Hawke's Target

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  We crossed the bridge with me one car-length ahead and started up the rise. Heart hammering, I waited until what I figured was the last second before backing off on the gas and letting the Monster Truck gain the lead. Almost at the crest of the hill, I took my foot completely off the accelerator, letting the Jake brake gear the engine down.

  The Ford shot past and was over the hill before he realized what I’d done. He disappeared over the crest and I followed at the posted speed limit, driving with my wrist hanging over the wheel.

  When I topped the rise, a highway patrol car had already whipped around, lights flashing. He’d been in the perfect position, hidden from view until the last second, to catch any vehicle speeding down his highway. The Ford’s brake lights flickered as he disappeared around a bend with the flashing blue and red lights following. By the time I made the curve, the Monster Ford was over on the much wider grassy shoulder with the highway patrol car turned in behind it.

  I hit my blinker, as the law required, moved over, and passed well below the speed limit. I waved at the Ford and Mr. Sunglasses with a smile and dialed 911 with my thumb to tell Dispatch what had just occurred.

  Welcome to the Big Thicket.

  Chapter 38

  Yolanda and Perry Hale were in their hotel room in Jasper when her cell phone rang with the Uplift ringtone she’d selected to identify Kelly Hawke. She swiped the screen. “Hey girl.”

  “Hey. What’re y’all up to?”

  She knew Kelly wasn’t calling just to chat. They talked almost every day when she was at home, but out on the road, working for Sonny, the call meant much more. “I’m in East Texas with Perry Hale, waiting on your guy to get here. Wassup?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Kelly breathed into the mouthpiece. “He called me after he left Dimmitt and told me what happened.”

  “Yeah, that was a bad deal.”

  “We talked for a while and were into something pretty heavy when the call dropped. That happens pretty regular out here, so I didn’t think much of it. We talked last night when he checked into that little motel, but he sounded really tired. I haven’t heard from him today, and that’s unusual. He should have called, and I’ve been worried sick. Everything all right?”

  Yolanda knew better than to tell her what happened in Comanche. It wasn’t her place to describe what they were dealing with. “As far as I know. He should have already checked in with us, too, but there’s no telling where he is. Cell service isn’t great here in the Thicket, but he could be out interviewing someone and hasn’t had time to call.”

  Going through the items in his MOLLE pack, Perry Hale frowned in her direction and Yolanda raised her eyebrows in the question, “What else am I going to tell her?”

  They’d developed their own way of communicating through expressions and head movements, much like twins who seemed to talk without using words.

  Yolanda lowered her voice, not to keep Perry Hale from hearing, but because she felt something wasn’t right. “You two all right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Kelly was silent, probably thinking. The laugh track from a television in the background told Yolanda that the twins, Mary and Jerry, were probably nearby. Kelly came back, but her voice lacked confidence. “You’re probably right. He’ll call when he gets where he’s going.”

  “Do we need to talk?” Yolanda’s voice was full of concern. “It sounds like something else is going on.”

  “Yeah, but not right now. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Kelly stopped talking and Yolanda heard her move into another room. “You’re getting some weather.”

  Knowing Kelly needed the break, Yolanda went with the shift in their conversation. “Yep, that cold front finally pushed through.”

  The idle talk was designed to fill the time while they both considered where their conversation was going. They drifted into silence before Kelly picked up the loose thread. “Well, I know you guys’ll watch out for him.” Kelly’s voice steadied. “I just always worry when I don’t hear from my guy.”

  “You know how he is with phones. He probably let the battery run down.” Yolanda had an idea what was bothering her friend. “He’s been gone a lot, when he’s not on desk duty. A lot has happened in the last few months.”

  “That’s part of it. He’s been—fragile in some ways. I think some of the people he’s had to deal with has taken a toll.”

  “You mean the people he’s killed.”

  The statement almost crackled. “In the line of duty, yeah.”

  “Death weighs on you.” Yolanda thought for a moment. “There’s something else.”

