “Because of her shameless nature.”
We almost jumped out of our skin. Bo had performed the usual, donned his cloak of invisibility, and arrived at our backs. We never understood how he did it. At least we remained in awe. His enemies never got the chance.
I spun around and captured my best friend with a wide smile, wild eyes, and wilder red hair lifting with the breeze. I returned a massive grin and a firm hug. He’d shaved his scraggly beard, wore a dusty off-white peasant shirt, and hung a woven New Guinea bilum bag over a shoulder. As a body-butter aficionado, he smelled of lavender and lemon.
“How is my favorite goober?” he asked.
“Doing great unless I think how JJ will chew my butt from here to Arkansas.”
His FBI girlfriend had laid down the law regarding Bo’s engagement with my conflicts.
“Rest easy, my Georgia peach. She’s ventured off for a weeklong conference in DC. Besides, these lonely mountain sentinels have called me. There be riches out here.”
Catch wrapped his arms around us both in a bear hug.
“You look good, hippie-boy. Not as pretty as me, but better without the chin hairs. How’s life with a federal cop?”
“It flows, diverges, coalesces. Tell me tales of the Pacific Northwest and your robust love life.”
“Plenty robust, for sure. I’m getting married.”
“Poor Willa.”
“I know. Can you believe? Hey, we’ve got Spetsnaz operators to tangle with here.”
“I see you are prepared,” Bo said, lifting a chin toward the .500 pistol. “I fear your weapon might kill on both ends.”
Spoken by a man who used his Bundeswehr combat knife as much as a firearm.
“Good Lord, Bo,” Marcus said, extending a hand. “You are flat going to give me a heart attack with the silent sneak routine. And not for the first time.”
Catch released us, Bo shook hands, and even Marcus cracked a smile at our former Delta spearpoint.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” Marcus said. “Catch neglected to inform me. Catch has also failed to clarify that we’re not tangling with anyone if we can help it.”
“Let us cease expectations, fearless leader. Yield and accept as the universe steers. As for entanglement, if it is whisked into the mixture, I’m in.”
Marcus nodded toward Bo and eyeballed me with the standard expression, which translated as “Keep an eye on him.”
Sheriff Garza strolled over. Bo smiled, leaned in, and squinted at Garza’s chest.
“Cool badge.”
“Thanks. I take it you and your burro round out the entourage.”
“Jezebel is a coquettish creature. Steady of foot and follows well on a lead rope, but not a natural joiner.”
“Then it is just the four of you.”
Bo turned and inspected his ex-Delta teammates before replying, his smile borderline angelic.
“Four rough-and-ready men nestled somewhere between ordinary and sublime.”
“I’m sure. If you don’t mind me asking, where do you hail from?”
“Where the cosmic winds blow.”
“How is mail delivery at that address?”
“Damn fine question,” Marcus said.
“Mental dispatches, my friends. Open portals that allow the universe space to whisper.”
“Sure. Good to know,” Garza said. He addressed our group. “Now that Exponent Mining’s crack squad has assembled, I’ll lay down some ground rules. This is a meeting between KDB and Exponent. The meeting’s purpose is to slam the door shut on whatever bullshit has been taking place between the two. Is that clear?”
We nodded in the affirmative.
“I understand former Russian special forces comprise the KDB entourage. I’ve received this information from an inside source.”
Garza stared my way. I returned a smile.
“Having visited their site,” he continued, “I can believe it. They don’t appear any too friendly. Now, I’m not happy with foreign security personnel in my county. But they assured me they have the proper paperwork.”
“That doesn’t make it right,” Catch said.
“I am not here for any political discussions. I’m here to stop the conflict. Everyone clear on that?”
“A sound approach,” Marcus said.
“I’m so glad you concur so you can return to Fishtail pleased. Which brings me to my final point.” He crossed his arms and lowered his voice. “I was in the Marine Corps. I understand who you people are. Our military’s knife-between-the-teeth crowd. Well, stow that horseshit. If you can’t get through a week without mixing it up, do it in another county. Sheriff Bolster in White Pine County could use some excitement. Better yet, head to another state. Am I clear on that?”
“Love is the binding agent,” Bo said. “Plus, this vignette has such a western feel. I require a pistol on my hip. Otherwise the celestial casting director is liable to exclude me.”
Garza pointed a finger toward him, opened and closed his mouth, waved the index finger toward us all, then turned and headed into the bar.
Chapter 32
“I don’t fault the man’s approach,” Marcus said. “It’s a solid plan. One with a wide back door.”
“They set Case up for an ambush,” Catch said. “We plan on letting that stand?”
