The Surge - 03

by Joe Nobody

  “But why?” Zach pondered. “Even the most aggressive of the cartels wouldn’t just come across the river and shoot up a bunch of Texans for fun or sport. Why go to all that trouble, planning, organization, and effort? They could have broken contact and faded back across the Rio Grande without any issue. Why all the carnage?”

  “Maybe they were running from someone back in Mexico?” Sam offered. “Maybe they had wounded people, or they just changed their minds.”

  “Look,” Zach pointed, indicating an area further inside of Texas. “They didn’t stop until the Marines were completely routed and scattered. You can see where they even chased a few down and mopped up. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  Sam noticed Major Putnam staring up at them, their boss obviously growing impatient. “We’d better head back.”

  As Sam began crawling and sliding down to their supervisor, Zach paused to take in the scene one more time. “Were you protecting someone?” he whispered. “Someone really important? Is that why you didn’t break contact and run for home?”

  Shaking his head at the unanswerable nature of his own questions, Zach followed Sam down the treacherous slope, eventually joining his partner and supervisor. The trio of lawmen continued back to the command tent.

  Putnam announced, “Here’s your assignment, Rangers. While we’re reasonably sure all of the invaders from the Mexican side retreated back south, we can’t be positive. I want both of you working all of your contacts and informants, trying to fill in as many pieces to this puzzle as possible.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The two lawmen were about to leave when a tall, wiry figure dressed in jeans and a western hat appeared on horseback. He dismounted at the major’s corner of the tent, stretching his legs and slapping a layer of dust from his clothing.

  Zach’s face spread wide with a huge grin as he stepped closer to the older man and extended his hand.

  “Ranger Baylor,” Zach greeted. “I’m surprised to see you here, sir. Did they call you out of retirement?”

  The older lawman nodded, clutching Zach’s hand with a firm grasp. “The major asked me to come take a look at the area. How could I say no?”

  Zach pivoted in Sam’s direction, “BB, let me introduce you to my partner, Ranger Samantha Temple. This is Bartholomew Baylor, the absolute best tracker I’ve ever met and a legend among the rangers.”

  “Call me BB, ma’am,” the man replied with a raspy voice, tipping his hat while extending a leathery hand toward the lady officer.

  “I answer to Sam,” Ranger Temple responded with a warm smile.

  Sam was intrigued by Zach’s reaction to the older officer. It was the first time she’d ever seen her partner enthralled by anyone or anything other than a short skirt or a new firearm.

  BB, for his part, looked more the part of a rancher than a lawman. His denim pants were saddle worn and faded, a large but plain buckle securing an ancient, tooled belt. The knee-length duster hanging from the old ranger’s shoulders had seen so many years its leather was worn shiny in places. As he stretched the saddle-time out of his frame, she spied the flash of a nickel-plated revolver on his hip. The man’s boots had definitely seen better days.

  He was as tall as Zach, ramrod straight with a slight bow in his legs. Sam surmised BB was the real deal, a man who spent as much time on horseback as on foot – tough as nails, and cynical to the core. Bands of salt-sweat stained his hat, the brim low and serious. Despite being at least 70 years old, she sensed the retired ranger was still a force to be respected.

  “You all can catch up on your socializing later,” Putnam interrupted. “What did you find, BB?”

  “Seven men came north across the river, Major. Only two went back,” came a steadfast proclamation.

  Putnam was skeptical. “Are you sure? This entire crime scene has been trampled by hundreds of boots for the last several hours.”

  “I’m sure, Major. There was one pair of non-military issued soles that left this canyon to the north. They were fancy treads … like a high-end hiking boot. Those same tracks were down by the river in the mud where they came ashore. The owner’s left foot turns in slightly. He’s a slender man, probably just over 180 pounds. I’d estimate he’s about 6” tall from the stride. He was carrying a pack, but it was lighter than the others.

  “How far north did you track him, BB?” Zach asked.

