Secession II: The Flood

by Joe Nobody

  Ghost had begun his search using the same parameters. It had been remarkably easy to find an area of Texas that suffered from low income, high crime, minimal job creation, and poorly ranked schools. Despite the patriotic bluster and nationalism displayed on the surface, the Arab knew money and opportunity would open practically any door. The fact that only two counties in Texas had voted for the democratic candidate in the last election narrowed the options even further. Those liberal leaning islands would be frustrated by the secession and right-minded governance.

  Once he’d isolated the region, his search had accelerated quickly. It was easy to make a short list of prospects, dozens of small-time companies that serviced the oil industry filling his browser’s findings.

  The next step was to filter those that had experienced recent trouble with the authorities.

  Ghost had accessed tax and arrest records, seeking candidates that not only were on the financial edge but had also recently experienced issues with government. Again, his inquiries filled screen after screen on the computer.

  The final selection had been difficult.

  Ghost had entered the Republic of Texas on his French passport, a traveler determined to tour the world’s youngest country. In reality, he was seeking someone to supply oilfield equipment who wouldn’t draw the attention of the authorities.

  His encounter with Bender and Sons was accidental. Ghost had been lost, driving around the Beaumont area searching for a different address. In the end, the ragtag group of ruffians had performed well enough.

  Not everything had processed smoothly, however. Despite their obvious struggles with financial survival, his contact person with the Bender crew had remained patriotic and loyal… to a point.

  “Where is this shipment going?” Bubba had asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, it does. Even a dumb, old hick like me knows there are certain places you don’t ship machinery. I don’t need to give the cops any reason to be interested in me, and I don’t want to help anybody who hates Texas.”

  In the end, the money and a few, slight untruths had swung the man’s support. Bubba’s words may have been boisterous, but Ghost was sure no one from the Benders’ company had seriously questioned anything but the amount of cash delivered to its place of business.

  And yet, the Texas authorities had somehow managed to track the parts.

  Ghost pondered what information Bubba could divulge to an interrogator. There was little question the man would wilt under pressure. But what did he really know?

  For a moment, the Arab considered letting the man suffer the heat of a police investigation. Bubba didn’t know squat, couldn’t prove anything.

  But then all of Ghost’s training and experience kicked in. He was no stranger to surprise, skullduggery, and enemies who exceeded his expectations.

  No, he would snip this thread short, before too much of the veil was unraveled. His half-assed cell of wanna-be jihadists was preparing for a major operation. Now wasn’t the time to allow for additional complications, no matter how remote the chances of discovery.

  Reaching for the throw-down cell phone, Ghost dialed Bubba’s number. He knew exactly what he was going to say if anyone but Bender answered – had already formed a plan if his associate had been detained.

  Sam and Zach waited in the parking lot for close to an hour, passing the time in silence.

  “He’s here drinking with buddies, or he’s scouting the local watering hole for a little female company. I’ll bet ya a cup of coffee,” Sam wagered with a wink and an assured nod.

  For a moment, Zach considered that his partner might be right. Maybe he’d misread the entire affair. “Let’s go in and see,” he suggested.

  Sam looked down at her clothing and shook her head. “Are you trying to get me shot?” the female officer protested. “I’d stick out like a liberal at a rodeo dressed like this. First of all, I look like a man, and secondly, you and I are wearing identical outfits. It’s not Halloween for heaven’s sake! The ‘Bobsy Twins’ is not a look the two of us can pull off. I am going to have to change first.”

  “Well, what’s stopping you? Don’t you have an entire summer wardrobe in the back?”

  The raven-haired ranger shot back a stern look, complete with raised eyebrow. “You sir, need to go stand over there,” she responded, gesturing to the back of the vehicle.

  “And why is that?” the senior officer inquired, using his most innocent voice.

  “Because,” Ranger Temple answered in a more snippy tone, “I’m not changing in front of you. Stop being such a schoolboy.”

  Zach managed to keep a straight face, “Well, I don’t know if I can do that. Tell me, Ms. Temple. Do you have to remove your sidearm in order to change your frock?”