“Yes. We hold a position with an escape hatch. They won’t follow our exit from the great state of Nevada.”
“Hope you’re right, Marcus,” I said. “But after Bolivia, I’ve got a bad feeling Simko wants his pound of flesh. I don’t think they will let me slide.”
“Then why did we come back here? Other than to pick up our vehicles and scoot.”
“Because, again, I want to eyeball these bastards. Let them know they failed.”
“Let them know it won’t do to come after our brother,”
Catch said.
“It wouldn’t bother me one bit if we failed at delivering that message,” Marcus said. “And what if they come after us?”
Marcus locked eyes with us, me first. He received the same look, the same answer, from each of us. He returned a grim nod, albeit one with a heavy sigh.
“Alright. If that’s the case, the four of us will handle it. Where’s White Pine County?”
“South. But if they come after us, I’ve got a better spot up north,” I said. “It straddles the Utah border.”
“You’ve thought this out,” he said.
“Deadly intent in my direction will do that.”
“This place have a name?” Catch asked.
“China Jim Mountain.”
“Lights, camera, action, baby,” he said, and punched Bo’s arm.
“I’ll repeat the sheriff’s words. Stow that crap,” Marcus said. “Let’s go play the role of good-guy muscle. A role, I might add, we never signed up for. Then we leave. If they follow our caravan, I will not tolerate deadly intentions.”
“Elaborate on your lack of tolerance, Wyatt Earp,” Bo said.
Marcus’s Zippo clacked as he fired a half-smoked cigar and said, “If they mean us harm, we answer with lethal resolve. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Inside the bar, Garza and Martha were in deep discussion. Sam Everson sat at the largest table on one side of the room. We joined him, turned our chairs, and faced the room’s center. Aside from Martha and Garza, we were the lone occupants. Opposite us, across the room, was another group of tables. Garza sat on a barstool, the red Naugahyde cushion split in several places with white cushion material showing through.
“I appreciate you guys being here,” Sam said. “It helps balance things out.”
“No worries,” I said. “With any luck this should settle down KDB’s activities. In more ways than one.”
Martha wandered over and asked if we’d like something to drink.
“I’ll have coffee,” Marcus said.
Sam, Catch, and I ordered diet sodas. Bo ordered boiling water and explained he’d brought his own tea. While Bo dug in his bilum bag and produced tea and a small honey jar, Martha laid down her own personal rules.
“The sheriff has explained this is a meeting. A meeting between you boys and those foreigners. Is that right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Catch said.
“Then let me set something straight. There will be no shooting and no knife fights. I’m the one who has to clean up the blood and guts. Then there are the holes in the walls that need patching. I won’t tolerate it.”
Multiple vehicles slowed as they entered Montello, followed with tires crunching gravel at the bar’s front facade. Catch, a man who’d saved our lives multiple times by eliminating surprises, rose and headed out the door. I stood and followed. Marcus remained silent while Bo talked gold mining with Sam.
They had shown up in force. Five KDB vehicles, all SUVs, parked in backwards formation across the building’s length. Doors opened, and they poured out. Catch pulled the .500, arms crossed, the pistol bright against his chest. The sight created a momentary pause among the Russians as Catch delivered his unspoken ground rules.
The KDB manager, Antonov, barked a command, and twelve Spetsnaz operators headed toward the door. They each packed a holstered pistol. One had his arm in a sling. Another displayed a swollen face. I shared unblinking stares with them both. The first one opened the door a few steps from us, and they filed in, Antonov in the middle. He stopped abreast of me and we locked eyes.
With his right thumb, he delivered a throat-cutting gesture. I remained expressionless. Catch, without uncrossing his arms, pulled back the hammer and cocked the massive revolver. The crisp metallic click was unmistakable, as was the message. Antonov broke eye contact, glanced toward Catch, and strolled inside. The rest of his troop followed.
There was no ambiguity on the table. Antonov was being a good soldier, following an order. The order from Simko was crystal clear. Eliminate Case Lee. Eliminate the man responsible for ruining Simko’s Bolivia plans. A man who, logic would indicate, was here for the same purpose. A false assumption, far into left field. It didn’t matter. Simko wanted the impediment removed. Antonov and his operators would comply. Son of a bitch.
Catch holstered his weapon, and we entered, joining Marcus, Bo, and Sam at our table. The Russians sat in a wedge formation across the room, covering their flanks. Antonov sat alone at a small table at the wedge’s point, nearest us. Garza left his barstool and stood between the two groups.
“You fellows want something to drink?” he asked the Russians. “Coffee or soda? No booze allowed.”
Antonov shook his head, speaking for the twelve operators.