  “My guess is somebody picked them up on this side of the road,” BB responded with a nonchalant shrug. “I followed the trail right up to the pavement, and that’s where it ended. They never crossed the road, so I would assume their destination is southeast… heading for Del Rio or perhaps San Antonio.”

  Rubbing her chin, Sam said, “Must be a pretty ‘influential’ individual to warrant a heavily armed escort. Kind of makes sense, now that I think about it. The bodyguards were willing to shoot it out with our Marines to make sure their charge made it through. Somebody has a critical meeting or is on the run from Mexican authorities.”

  So you were protecting someone, Zach thought. But who? Who is so important that you would kill 20 plus Marines?

  “His security team stayed with him until they reached the road, sir,” BB continued. “Then, two of them hightailed it back to the river in a straight line and made off with the rafts. I’d also hazard a guess they had night vision or some other sort of fancy technology because I found this.”

  The old ranger’s hand disappeared into his duster’s pocket, emerging a moment later with a plastic baggie containing a battery. It was an odd size, with Spanish writing on the case.

  Putnam accepted the evidence and then asked, “Where did you find this?”

  BB nodded toward a table with a map and then moved to show his superior where he’d collected the evidence.

  Zach picked up the old battery and realized that it was a size used in high-end flashlights, some cameras, military-grade optics, and as BB had stated, night vision devices. He had to agree with the old ranger’s assessment. After an intense firefight, with dozens of Marines scurrying confused in all directions, it was unlikely any of the invaders was taking pictures or shining a torch. Night vision, however, made sense.

  Putnam returned his attention to Zach and Sam. “Your assignment just had its priority raised, Rangers. I suggest you get moving. I’ll put out a bulletin, but without a physical description, there’s not much to go on.”

  Despite the urgency in the major’s voice, Zach took a moment to shake BB’s hand. “Thanks for the help, ‘Old School.’ Despite being a tequila-soaked old bastard, you’re still the best.”

  For just a second, a hint of kindness flashed behind BB’s eyes as he accepted Zach’s palm. “Be safe out there, Ranger Bass. My gut says you’re after a very, very bad hombre. Don’t take that old saying of one riot, one ranger too far.”

  “One riot, one ranger,” Zach repeated, invoking the phrase long associated with the organization.

  As Sam and Zach left the command tent, she said, “You know that old saying about the riot isn’t based on any sort of factual history.”

  “I know,” Zach sighed. “Like most Western legends, time and the retelling have exaggerated the tale.”

  “Since I’ve joined our elite, little band of crime fighters, I’ve heard so many different stories on the source of that slogan. Which one do you subscribe to?”

  “The Dallas prizefight was the one that seemed to be based on an actual event,” Zach replied as they waited for a flight back to their truck.

  Sam rolled her eyes, “Oh Lord, not another legend. What happened in Dallas? Who was fighting?”

  “The story goes that in the late 1890s, Ranger Captain Bill McDonald had been sent by the governor to Dallas, the officer’s mission to stop an illegal prizefight. The bout had been heavy publicized, with travelers from all over the territory in town to witness the contest.”

  Zach’s retelling was interrupted by the roar of a landing copter. As soon as the noise died down, he continued, “Fearing a riot wo
uld erupt when the match was canceled, the very nervous mayor of Dallas had met Ranger McDonald’s train. The politician had been shocked to find only one lawman aboard. When asked where the other rangers were, it’s claimed that the grizzled, old captain replied, ‘Hell, ain’t I enough? After all, there’s only one prizefight!’”

  The lady ranger chuckled, nodding her head in recognition. “I remember that story now. From what I’ve read, just about every man with a badge was actually in Dallas for the contest. According to some accounts, most of the rangers wanted to see the bout for themselves.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Zach sighed. “But the fight was canceled, and Dallas didn’t burn. Nowadays, it’s the spirit of the thing that counts. The rangers operated on their own back in those days. They didn’t have radios, or backup, or computers. BB was only trying to warn us that we might be going up against long odds, and my gut says he’s right about that.”

  Sam patted her pistol and grinned, “Can we change it to one riot, two rangers?”