  “Yeah. My new vice principal here at the high school has been by the house a couple of times. Once he brought a pie.”

  “What’s this man’s name?”

  “Juan Ricardo.”

  “He’s interested in you.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe nothing. That’s why you’re feeling so down. He’s your immediate supervisor.” Yolanda’s face flushed with anger. “Sonny’s been gone, and that guy’s sniffing around.”

  “This is a small town. I can’t say anything.”

  Yolanda’s voice had a hard edge. “I can. I’ll have a talk with that guy when we get back.”

  “It’s not your place.”

  “It’s my place as a friend.”

  “Maybe I can talk to him with you.”

  “You got it.” Yolanda took a deep breath to cool down. “I’m with Perry Hale out here in Jasper. Sonny’s trailing a guy out this way and called to have us meet him here. He’s on the way, so he shouldn’t have any trouble. We’ve already checked in a hotel and got Sonny a room, but under Perry Hale’s name, if you call the hotel.”

  Kelly lightened. “Girrrllll.”

  Their mood lifted. “Yes, mother.”

  “Good lord, you sound like the twins.” Kelly laughed. “How old are you?”

  “Old enough to know better. Thanks, girl.”

  “Aren’t we all? Talk to you later.” Yolanda ended the call and looked across the room to Perry Hale, who was pulling on a fresh gray T-shirt. “You know, even with these phones in our hands all the time, we still don’t stay connected all that well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She paused. “I don’t really know.”

  Chapter 39

  A light rain fell on the Big Thicket, and the sky was black through the living room window when Tanner punched his burner phone off and slipped it into his shirt pocket. He pushed back in the recliner and closed his eyes while his Uncle Marshall watched Gunsmoke on the television. The volume was so loud it was impossible to sleep, but he only wanted to rest his swollen and blackened eyes for a few minutes before he left.

  As if she’d been watching and waiting for the second he leaned back, Donine called from the kitchen. “You want a beer?”

  “No!”

  “You hungry? Want me to make you a plate?”

  “No!”

  “Well, you don’t have to be so nice about it.”

  Marshall maneuvered his wheelchair around and found himself trapped by the sofa and the leg rest on Tanner’s recliner. “Hey boy, you need to get your lazy ass up and go to work.”

  The leg rest snapped down. Tanner launched himself up right. “Going outside!”

  “You want to take that beer with you?”

  “Hell no . . . yes!” He reconsidered and stomped into the kitchen to find Donine sitting at the table, licking peanut butter off a spoon. A cigarette burned in the ashtray. A sweating Schlitz tallboy made a wet ring on the worn Formica. “Y’ain’t supposed to smoke or drink when you’re pregnant.”

  “You ain’t my doctor.”

  “You gonna get that beer for me?”

  She pointed with the spoon. “You know where they are. I’s gonna bring one to you in there, but you’re up now. You wanna take me for a ride in the car?”

  He suddenly realized he couldn’t stand the sight of her mottled teeth and stringy
blonde hair. He almost reeled when he realized he was destined to be with her for the rest of his life if he didn’t do something.

  “Not right now. Leave that beer in there. I’ll come get it in a minute.”

  He left the kitchen and went down the hall to their room. Heart pounding with his sudden decision he opened the closet door, pulled down a large duffle-style camouflaged bag, and spent the next five minutes stuffing it with clothing. The last thing was his good Dan Post boots.

  Taking a look around the room at their unmade bed, the secondhand chest of drawers, and piles of dirty clothes, he realized the only thing he owned and cared about was in the bag. He opened the window and lowered the bag to the ground, making sure it was against the house and protected by the eave.

  He went back into the living room. Donine was curled on the couch with the remote control in her hand, lowering the volume far enough so her ears wouldn’t bleed. “Your beer’s still in the icebox. Don’t expect me to get up and get it for you now.”

  “I’m going over to Willy’s house. I’ll get one there.”