  “Yes… of course I do.”

  “Well, then, I have to stand guard while you’re unarmed. This is clearly outlined in the ranger handbook. Whenever rangers find themselves in a situation where they are unarmed, any nearby rangers are obliged to protect their vulnerable comrades. If you’re shy, I promise I won’t look.”

  “Go stand guard over there, Mr. Ranger Handbook. I’m sure you can be in a better position to protect little ole’ helpless me from over there.”

  Grunting, Zach exited the cab, leaving Sam to rummage around in her overnight bag.

  Fifteen minutes later, she emerged, sporting a tight waist skirt and a frilly top that accented her figure nicely.

  Zach wolf whistled, which drew a scornful glance from his partner. He asked, “Where’s your gun?”

  “In the small of my back.”

  “What if a cowpoke asks you to two-step and his hand wanders back there?”

  “First of all, I’m not going to dance with anybody. And even if I did, he better not be putting a hand on me… anywhere. Besides, I’m sure I won’t be the only girl toting iron in a place like this,” she answered, throwing a slightly disapproving look toward the establishment in question.

  “Amen.”

  The two lawmen entered the icehouse, finding the interior exactly as one would expect in a rural roadside watering hole in Texas.

  Heavy on wagon wood and sporting a large assortment of neon signs, Zach made out two pool tables, three pinball machines, and at least 20 assorted seating areas bordering the dance floor. A small stage dominated one corner; a long wooden bar ran the length of one side.

  The rangers had memorized Mr. Joseph Robert Bender’s image – or at least the one on file at the Texas Department of Public Safety. Zach spotted the man at the end of the bar in less than 10 seconds.

  With his hand moving to the opposite side of Sam’s waist, he gently guided her toward a table that would offer a clear view of the suspect. He knew the contact would piss her off, but he couldn’t help himself.

  Like any mannerly cowpoke, he pulled out her chair and then took a seat himself. A waitress appeared out of nowhere. “What’ll ya have, darlin’?”

  “What’s on tap?” Zach asked, flashing his friendliest smile.

  After listening intently to a surprisingly long list, Zach selected a local favorite, a Bull Rider Ale.

  When it was Sam’s turn, she answered, “What do you have in a complex red? Maybe a Refosco or a Tselepou?”

  The bargirl managed a blank stare before responding, “Huh?”

  Zach jumped in, “She’d like a glass of red wine. The best you’ve got.”

  “Oh. Okay. Sure. Be right back.”

  Throwing his partner a frown, Zach decided to let it go. Changing the subject, he observed, “Our man appears to be waiting for someone. He’s alone, with his head down staring at the bar. I don’t think this is his typical Saturday night out on the town.”

  Sam had to agree. “I’ve got to use the ladies room. I’ll get a closer look when I walk by.”

  Zach watched as his partner approached the bar, picking a spot just down from the young Bender. The bartender, unmistakably drawn by her statuesque form, was qu
ick to give the tall lady his attention.

  Pointing toward the restrooms in the far corner, Zach had to snort when the barkeep turned to his friend and fanned his crotch with a towel to cool it off. He didn’t blame the guy – Ranger Temple looked pretty damned hot in that getup.

  Sam returned at the same time as their drinks. Zach paid in cash and then took a small sip of his brew.

  With a wrinkle of her nose, Sam sniffed her wine… and then for show consumed an even smaller sample.

  “How bad is it?” Zach inquired.

  “Box wine,” his partner responded, “but no matter. Our friend at the bar has a cell phone sitting right in front of his face. His eyes were glued to it the entire time I was there. My read is that he’s waiting for a call.”

  “Damn I miss the days when we had the Patriot Act. We could have had his number, call history, and even the checking account used to pay the bill. These days, we’d have to get a court order and wait a week for the phone company to provide the records.”

  “I could distract him for a few moments while you pocket his phone,” Sam offered with a twinkle in her eye.