  Chapter 3

  Sam and Zach made for San Antonio after leaving the crime scene.

  “Why not Del Rio?” the lady ranger asked.

  “Too small. Whoever came across was somebody important if BB has his shit in one bag. It would be too easy to be noticed in Del Rio, so I’m throwing the dice and guessing the larger town.”

  “Why do you question BB’s findings? It seemed like you really respected the guy,” Sam questioned.

  Zach didn’t answer right away, almost as if he was having trouble choosing his words. Finally, he said, “Something happened with BB back in the day. I heard rumors and tall tales, but nothing official. Most of the stories centered on the man having trouble with hard liquor and a bad temperament. Then, all of a sudden, he was gone. No retirement party, no goodbyes or farewells … he just vanished. For a man who had over 30 years of service as a ranger, that’s never good news. You’ll find that when one of our own has issues; no one likes to talk about it. That’s why I was stunned to see him at the crime scene.”

  “Maybe he’s managed to get back into Major Putnam’s good graces?” Sam speculated.

  “I have been told he’s living in Mexico,” Zach countered. “I’ve heard rumors that he does some bounty hunting down there. No, I’d be more inclined to say that Putnam asked him to come across hoping BB knew or had heard something. Whatever the reason, it was good to see that old law dog. He looked like he had cleaned up his act. I sure hope so.”

  On the way to the Alamo City, both rangers started calling every source, informant, and “in the know,” individual they could think of.

  The route took them by two gas stations that ran side businesses cashing checks for those who didn’t have bank accounts, often a prime source of interesting information.

  They visited a couple of ex-gang bangers who’d seen the light after one or more jail terms and now preferred to work with law enforcement.

  Word of the Langtry Massacre had already spread across the entire republic. Most of the people Zach and Sam contacted knew right away why the two rangers were beating the proverbial bushes. No one had any information of value.

  Late in the afternoon, Zach steered the pickup into a convenience store parking lot and pulled into an empty space facing the street. He glanced over at Sam’s khaki slacks, plain white shirt, and hiking boots. “Do you have anything more… umm… more attractive in your overnight bag?”

  “Why Zachariah Bass! State your intentions,” Sam responded in an innocent, alluring tone.

  Snorting, the ranger knew a trap when he saw one. “Strictly business, Ranger Temple.”

  “Good. I’d hate to experience an accidental discharge of my weapon into your knee cap … or perhaps slightly higher.”

  “So do you have something more provocative in your suitcase?”

  Sam frowned, “Yes, I have a couple of more casual get-ups in my bag. Why?”

  Pointing with his head toward a business across the street, he answered, “Because I need you to be a distraction for a minute after we go in that fine establishment over there.”

  Following his indication, Sam read the sign, “The Rio Cabaret, San Antone’s Finest Gentleman’s Club. Seriously, Zach? You want me to go with you into a topless bar?”

  “Yes, I do. There’s someone in there we need to talk to, but I need a diversion.”

  “Don’t you think I’m a little old to be going undercover as a topless dancer?”

  Zach couldn’t help himself. “Those places are usually pretty dark inside, and we only need a few seconds.”

  “Pretty dark inside! Only a few seconds! Why you … you thick-skulled….”

  Zach clenched, anticipating a long-winded blast of foul language. Sam, however, stopped short and flashed the evilest smirk the ranger had ever seen on his partner’s face.

  On a roll, he threw the verbal dice again. “You can pull it off … no pun intended.”

  “Pull it off? Ha, ha, ha, Ranger Bass. What a funny man you are. Start explaining, before I get really pissed.”

  It took less than a minute for Zach to expound on his plan. Without any questions or comment, Sam reached for the small bag in the truck’s backseat.

  He had chosen the convenience store so his partner could utilize the lady’s room for a quick wardrobe change. Much to his surprise, after digging around in her luggage, Sam began unlacing her boots.

  The ranger thought his partner was bluffing when she undid the top button of her slacks. A moment later, her eyes never leaving his face, Sam began wiggling out of her pants. “Dark, huh?”