  “Well, come back before dark and bring me another pack of cigarettes. I’m going crazy waiting for this baby. Hey, can we go for a walk when you get back?”

  “No. Go walk yourself if you want to.”

  “I don’t like to do it alone.”

  “I’m going to Willy’s, I said.”

  “Fine then. I’ll just be by myself for a while. I don’t need you.” Her voice rose, hot and shrill. “I’ll just follow that trail down to the creek and drown myself. How about that?”

  He closed the door without answering and was halfway around the house to get his gear when Mike’s truck came down the road and pulled up next to his car. Thinking it was him behind the wheel, Tanner started toward the pickup until he saw who was driving.

  Hair rose on the back of his neck at the sight of Boone’s pale face. He’d never heard of Boone driving anyone’s car or truck.

  He started for his car when Boone lowered the window and leaned out. “Daddy says for you to come with me.”

  Tanner grimaced at the name. “What for?” He tried not to look at the man’s blank expression.

  “Didn’t say.”

  Tanner hesitated, torn between arguing, leaving, or going back into the house. “I’ll follow you.”

  “No. Get in the truck.”

  Tanner took an unconscious step back. “I said I’m driving. Where’s Daddy Frank?”

  “At the fertilizer barn.”

  Tanner’s neck prickled again. He checked his watch. “Uncle Alonzo already back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why’re you driving Mike’s truck?”

  “Daddy Frank sent me.”

  “That don’t make no sense. Where’s Mike?”

  Boone hesitated before answering. “Dead.”

  Shocked, Tanner couldn’t decide what to do next. He swayed from side to side. “What happened?”

  “You’ll have to ask Daddy that question.”

  “He ain’t your daddy. It’s Daddy Frank.”

  “Talk to him about it when you see him, then.”

  “Fine.” With no other recourse, Tanner went around to the pickup. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 40

  I was feeling pretty good about myself after tricking the truck full of rednecks into getting pulled over by the highway patrol. Dispatch took my information, and I hung up to settle back and cruise. That’s when I rounded a bend and another truck shot out of an intersecting dirt road angling into the highway from the left.

  He appeared out of nowhere and was suddenly in my lane before I had time to think. The only way to miss him was to swerve onto that same dirt road that resumed on my right. It angled off at thirty degrees, and I could either take to the ditch and risk flipping over, or steer onto the dirt track.

  He missed my front bumper by inches, and the truck seemed like a live animal under my hands as I left the road at seventy miles an hour. Enormous pines flashed past only feet away. The pine-needle-covered sand felt greasy under the tires. Grass and short bushes growing in the middle of the track hissed and slapped the undercarriage while the tires popped rotten branches that sounded like gunshots. The dually’s big hips were dangerously close to the yaupons and pine saplings almost scraping my back fenders.

  Mark Chesnutt came through my speakers with a sad, calm song about lost love as I braked, but not enough to skid on the sand. A washout bisected the road and dropped the front end with a sickening thump, followed by the rear tires.

  Had it not been for the seat belt, the roof would have pushed my head down between my shoulders. Gaining my wits, I slowed even more with the intention to stop, back out, and chase down the idiot who’d shot out on the highway without looking.

  A violent thump snapped my head back when that same pickup rear-ended my truck. The heavy brush guard on the front of the white Chevrolet filled my rearview mirror as I fought the wheel, and tapped my brakes. Before I could decide what to do next, a fallen pine across the road suddenly became the next fun aspect of that wild ride.

  This time I showered down on the brake pedal. The sand and pine needles were slick as glass and there was no way I could stop in time. The auto-lock engaged for the second time in fifteen minutes, hammering the brakes with little taps, but the log grew larger.

  The guy rear-ended me again and my tailgate folded inward. That was all it took. A slight gap appeared in the trees and I whipped the wheel to the right. The sickening crunch of a collapsing rear fender filled the cab when the Dodge fishtailed into a small, limber pine.