  Much to her surprise, Zach was actually considering the idea but then shook it off. “He’s not drunk enough. He’d miss his electronic leash.”

  The band took the stage, a painful shrill of microphone feedback causing everyone in the room to wince. “Good evening cowboys and cowgirls, and welcome to Coleman’s Ice House. My name is Jim, and we are the Honky Tonk Starlights.”

  Loud music filled the room, many of the patrons watching as the band fired up a classic tune. Several made for the dance floor.

  It was just as well that Sam seemed enthralled by it all, the band’s volume so overwhelming that conversation was difficult. Zach nursed his beer, his partner barely sipping the dark red liquid in her glass.

  Bubba Bender seemed not to notice, lingering at the bar, isolated in his thoughts.

  The band had just launched into another old standard, the familiar melody obviously a crowd favorite.

  Movement caught Zach’s eye, the object of his attention suddenly sitting up straight at the bar.

  Zach elbowed Sam to get her attention, motioning toward the suspect with a slight nod of his head. Both of the rangers watched as Bubba stared at his mobile for a few moments and then punched the answer button.

  For the first time during the entire investigation, the rangers got a lucky break. Bubba couldn’t hear his caller due to the volume of the music. He tried putting a finger in one ear, but that didn’t seem to work.

  Shouting, “Hold on a minute; let me get outside where I can hear,” the Bender boy made a beeline for the exit, cell phone in tow.

  “Come on,” Zach said to Sam. “I want to hear this. Act drunk and horny.”

  “What?” she shouted back over the music. “Did you just say what I thought you said?”

  But Zach wasn’t listening, his attention tight on the prey.

  The two rangers hit the door just in time to spy Bubba rounding the corner of the building. Zach tugged hard on Sam’s arm, pulling the lady ranger in the same direction.

  The sound of Bubba’s voice alerted them before they reached the far edge of the dance hall. A shadow from the lot’s overhead light made it clear that the nervous suspect was pacing while he talked.

  Right before Bubba came back into their line of sight, Zach grabbed Sam and pinned her against the side of the bar’s cedar siding. Before she could react, the ranger was kissing, his hands roaming through her hair as he pressed his body close in an apparent act of passion.

  Bubba turned the corner, initially surprised by the couple’s appearance. After recovering from the initial start, he grunted, “Why don’t you two get a room or something?”

  Zach and Sam ignored him, obviously in heat.

  “Like I was saying,” they heard Bubba continue. “The cops were at my dad’s place this afternoon, asking a bunch of questions. I got the hell out of there and am heading to the hunting cabin.”

  Zach could tell that Bubba’s racetrack pattern was going to bring him back around the corner. The lawman desperately tried to think of a plan that would keep the suspect from chasing the couple away or from rambling to a different section of the parking lot to insure privacy and discuss his illegal activities.

  With his right hand, Zach began to lift Sam’s skirt, exposing more and more of her extensive leg flesh. Sam stiffened, a whispered grunt of protest coming from her throat despite Zach’s enduring kiss. By the time the drunken Bender had reached the building’s edge, Zach’s palm was caressing Sam’s upper thigh, intentionally offering Bubba a wonderful view. His hand continued its northward trek.

  It worked. Bubba, only 20 feet away, evidently decided to stay and watch the show. His voice grew soft but was still audible.

  “You’ve got to get me the hell out of Texas,” Bubba said. “I don’t give a fuck how, but it better be soon. The cops will figure out the hunting lodge real quick, and I better not be there when they do.”

  Zach’s hand was now gliding under the string of Sam’s thong, the other palm sliding her entire skirt higher and higher. The ranger hoped there was just enough light for Bubba to get one hell of a show.

  “You lied to me, you son of a bitch!” Bubba bellowed, the agitation recognizable in his tone. “You told me those fucking parts were going to South America. Do you know what they’ll do to me if I’m caught?”

  It dawned on Zach that either Sam was doing an excellent acting job, or she was enjoying his attentions. She pressed her body into his, her head tilting to allow an even deeper kiss.

