by Dennis Elder
Eighty five yards back down the freeway Tyrone, Doc, Frank and Junior had their backs pressed hard against the concrete divider. Each man had his hands clenched together; one hand intertwined with the other. When the shotgun went off, Jake, Randy, Sam and Boone ran toward the four men with their backs against the divider. The jumpers carried only their rifles and a spare ammo clip. Each jumper ran near full speed, stepped into the hands of their fellow soldiers and leaped up and over the concrete barrier. The men on the ground lifted their hands just enough to improve the jumper’s height. They had all practiced that move a hundred times during their Special Forces days. Boone almost didn’t clear the wall. Probably the cheeseburgers. The boys and Silvia kept their guns ready but when they saw the four special forces guys jump over the wall, all they could do was stand there with their mouths hanging open.
“Yea!” shouted Jacob. Sylvia quickly gave Jacob the “shush” to quiet him. But Jacob followed up with a whispered, “Go USA.”
All four men landed on their feet , rolled and then turned their guns north down the road. Each one centered one of the bad guys in their Bushmaster’s sights. Neither Chuck nor his dufas buddies noticed the four men or the four rifles pointed in their direction. Mark’s sudden appearance kept their attention focused on him.
But Mark knew they were there.
“Hey now, no need for violence,” continued Mark. “All I wanted to know was the time.”
Gracie thought that was funny and snickered a bit. Mark heard her laugh but didn’t show it.
“What are you doing, man!” shouted Chucky. “You scared me to death.”
Chuck turned his shotgun toward Mark.
“No need for that, brother,” said Mark. “But I am worried about the kids and the women there.”
Chucky had Mark comfortably in his gun sights. And the old Chucky smile came back.
“No worries here my friend,” said Chucky as he turned his head back slightly to the women and his buddies. “We’ve got things well in hand,” continued Chucky as he pumped a shell into the firing chamber of his shotgun.
Mark wasn’t impressed.
“I’m afraid you don’t have anything in hand,” said Mark. “In fact, I’ve got you out gunned and certainly outsmarted.”
“How’s that tough guy,” questioned Chucky as he smiled that ridiculous smile again at Mark.
“Cause my four guys all have cross hairs painted on each of your heads or chests,” explain Mark with even steel in his voice. Then he pointed his thumb down toward the four special forces marksmen lying on the road.
Chucky and his buddies instantly turned their heads toward the south. You could see them squint a bit to make out the low lying shapes laying on the ground.
“And,” added Mark. “If any of you morons even thinks about making a move on me, the women or the kids, those guys will put you down like a rabid dog.”
The guy in the middle didn’t buy what Mark was selling. He was holding a hunting rifle and he had a good scope on it. He pulled the rifle up quickly to his chest, while pointing toward the men down the freeway. But before he could even look through the eyepiece. Boon’s round hit the guy under the armpit. The bullet tumbled a bit, torn through his heart and exited his other armpit. The sound of the bullet was heard a fraction of a second later and the man slumped to the ground. He didn’t move.
Chucky and his three remaining buddies jumped at the sound and then watched their buddy fall on the hard concrete. Blood quickly seeped out from underneath him.
“Like I mentioned before,” said Mark. “Make any funny moves…”
Mark didn’t get to finish his sentence. The guy closest to Pam and Cedric tried to bring his shotgun up on them. He was thinking maybe he needed a hostage. But the shotgun never lined up on Pam or Cedric. Jake the sharpshooter put a dot directly between the eyes of Chucky’s second buddy. The force of the 5.56 millimeter bullet exited the man’s skull at over 900 miles per hour. About 43 percent of his underachiever brain exited right behind the bullet. That guy hit the ground even faster than the first one had.
“Anyone want to go next?” asked Mark.
The third guy dropped his rifle and turned to run back down the on ramp that the girls and kids had just climbed. Mary, Lenny and Pam laughed a bit when the guy turned to run. He tripped and skidded on his face before scrambling back to his feet.
Nobody tried to shoot him.
“Now. How ‘bout you tough guy?” offered Mark. There was a little anger in his voice this time. Mark really didn’t like it when somebody threatened women – especially kids. It was like a pet peeve for him. “Think you’re fast enough to cut down one of the kids before one of my guys drops you?”
Chucky’s mind was racing. Things were not going too well.
“Maybe I couldn’t get the kids, but I bet I could get you,” he offered with high tension in his voice.
“You could try,” said Mark with a smile on his face. “But even if you caught me with a pellet or two, you’d be dead half a second later.”
A few more seconds went buy. Chucky re-gripped his stock of his shotgun a few times. It was a bit like holding onto a security blanket he’d once had as a kid. But he couldn’t think of a way out.
“OK,” said Chuck. “I surrender.” Chuck dropped his weapon and put his hands up.
In a flash Mark pulled his body up and leaped over the wall. He landed on the ground and instantly leveled his 40 caliber handgun into the face of Chuck. The fat man instantly cowered.