“Fine,” Garza said. “This meeting will be short and sweet.” He focused on Antonov. “Can you understand me?”
“I understand.”
“Then I will start with the basics. The state of Nevada wants your operations to be successful. There are a great many jobs involved, along with sizeable state tax collections. Both operations are a big deal. The state of Nevada and Elko County wants you both to succeed.”
He paused and looked toward Sam.
“Have I made myself clear, Mr. Everson?”
“Quite clear, Sheriff.”
“Mr. Antonov? Did you understand what I just said?”
Antonov fished a smoke and lighter from his front pocket and lit it, shrugging as response.
“That won’t do, Mr. Antonov. I require your acknowledgment of what I just said.”
Antonov, his expression uninterested, nodded back.
Garza wasn’t pleased and paused before continuing.
“Now, I understand someone has fired shots.” He shifted position and stood among the Spetsnaz operators. “That stops now. If I hear that anyone is shooting a weapon, they better have a damn good reason. Right now, I can’t think of a single one.” He scanned the operators. “No more. I’m not sure what a Russian jail is like, but if I hear word of gunshots, you will find out what the Elko County jail is all about.”
He paused, an implied message sent as his right hand rested on the holstered pistol’s grip. Dead silence as he scanned each operator’s face. Then he left the Russian phalanx and strolled toward our table, halting a few steps away. Bo added more honey to his tea and stirred, the metal-on-porcelain tink the room’s only sound.
“No gunshots from any interested parties.” He locked eyes with us. “And no mysterious disappearances, deaths, or explosions. A certain US military outfit specializes in mysterious happenings. I do not like mysteries. Take all that crap off the table.”
“Sheriff,” Marcus said. “Our intent is to depart your county, and your state, right after this meeting.”
“That, sir, suits the shit out of me.”
Garza turned and again occupied the room’s center. Martha displayed a deadpan expression, kept her elbows on the bar top, and smoked. Antonov lifted a finger and pointed toward Catch.
“What is your name?”
“El Conquistador, you buttwipe.”
Martha snorted, and the ashtray rattled while she stamped out her smoke. Garza took in Catch, let loose an exaggerated exhale, and continued.
“Both operations share a road. The road will be kept clear. I understand boulders have rolled onto the fifteen-mile stretch between the two camps. It stops now. Are we clear on that?”
Garza stared at Antonov. He returned the eye lock.
“No more gunshots, no more interference with operations, no more harassment. All of it, every damn bit, ends now. If I hear about such activities, I will make arrests. And I’ll start with you,” Garza said, pointing a finger toward Antonov.
“We work for Andris Simko. Andris Simko is friends with governor,” Antonov said, arms crossed, eyes hooded.
A blood flush crept up Garza’s neck. He strolled toward Antonov, placed two fists on the tabletop, and leaned across, inches from Antonov’s face. I could h
ear the sheriff breathe.
“Andris Simko can kiss my ass. The governor can kiss my ass. This is Elko County, Nevada. In Elko County, I am the law. Is that clear?”
Antonov, arms still crossed, declined to answer. The two maintained their positions for ten silent seconds until Garza straightened up and returned to the room’s center. His neck flush remained.
“Alright. Mr. Everson, you call me if there are any issues.” He turned toward the Russian contingent. “Antonov, you do the same. My expectation is both operations will ramp up without further issues. Now, I want KDB to leave.” He pointed toward the door. “Exponent, stay. I want a private chat.”
A few Russian murmurings preceded their rise from the tables. They filed out the door, Antonov last. Before he stepped outside, the large Russian turned. His contemptuous half-smile fell first on Garza, then us, and back on Garza.
“Impediments. Yes, I understand this word. Impediments.”
He turned and walked out.
Chapter 33
“What the hell did he mean? Impediments?” Garza asked, holding his empty diet soda can toward Martha as a request for another.
“I can shed some light on that,” I said. “Simko used the term when we met. Simko said his job was removing impediments so his people could get on with what he wanted. He then classified me as an impediment. Welcome to the club, Sheriff.”
“It won’t do to take this lightly,” Marcus said. “It is a cut-and-dried threat.”
“I don’t intimidate easy.”
“They aren’t talking intimidation, Sheriff,” I said. “They are talking killing.”
Garza let the implication sink in.
“How can you be sure?” he asked.
“They went after me,” I said.
“Your windshield incident reflected a fifty-fifty proposition as far as killing goes.”
“They came back last night while I slept. They weren’t there to chat about baseball scores.”
Garza popped the tab on his soda and took a swig. The red flush along his neck remained.
“Before you arrived at KDB’s site today, they saw me pass their entrance,” I continued. “And set up two shooters along the road for my return trip.”