  Despite having their most promising lead just a few steps away, the ranger felt himself getting aroused by his partner’s actions, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. A moment later, Sam knew it too, her groin pushing into his and no doubt sensing the firmness there.

  Bubba’s voice drifted across the lot, “No, no way. I’m not going to go wandering through the Great Piney Woods at night. I’ll meet you just after dawn. Come to the old state line road, five miles north of 198. I’ll be there, and no bullshit.”

  A slight pause to accommodate a response on the other end before the lopsided conversation continued. “Good. Fuck me over, and I’ll tell the cops everything. I’ll see you there.”

  Zach heard the call disconnect, but Bubba didn’t walk off. Realizing the man was just standing there watching, the ranger pulled away and turned to face the gawker. “You a pervert or something, buddy?” the big lawman growled.

  “You like to expose your woman in public, asshole?” Bubba replied.

  Zach moved away from Sam, taking a step toward the suspect, trying to behave like any insulted, drunken cowboy would answer such a challenge.

  Bubba, either due to Zach’s rather intimidating size, or the fact that the younger Bender already had enough troubles, held up his hands and backed away, saying, “I don’t want no hassle, fella. I already got enough.”

  And then he was gone, plodding back toward the entrance to the bar, shaking his head and mumbling something about low-life’s and white trash.

  Zach turned from one confrontation to face another. Sam was smoothing her skirt, a disgruntled expression punctuated by the fire of lightning evident in her eyes.

  “If you ever so much… I just should pull my weapon and shoot…. Ranger Bass, that was uncalled for,” she sputtered, all the while staring hard at her partner.

  “Oh, now, don’t go getting your panties in a wad, Sam. Or should I say thong. What else was I supposed to do? He would have walked off if we hadn’t given him something to hold his attention. It was strictly professional. I swear.”

  She didn’t say anything else, her arms crossed while her eyes bored into Zach’s face. Then she stormed off in a huff, heading back toward the truck.

  Zach gave her a few minutes to cool off before meekly returning to the vehicle. While he braced for the worst, she never mentioned the indiscretion again, saying, “At least we know what our
friend Bubba is up to. Sounds like he’s meeting somebody we should have a discussion with.”

  “You got that straight.”

  “Should we call in backup? Have Major Putnam send over some reinforcements?”

  Zach had been pondering the exact same option. “No,” he finally decided. “The last thing we need is to have a bunch of local lawmen stomping all through the woods, spooking everything within 10 miles. We’ll follow Bubba to the meeting and properly introduce ourselves.”

  The two rangers spent the remainder of the night in the truck.

  Sam, for her part, never brought up the incident at the icehouse. Zach, deciding silence was the better part of valor, kept his pie hole zipped.

  The bed of the state-issued pickup was full of gear. Being a ranger often meant extended mobility, unscheduled hotel room stays, and the occasional tactical encounter.

  Between catnaps, taking turns watching the lane leading to Bubba’s house, and munching on beef jerky, Zach retrieved an AR15 rifle along with a couple of spare mags.

  The ranger opted to forgo the full tactical load out, including vest and upgraded body armor. They were after two men at the most, and at least one of them showed no signs of shooting it out with the cops. Still, the battle rifle felt good in the ranger’s hands.

  At 2:40 AM, it began raining. An hour later, Zach was worried the truck might be stuck. The grassy area where they’d parked was now a small lake, clearly visible through the nearly continuous sheets of lightening from the summer storm.

  Thirty minutes before dawn, the two exhausted law officers exited the pickup and began splashing toward Bubba’s holdout. Sam had pulled up a satellite image of the property on her computer, and while a bit fuzzy, it had given them a general lay of the land. There was just over a mile of dense pine woods between them and the Louisiana border.

  “We’ll get in place where we can observe the house,” Zach announced in a hushed voice as they waded along the narrow, slightly overgrown lane. “When Bubba leaves to meet his buddy, we’ll just follow along behind them. At the border, we’ll take both of them into custody and call the sheriff.”