“Face flat on the ground chubby,” barked Mark. Chucky obeyed instantly.
As Mark moved forward he spoke into the radio with his other hand.
“All clear, up here. Bring up the team and the bikes. There is a break in the wall about 30 yards north of my current position.
“Roger that,” said Junior over the radio.
Mary finally relaxed. She reached for her AR-15 but Mark stopped her.
“Don’t touch that,” said Mark. Pam and Lenny were about to reach for their rifles too but stopped at Mark’s command.
“Why’s that?” questioned Mary.
“Cause I don’t know if you’re a good guy or a bad guy yet,” said Mark.
Mark kept the gun pointed at Chuck while he waved to his men lying flat back down on the freeway to come forward. All four of the men jumped up and double-timed it to where Mark was standing.
Mary didn’t move but she wanted badly to pick up her gun.
“How do we know you’re the good guys?” asked Mary.
“That’s a fair question,” countered Mark. “Maybe cause we just killed the bad guys.”
Mary still wasn’t convinced. This guy and his gang might not be any better than Chuck and his band of dolts. But now the four guys who took out the two dead men were standing next to the big guy. They all looked very experienced and determined.
“Cuff him,” directed Mark.
Jake dropped a heavy knee into Chucky’s back and said, “Hands behind your back dip stick.” Jake slid an industrial sized plastic tie around Chucky’s wrists and synched it down tight.
“Owe,” complained Chucky.
Mary remained wary. She’d have to play it cool for now and could only hope that these guys were indeed decent enough to let them go on their way. Her hopes brightened a bit when she saw two grown women and five teenage girls pushing bikes in her direction.
Gracie was the first to stop. She stood next to her bike halfway between Mark and Mary. Gracie saw the kids and smiled. Then she raised her hand and said, “Hey.”
Nobody on Mary’s side of the road moved. But little Sally was facing Gracie. She looked around and wondered why no one said hey back. So, she raised her small hand and said, “Hey.”
Chapter 67: Candy Corn
Squeaky had been sitting by the fire since early morning. Ralphy had ordered him to keep watch on the road in case the man and woman tried to get back on I-15 south of town. He ate the last of the beef jerky for breakfast, but was growing hungr
y again. The food he’d taken from the convenience store was nearly gone. They were down to warm beer now. Squeaky was sipping on a can when Ralphy suddenly emerged from behind the Post office building while walking back toward Squeaky’s position.
Squeaky was suddenly nervous, thinking the woman may have slipped past them.
“See anything?” asked Squeaky just as Ralphy reached the road’s mid-barrier wall.
“Na, nothin,” replied Ralphy.
“Where’d ya go?” said Squeaky.
Ralphy took the last beer from the sack at his feet, popped the top and took a good long drink.
“Checked the trailer park,” stated Ralphy
“But nothing?” wondered Squeaky.
Ralphy furrowed his eyebrows. Then pointed to the park and the trailers before he spoke.
“The could be in there somewhere, but most of the doors were locked.”
Squeaky was standing now and started fidgeting. He tended to lift slightly on his toes and then rub his hands on his face when he fidgeted. Ralphy hated it when he did that - made him nervous. Squeaky also tended to offer strange ideas whenever he started fidgeting. Ralphy watched him out of the corner of his eye and then took another pull on his beer.
Squeaky looked west on Interstate 15 again – toward LA. He could only see about a mile down the road before the lanes dropped back over the horizon.
“Maybe they slipped around the end of town somewhere down there last night and are moving south again,” offered Squeaky.
“Maybe,” replied Ralphy.
In frustration Squeaky threw his empty beer can toward the freeway’s center lanes. The can bounced once and then slowly started rolling toward the shoulder. There was just enough grade to keep the can rolling. Ralphy watched the can like it was a video game. He wondered how far it might get. Suddenly it stopped against a broken piece of red plastic. Ralphy had hoped the can would roll all the way to the edge and off the shoulder. He took a deep breath out of frustration and turned back to Squeaky.
“You might be right, Squeaky,” said Ralphy.
The smaller man looked down with increased anticipation. Maybe Ralphy was ready to move on and see if the girl was the down the road some. Ralphy thought that was the best thing to do, considering.
So, maybe we should saddle up maybe, and head on down the road,” asked Squeaky as he turned his head to the west. “What ya think?”
Ralphy reached down and looked for a rock or piece of glass to throw. But the ground around their barrier campsite had been picked clean of anything worth throwing. “Where are all the rocks?” asked Ralphy.
“Maybe we should go?” offered Squeaky as he looked west again.
Ralphy bent down and started looking through the grocery sack Squeaky had brought back from the convenience store. All he could find was a bag of candy corn. He popped a few in his mouth. When he bit down, he nearly broke one of the few remaining teeth in his head.
