by Chris Pike
Reload lunged and the man flinched, defensively putting up his left arm to ward off the attack. Reload sunk his teeth into the thick sweatshirt, shaking the man’s forearm.
The man screamed and kicked at Reload.
Dan sprang forward. He yelled, “Stop!”
Reload refused to obey.
“Stop!”
“Get him off me!” the man screamed.
Dan grabbed Reload by the tail and pulled him off. He pointed an angry finger and said, “Stay!”
Reload hesitated then acquiesced to the command. Panting heavily, the dog sat on his haunches.
As the man pushed himself up, Dan grabbed him by the wrists. They struggled and Dan was surprised at the man’s strength.
With weight and height on his side, Dan threw the man to the ground and struggled with him.
Determined not to be cast aside, Reload latched onto the man’s ankle and bit with wild abandon. The man yelped and kicked Reload.
Dan continued to struggle to pin down the man. In the melee, the man freed an arm, reached into his pocket, and pulled a knife. He slashed Dan across his left arm, then with lightning fast speed drew it back against his right arm. Dan instinctively fell backward, grabbed Reload by the collar, and jerked him back.
The man with the scarred face scrambled to his feet, picked up his gun, aimed it at Dan and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
In the charged atmosphere, he hadn’t noticed the pistol was empty. His eyes jumped around from the crowd, to Dan, to the dead policeman, then to the pistol still clutched in his hand.
Recognizing the opportunity, the man ran to the dead policeman and pried the service pistol out of his hands. He stopped for a moment and cast an angry expression at Dan. He brought up the pistol, aimed, and—
“Stop! Police!”
Two policemen ran toward him.
The man flipped the middle finger at them, bolted across the plaza to the landing, and then to the steps leading to the Riverwalk. Like a Westminster show dog maneuvering an obstacle course, he easily navigated the concrete benches and metal poles meant to keep cars out. He took the steps two at a time, pushed people out of the way, and disappeared into the labyrinth of stores and shops lining the Riverwalk.
The two policemen ran after him.
Stunned, Dan sat there for a moment to gather his wits. With his adrenaline dump waning, Dan stood and looked around. The plaza was empty, even the snow cone vendor had left her stand unattended. The Chihuahua the vendor kept to entice tourists to stop was gone too.
A few feet away, Frank lay dead.
Reload went to Frank and sniffed him. This was the man who Reload recognized from his time patrolling the Alamo Plaza. He was the man who spoke softly to him, offered him a treat, and said kind words to Kate. Reload had witnessed death before and sensed there was nothing else to be done.
With the excitement over, Reload waited for Kate to instruct him. She stood alone on the sidewalk, vulnerable, confused, overwhelmed.
She was sweating and something was incredibly wrong with her.
Understanding she needed him, Reload dashed to her. When he came to within a few feet of her, he stopped and with great trepidation slowly padded to her, always keeping his eyes on hers, attuned to her needs.
She was in the full throes of a panic attack.
With his large muzzle, Reload nudged Kate. He lifted her hand expecting a response but she only stood there, catatonic. Her heart beat fast and he sensed the increase in blood pressure. Her eyes were glassy. He licked her hand like he had done before and when she did not respond, he huffed a loud and throaty bark, jerking her out of whatever she was experiencing.
Kate put a hand to her mouth and she let out a gasp at the memories she had suppressed. The face, the scar.
Before Kate could fully remember the man, Dan called to her. Without regard for her own safety, she ran to Dan. Reload was close behind. “Are you okay, Dan? Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t know.”
“Look at your sleeves.”
“Huh?”
“That guy pulled a knife on you.”
Dan looked at his suit. Sleeve material had been sliced open on both arms. His white shirt had been ripped open too. An insignificant amount of blood stained the shirt. Dan gingerly inspected his arms feeling for injuries. “I’m okay,” he said. “It’s a little nick. I guess my suit saved me.”
Kate glanced at Frank. She put a hand to her mouth. “Is he…?”
“I believe he’s beyond help.”
“What are we going to do?”
Dan thought a moment about what to do. “There’s nothing we can do. One of the police officers will stay with him. I’m not sure the police will want us to move him. We really should leave him here. It’s a crime scene. They won’t want it disturbed.”
“Oh,” Kate said. “Are you going to stay with him?”
“I can’t. I need to be at the hotel. I’ll see if someone in our security detail can stay with him until those two policemen come back.” Dan stood and dusted off his pants. “What happened back there, Kate? Were you having an episode?”
“I, uh, I don’t remember. My mind went blank for a moment and I started remembering…” Kate looked pointedly at Dan, recalling the jagged scar of the man who had caused her pain. “It was him.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.”
“Kate, we need to get you out of here.”
“No,” Kate said with a newfound determination. “I’m not leaving.”
“I know not to argue with you once your mind is made up. Why would he hang around so close to where the bank robbery was? It would be stupid.”
“I don’t know. His home turf maybe? Wounded animals always go back to where they feel safe.”