  She took just the right amount of time, exposing her thighs at a speed that fell somewhere between a shy schoolgirl and a seductive tease. Zach had to admit, the woman beside him had the longest damn legs he’d ever seen on a female. “Only need to distract them for a minute, huh?” she whispered.

  Zach’s discomfort increased exponentially when Sam began unbuttoning her blouse. Again, at just the perfect pace, she exposed one shoulder and then the other, leaving nothing but a pair of sheer white panties and an extremely thin sports bra covering her ample assets. “Pretty dark inside, eh?”

  Zach pretended not to notice, but his peripheral vision strained for a glimpse of the show. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, shifting uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. “This is very unprofessional behavior, Ranger Temple. And besides, you’re just being mean.”

  Sam fluttered her eyelashes in innocence. “Obviously, from your earlier comments, you don’t think I’m an attractive woman. So what’s the harm? Surely a dedicated crime fighter such as yourself can’t be distracted by something as innocent as your partner changing for an undercover op.”

  He started to reply but held it. Then he made a serious attempt to keep his face forward, pretending to scan the street. His tactic didn’t work very well. While his eyes were cooperative, his testosterone level won out.

  She took her time, tugging on a pair of stockings first, gracefully smoothing the nylon material along her legs. Next came a casual red blouse, and finally a skirt that didn’t reach her knees. “Happy now?” she asked with a coy tone.

  “Yes, you look professional. Excellent choice, Ranger Temple.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, pulling up her skirt and strapping on a mid-thigh holster.

  Then with a grin and a quick, “See you in a minute,” she was out of the truck and strolling toward the street, an exaggerated hip-swing in her stride.

  Sam could hear the club’s massive stereo system long before she reached the front entrance. After pulling open the heavy, ornate wooden door, the thump of the bass was like a hammer hitting her in the chest.

  Zach had been absolutely correct about it being dark inside. Sam hesitated at the entrance, trying to give her vision time to adjust. She finally could make out a smiling young woman behind a counter, a cash register resting next to the bored girl’s elbow. Another female was standing nearby, her micro-miniskirt and skimpy top announcing that she was a wa
itress.

  “There’s a ten dollar cover tonight,” the hostess shouted over the music.

  “I’m here to apply for a job,” Sam yelled back. “Is the manager in?”

  The two girls, both in their early 20s, scanned the lady ranger up and down and then exchanged a look that clearly asked, “Is she serious?”

  They, however, were well trained in the finer aspects of customer service and didn’t voice their doubts. “No, the manager isn’t here right now, but Butch does most of the interviewing anyway. Come on with me,” the waitress said.

  As Sam was being led through an inner door and into the main room, she asked, “Who is Butch?”

  “He’s the bouncer and the manager’s right-hand man. He normally screens all the girls anyway. He looks mean, but really he’s just a big, old, horny, teddy bear.”

  Ranger Temple’s senses were suddenly assaulted by thick cigarette smoke, even louder music, and a visual orchestra of flashing, strobing lights.

  She was led to the end of a long bar where a man with a shaved head sat scanning the stage and audience. A topless, rather appealing, young woman was gyrating seductively onstage, much to the delight of the mostly male onlookers.

  Butch was the anticipated poster child for the bouncer’s guild. After the waitress cupped her hand and informed the large gent of Sam’s request, the behemoth slid off of his barstool perch and offered his hand.

  Well over six feet tall and probably topping out at 350 pounds, Sam accepted the oversized hand while wondering what had happened to Butch’s neck. It was as if that body part had completely disappeared.

  “How can I help you?” he asked in a deep baritone that competed with the stereo’s bass.

  “I lost my job recently,” Sam shouted her practiced response. “I’m not shy and heard that dancers can make some good money. I thought I would check it out.”

  The bouncer’s eyes immediately moved to scan the lady ranger’s body but gave no hint of his assessment. “How are your tits?” he asked, as nonchalant as if he was asking an old friend about his grandchildren.