  Another crunch filled my head and I fought the wheel. The air crackled with bangs and country music when I suddenly headed downhill into what I thought was a ravine. It turned out to be a creek and the next thing I knew, the big Dodge hit the water with a spray.

  Running into the creek wouldn’t have been so bad, except for a drift of logs extending into deep water. Hitting them at that speed wasn’t pleasant at all. The airbag exploded with a bang into my face. It slammed my head back, crushing the brim of my hat against the headrest. I slapped the already deflating bag down.

  The front end sank below the hood. There was no way to know how deep the water was, so I hit the seat belt release and yanked at the door handle. It creaked open with a metallic pop that was followed by half a dozen louder bangs of gunfire that punched through the inside of the door and shattered the glass. The rear window exploded. I flipped the drop-down console out of the way, threw myself across the seat, and pushed open the passenger door.

  More gunfire erupted, and a second and maybe third weapon chimed in. The interior of the cab filled with glass. Only the front end was in the water, but the tangled logs shifted from the impact, allowing the front tires and grille to settle deeper.

  I went out of the cab headfirst, tucking and rolling on my shoulder. The truck was between me and the shooters, and whoever was behind me had a bad angle, so most of the rounds impacted sheet metal.

  My .45 came to hand and I caught a glimpse of the truck behind me, four doors standing side open and armed men spreading out. One guy slid to a stop behind a thick pine and cranked off several rounds in my direction. I sent three shots right back at him, two splintering white wood from the trunk.

  A man fired from the shelter of a door. I squeezed off another round in his direction and he ducked. A deep voice shouted that he was going around, and I appreciated the information. I hit the bank like an otter, losing my footing and slid down almost into the water, praying there weren’t any broken bottles buried in the mud. My brother once slid down a clay bank back on Lake Tawakoni and wound up with thirty-three stitches in his leg from a broken beer bottle.

  With the steep bank for cover, I crawled along just above the waterline for twenty yards. Shouts came from at least three different throats as I scrabbled even farther downstream, staying low. My thoughts weren’t to shoot it out with those guys.

  Run if you can. Fight if you have to.
>
  The Old Man’s wisdom served me well when I ducked under the trunk of a blowdown laying half in the creek. Three steps later I ran slap into a guy charging in my direction. We were both so surprised that neither of us had time to raise our weapons.

  There were no calculations about what to do. The impact was enough for the gunman to stumble to the side. Our arms were tangled, and I had one hand on his rifle. One side of my brain was surprised to see that instead of an AR-type weapon, it was a lever-action Marlin. In a strange way, that was good, because even if he managed to get off one shot, he’d still have to cock the lever for a second.

  Since I didn’t know any of those fancy Chuck Norris spin kicks, I followed my instincts and grabbed him in a bear hug.

  Keep the muzzle away!

  It was a good thing. The rifle went off, and the muzzle blast was like a slap. He flinched, just like I did, but I had the presence of mind to take advantage of his shock. Getting a leg behind his, I pushed hard and he fell back hard on the muddy bank.

  The guy was probably a barroom brawler, because he was kicking with all he had to keep me off. I fell to the side and dug my heels in to push away from his thrashing boots. I’d have laughed, watching it on television. I kicked back, a move all guys have grown up with, and rolled quickly to my knees.

  One sound is distinctive to anyone who has ever shot a lever-action rifle. It was the shucking sound as he cocked it again. There was nothing to do but shoot with the .45 that was still in my hand. The gunman jerked and twisted with the impact, but he still tried to swing the Marlin back toward me. Infuriated, I shot him again, and the rifle dropped.

  Shouts came from over the bank and someone sent half a dozen rounds overhead.

  They whizzed away as I rose and hauled ass.

  Chapter 41

  Misty rain dotted the windshield, running upward in long, clear rivulets as Alonzo Wadler took his eyes off the road to check the pickup’s rearview mirror. The damp surface hissed under the tires and rose in a foggy rooster tail that quickly settled back onto the highway.