“Possibly,” Dan said. “I’ve heard about the gang called the Hyatts named after the hotel on the Riverwalk having been seen around here. Maybe he’s one of them. Let’s get you back to the hotel. It’s not safe out here. You should take the afternoon off.”
“I’d rather stay busy. If our guests don’t have anything to do, they’ll be coming to the bar for a drink.”
“You sure are stubborn.”
“My mom used to say the same thing.”
“Kate,” Dan said, “you should tell your parents what happened to you.”
“I can’t. They wouldn’t understand.”
“Have you tried telling them?”
“I don’t need to.”
“It’s okay to lean on someone, Kate. We all do.”
Kate didn’t immediately reply. Her thoughts went to the conversation she had the previous week regarding what Nico had said. “I’ll be back in a week.” She had replied, “I’ll be waiting.”
Chapter 12
“You never answered my question,” Josh said. He stepped away from the SUV and stretched. “You got a girl?”
Nico wasn’t sure how to answer. He knew so little about Kate, but the mystery was what made her so interesting. He mentally went over what he knew about her: she was from Austin and had been working at the Minor as a bartender, had a service dog, and was suffering from some sort of trauma. She still had a spark though, not completely darkened by whatever she was enduring, and it showed in the way she challenged him. She challenged him like no other woman had, and Nico had met the challenge head on. Walking away from her, she had asked him, “When will you be back?”
He’d be back alright, if he had to fight his way back to her, because she was worth fighting for.
What had transpired between them other than a few lines of conversation? Had she alluded to something more? Or promised anything? He knew the answers to those questions because it had been in the way she had looked at him. She had wanted to say more to him, but held back. Was she afraid of him? What could he offer her other than a week’s worth of an unshaven beard and the promise of a lousy salary?
He called no place home, a vagabond living in hotels wherever it suited the government’s need. He had not divulged anything personal about himself other than his real name.
Yet, he trusted her enough to tell her his real name. A rule he said he’d never break in his line of work, but he did.
Kate was a rule breaker too, and he admired her for that quality. Sitting pretty and nice never got anyone anywhere, other than high priced clothes or a house coveted by the neighbors.
America was built by rule breakers, and by those who stayed strong and didn’t conform to outside pressures. Yeah, he admired her.
Nico finally said, “I got a girl. Her name is Kate.”
“Hmm, okay,” Josh said.
“Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Only making conversation.”
Nico accepted the plausible explanation.
“So,” Josh said, “what kind of work do you do?”
“I’m with Border Patrol and have been working undercover,” Nico explained. “Local authorities asked for my help since the guy they had blew his cover. I’ve been trying for a year to infiltrate a gang of drug suppliers. I had finally gained the trust of someone I think is connected to the guy I’m after. I was required to make a special run to the border to pick up a package, and if I delivered it back on time, I’d get a meeting with Santiago. Word on the street says Santiago is making the Riverwalk area his new turf.”
“Interesting,” Josh said. “What’s in the package?”
“No clue.”
“So does your girl know what kind of work you do?”
“She doesn’t. She will though. I promised her I’d be back in a week.”
“If you’re going to make your deadline, we better get going.”
Nico patted his shirt pocket, making sure Tony’s wedding band was still there. He absolutely dreaded telling Tony’s widow what had happened.
“I feel bad about what happened to Tony,” Nico said. “His wife is so young. Two kids. She’s about your age.”
Josh didn’t say anything, deciding it would help Nico to verbalize his anguish.
“It should have been me flying, not Tony.” Nico hung his head. “I don’t know how I’m going to tell her.”
“I’ll help you.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
* * *
The walk was long and boring across Highway 90. Without a map or GPS, Nico and Josh were concerned about getting lost if they took a shortcut on the winding back roads of the flat and dry land of South Texas.
They trudged past cars sitting idly on the road. A biting fly kept buzzing Nico’s head and he swooshed it away. The sun rose higher in the sky, beating hot and hard on the two men. Scrubby brush and stunted trees dotted the landscape along with livestock in pastures.
To pass the time, Nico and Josh talked about their childhood and families, with Josh doing most of the talking.
“I didn’t know you were from Del Rio,” Nico said.
“I’m the first American born citizen in my family.”
“I was too.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, your first name doesn’t exactly sound Spanish.”
“It was Juan, but I decided to change it to Josh.”
“I did the same thing with my Russian name. I changed it from Nikolai Belyakov to Nico Bell. It’s much easier to say and spell.”
“Russian, huh? I would have never figured you for Russian. Hispanic maybe. I thought all Russians were blonde and blue eyed.”
“My mom had Cherokee blood in her.”
“That explains it,” Josh said.
“You went to high school here, right?” Nico asked.
“I did. I even managed to get a scholarship to the Air Force Academy. I couldn’t wait to get out of small town America.” Josh bent over and picked up a pebble on the road. He hurled it into the pasture and watched it disappear into the beige landscape. “Funny thing though, I had to leave in order to appreciate this town and my family. Now that I’m back, all I want to do is stay. I won’t be able to.” A long sigh escaped his lips. “Then it was flight school, so here I am, walking instead of flying.”
“You’re lucky to be even walking,” Nico said.