“Crap!” barked Ralphy as he spat out the hard candy.
Squeaky saw the half-chewed candy corn bounce on the blacktop and said, “What’s a matter, don’t you like candy corn?”
Ralphy slowly looked over at Squeaky.
“Yea I like it just fine. I just don’t like it when it’s turned to stone!” yelled Ralphy.
“Well excuse me,” replied Squeaky. “If my cuisine choices are not up to your high standards. Maybe you should go looking for food next time.”
Ralphy looked down at the half-eaten candy corn lying close to his dirty tennis shoes. His saliva had dried clean off the candy. Ralphy suddenly wondered what candy corn would look like if it stayed on that pavement for a hundred years. Would it look the same, maybe become petrified? Would somebody dig it up a thousand years from now and claim they’d discovered what early man had eaten after the big burn. Some of the guys back at the Bellagio had nicknamed what happened a few weeks ago as the big burn. Seemed right enough, and everybody was sayin it.
Ralphy suddenly realized he was daydreaming again. He knew he was prone to it. So, he shook himself a bit, picked up his rifle and faced the north side of the town of Baker.
“You keep watch on the south road. Make sure nobody sneaks around us?” said Ralphy. “I’m gonna go see if I can find us something decent to eat.
And with that Ralphy walked away from Squeaky.
“But what if they already left?” screeched Squeaky.
Ralphy didn’t even turn around. “They haven’t left,” he replied. “They don’t have bikes anymore and they know we’d catch um if they tried to run on foot.”
Squeaky started fidgeting again. “But how do you know?” he yelled after Ralphy.
“I just know,” said Ralphy to himself. “I just know.”
Ralphy decided to check out a few of the homes near Baker’s main street. Maybe he’d find something better to eat there.
Squeaky leaned back up against the concrete wall out of frustration. Then he slowly let his skinny little body slide down the wall until his butt met the pavement. Out of habit his turned his head down toward the western horizon and resumed his dutiful watch of the road.
Chapter 68: The tapping
Ivan Petrovich sat behind his big oak desk. With his left hand he methodically tapped a pencil on the desktop. The little rubber tipped eraser provided the natural bounce. It was a habit he picked up when he was in prison, during his weekly one hour library breaks. Now Ivan’s pencil eraser tapping went on all day, at least between meetings. He had scheduled an afternoon meeting with Hector Munoz for 2 pm today. But Hector was late, again. Hector was one of Ivan’s two captains. At first Ivan thought Hector would be a good second in command. The guy was huge and demanded respect. But he was also undisciplined and had difficulty following assignments all the way through. He manufactured excuses like Ford made car bumpers.
Claudio Martinez was Ivan’s third in command. Unlike Hector, Claudio got things done. In one week, he’d put together a professional level weapons’ certification program. Only those certified could carry a weapon. Over 100 of his guys had already been certified and more would be ready by next week. Claudio sat across from Ivan in one of two chairs facing Ivan’s desk.
“You want to reschedule?” asked Claudio.
“No. He’ll be here, just late as usual,” complained Ivan.
Ten minutes later Hector walked into the office and took a seat next to Claudio.
Ivan stopped tapping his pencil and sat up straight in his office chair. The Bellagio hotel certainly had nice office chairs. Some kind of kid glove leather.
“What is report on man and woman seen south of town?” asked Ivan.
Hector squirmed a little in his chair. He pulled the small cap off his head and began twirling it in his hands. He didn’t look up as he responded.
“I don’t know yet,” offered Hector.
“What you mean you don’t know yet?” countered Ivan.
“I mean, I don’t know what’s going on,” said Hector.
The pencil tapping started again. Anybody who had visited Ivan’s office knew about the pencil tapping. It was never good. Hector shifted his 275 pounds around in the chair again. This time the chair made a creaking noise.
“Well what do you know?” asked Ivan.
“I sent two guys, I told um to bring back the girl unharmed and to get rid of the guy,” said Hector.
The pencil tapping continued. Hector’s hat continued to go round and round in his beefy hands.
“Who was sent?” asked Ivan.
“Um…. Squeaky Parrin and Ralphy Simmons,” said Hector.
“Parrin?” questioned Ivan with sudden sharpness in his voice.
“Yea,” said Hector.
“Parrin the rat?” asked Ivan again.
“Yea,” repeated Hector.
Ivan turned his eyes to Claudio. Claudio stared back at Ivan. After a brief pause Ivan looked back to Hector.
“You sent one of our dumbest guys to bring back only woman seen in three weeks?” questioned Iva
n.
Hector tipped his head to one side. The hat continued to go round and round in his hands. For a second he looked like he had something to say. But then he decided it was better not to say anything.
“Why Squeaky?” asked Ivan.
Hector tipped his head to one side again.
“Because he didn’t have nothin to do. Him or Ralphy,” said Hector.
Ivan stopped tapping his pencil on the desktop and sat forward.