“I suppose so.”
“Is your family still here?”
“They are. Whenever I can, I have Sunday dinner with them. My mom makes the best tamales. They’ll be surprised to see me. Hey, you should come over and have dinner with us.”
“I can’t. I don’t have time. I really have to get back to San Antonio.”
“Maybe another time.”
“Maybe,” Nico replied wistfully.
Nico and Josh steadily walked on, the sounds of the country accompanying them on their journey. The wind whistled through the trees, brushing the grass. A grasshopper skittered across the road, and a field sparrow chirped a melody.
Nico’s thoughts took him to his own time at the Air Force Academy and his acceptance into flight school. He was on the fast track to be a fighter pilot, training on flight simulators and real-time experience flying helicopters until family problems intervened and put the kibosh on his plans. His dad had become ill first, then a few months later his mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Nico had gone home to be their caretaker and to get their finances in order. After his parents died, he didn’t have the will or drive to finish flight school so he had been released from his commitment.
He sold his parents’ house and put the money into real estate in East Texas where he bought land in the country. He had paid extra to buy out the property owner’s mineral rights which someday he thought would pay out. If not during his lifetime, then he could pass it down to his offspring. The ranch had a three bedroom wood frame house, probably built in the 1950s, and the heirs to the house left the furniture and other belongings. Without someone to share the place with, it didn’t feel much like a home where he could hang his hat after a long day.
Nico envied big families where the kids had built-in playmates, and from what he learned when he got older, the kids grew into adults and had become friends. When his parents died, he had felt like an orphan without ties to anyone or anyplace. He closed the house and hired a local cleaning lady to go to the house once a week to turn on the AC or heater, check the faucets, run the shower and tub, and sweep out the front porch and make sure a raccoon or other animal hadn’t made it their home.
For a while he considered selling it and had briefly entertained accepting a good offer, yet he held back. For what, he wasn’t sure. His thoughts took him to what his mother had said. “Find somebody to share your life with, Nikolai. Before it’s too late. Before you’re too old.”
Here he was, early thirties, and he had not yet found the woman he wanted to share his life with. Or had he? It was possibly the reason driving him these past few days. When he had asked Kate, “What kind of woman are you?” she had replied, “The kind you’ll like.”
After he shuttered his parents’ house, he wandered around taking odd jobs here and there, but it left him unfulfilled, a life with no purpose until he landed in San Antonio. He immediately took to the culture and people, and the history behind the Alamo. His flying experience won him a job working with Border Patrol, and he found if he couldn’t take down bad guys from the sky, he’d do it on the ground.
He’d thrived in San Antonio, a bustling historic city, which hailed as the seventh largest city in the United States, and had a population of 1.4 million people. It was located on the southwestern corner of an urban megaregion known as the Texas Triangle, anchored by three main cities of Houston, Dallas, and San Antonio, home to 70% of all Texans.
San Antonio was home to five 18th century Spanish frontier missions including the Alamo, whose architecture was known around the world and was synonymous with perseverance, dedication, and bravery among the men who faced overwhelming odds. The motto had been “Liberty or Death.”
Located on the Balcones Escarpment, geology’s most prominent mark on Texas, San An
tonio was the land of cactus and cows, stunted trees, and cracked rock extending in a prominent arc from Waco to the north, and to Del Rio due west near the Mexican border. It was where the Hill Country was with upthrust hills, spring-fed rivers, and millennia of limestone erosion from turbulent thunderstorms, leaving rich topsoil and fertile land for crops.
Once a natural dividing line between east and western migration, the line was now blurred with cities and agriculture sustained by underground aquifers.
* * *
An hour later, a humming, churning, mechanical sound crept closer to Nico and Josh as they walked along the blacktop road.
“You hear that?” Nico asked. He couldn’t quite place where the sound was coming from.
“Yeah,” Josh replied. “What is it?”
“Don’t know.”
Nico’s eyes swept over the land, searching for the sound akin to the whirling of a distant helicopter. But it wasn’t a helicopter. It was a sound of a simple engine. He visually checked the abandoned cars and trucks on the blacktop road in case one of them worked. Nope. All still. He spied an abandoned UPS truck in the middle of the road. Packages had been scattered around, probably the work of a looter Nico surmised. Nothing moved except for the shimmering heat. Nico looked behind them. Squinting, the approaching vehicle came into focus, crawling along at a snail’s pace.
Josh turned around, curious what Nico was looking at. Squinting from the sun-glare, Josh scanned the horizon.
“A tractor,” Nico said.
“No kidding?”
Way in the distance, past the shimmering heat bouncing off the blacktop, past the pastures and abandoned vehicles and where the road curved in their direction, the shape of a tractor came into view, slowly rising like the mast of an approaching ship on an ocean.
Nico and Josh stepped to the side as the tractor inched closer. The rancher driving the tractor waved. Nico returned it.
“Do you know him?” Nico asked.
“No,” Josh said.
With difficulty, the rancher pushed the brake to the floorboard and the ancient piece of rusted farm equipment groaned and lurched to a stop, bouncing as it idled.
