by Liliana Hart
“What are you up to, Coil?” she said.
Agatha recalled an old hunting lodge being somewhere off this road. She might have come a time or two for parties in high school, but this wasn’t keg stands or twenty years ago. She wedged her Jeep off road. The thicket was so dense she had to climb out over the top of the Jeep because neither door would open.
With about a quarter mile to go, she began to trek through the trees. It was still early spring, so the underbrush hadn’t fully consumed the ground floor and at best she hoped snakes were still half asleep.
Hank was still texting her.
STOP Texting me, she texted back.
Did I do something wrong? Was it because my face was too swollen to kiss you goodbye?
Agatha rolled her eyes No! Nothing to do with you. I’m hiding from Coil.
WHAT!!!!!
I’ll explain later.
Ranger Skinner and me are on our way. Where are you?
Agatha finally grew weary of the back and forth. She mashed his cell number into her phone and called him.
“Look, I got this,” she whispered into the phone. “You’re going to get me caught.”
“Seriously? You got this? You don’t think Coil knows you followed him? He’s got over twenty something years surveilling people, and you have what, like twenty minutes?”
“He never saw me.”
“At least tell me where you are, so we’ll know how to find your body. If Coil is up to no good, don’t think he won’t go the distance to protect his secret and himself.”
“You think he’d hurt me?” she asked.
“Without blinking an eye. Please let me and Skinner know where you are so we can at least check up if you don’t come back after he does.”
“What is Skinner doing with you?” she asked.
“He had some files to drop off to Reggie, and since his office was closed, I told him how to get to his farm.”
“You told him where Coil lived?” She couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice.
“Why? He’s a good guy, and he drove all the way from Austin to bring those papers. What was I supposed to do?”
“I guess so. Hank, I appreciate your concern, but I really gotta go. I hear a motorcycle coming.”
“Be safe, Aggie and check in.”
She mashed the end call button and shoved the phone in her pocket. Time was short. She didn’t see the bike pass her, so she assumed it had to have stopped at Coil’s location.
Briars and bushes had taken a toll on her flesh, but she made it to an opening. She saw a motorcycle and heard angry words spoken. After the night before at Reverend Graham’s, she wasn’t in the mood for either. She needed to see who Coil was with. She dropped to her hands and knees and began a very slow creep toward the tree line.
It was the old lodge. It didn’t look the same, and she didn’t recall the exterior walls being painted with the Rattlers’ insignia. But just as she’d dreaded, there was Coil right smack dab on the property. Agatha looked at the cell and wondered if it would capture their conversation. But first, she snapped a few pics and a video.
Agatha froze at the muffled crumple of foliage beneath her. She couldn’t look. She knew what it was, but she just couldn’t look. She froze and prayed it would slither on by. There was no way she’d get out alive if she panicked. She understood that there were three snakes present, but the one beneath her palms was the least dangerous.
“Stay calm,” she said to herself. “They smell fear.”
Once whatever it was passed, she let out a breath, and tried to listen to what Coil and the biker had to say.
“Tony, I told you we didn’t find any gold. All that was there was Beau’s skeleton,” Coil said, pleading.
“Don’t feed me garbage, partner. I want that treasure,” Tony demanded.
“I don’t know what to tell you, but I can’t give you what I don’t have.” Coil raised his hands in surrender.
Agatha saw the man Coil called Tony. He was a little shorter than Coil, but looked packed with ripped, ridged muscle. Both arms were covered in tattoos and the cut he wore showed he was a member of the Lone Star Rattlers. The straight-bill ball cap and sunshades prevented her from getting a good look or picture. But, she did see the big pistol he had strapped to his waist.
“Coil, we go way back, but I’m going to hate to have to do what I’m going to do next. Just remember, I kept your secret safe for a long time. Even after you got elected sheriff. The least you can do is give me what is rightly mine.” Tony’s voice grew more aggressive.
“Don’t threaten me, Tony. You go ahead and do what it is you feel you have to do. I’ll deal with the fall out on my end.”
“It’s your call, partner.”
Coil squared up like he was getting ready to fight. She’d never seen him like that. He always looked so relaxed and happy-go-lucky.
“I don’t know what’s going through your head,” Coil said. “But I’m not one of your punk bikers you get to intimidate when you pretend to be Axle. I know who you are, and I know what you’ve done.” Coil stood toe-to-toe with Tony. “So tread lightly.”
Tony shoved Coil hard in the chest with both hands. Coil fell back against his truck, but he stayed upright. Tony mounted his old, ratty bike.
“Hey, you’re the one who sent two rats at me last night. They shot up two of my best soldiers,” Tony said.
“You’ve lost your freaking mind,” Coil yelled over the rev of the engine.
“It’s your funeral.”
Tony’s arms drooped from the ape hanger handlebars. The engine roared and the loud pipes snapped and popped awfully fierce.
Agatha couldn’t believe that Coil’s former partner, Tony Smith was also Axle, the jerk from the night before. She wanted to call out to Coil, but was afraid he’d get angry. Agatha decided to stay still and text Hank.
Tony Smith is Axle.
Chapter Fourteen
Hank could understand Detective Sergeant Whitehorse’s anger. Heck, this whole thing had been a bumble from the start. It was nothing but one cover up after another; he was surprised anyone knew who the good guys were anymore.
Whitehorse leaned against his cruiser and barked into his radio, and then he slammed it against his car seat. He’d jerked it back through the window by the pigtail cord and barked into the microphone again. Hank just let him vent.
“We’ve got backup coming,” Whitehorse said, “But they’re about forty-five minutes away.”
“I’m sorry, Sarge,” Hank said. “I had no idea who you were when we first met. I had no clue about anything I was being dragged into, but Will called to clear things up once I passed y’all’s security clearance.”
“Sorry for coming down on you so hard that day. But it’s part of the cover. If I hadn’t acted that way, Skinner would’ve known something was up. No one knew Skinner had been recruited into the Rattlers while he’d been deployed to the Middle East. He was the perfect insider for their gang. Heck, even the almighty Texas Rangers didn’t catch it at first. But once they caught wind, I was transferred from an undercover assignment to the detective bureau to catch him.”
“How did you know for sure?” Hank asked.
“The moment Coil showed up with that bag of bones and the Rattlers’ cut with Beau’s name on it, I knew Skinner was all over it. He had to report what he found out to his boss. Some guy named Axel. We haven’t identified him yet.”
“Axel? That’s Coil’s ex-partner, Tony Smith,” Hank said.
Whitehorse pounded a fist against the cruiser’s door, but Hank could see the wheels spinning.
Hank and Whitehorse were hidden on Coil’s property so they could watch the activity at his house. Hank hated that he’d given Skinner Coil’s home address, but he’d trusted the guy. All they could do now was damage control. Coil’s wife, Shelly, and eight-year-old son, Cody, were inside.
“I know we had a rocky start,” Whitehorse said. “But can you trust me to cover your six. We’ve gotta get in th
at house and rescue Coil’s family. These are dangerous dudes.”
“I understand the choices that have to be made on the job,” Hank said. “We can’t wait for backup.”
Hank used the binoculars to zoom in on Coil’s house. Skinner’s police vehicle was parked in the front yard of Coil’s home. It was a four door Ford Interceptor without stickers or police markings. It only had a blue dashboard light for emergencies.
There were two motorcycles parked next to it. One was the bike Agatha described as driven by Tony Smith. The other bike was Ox’s, painted purple with the pink flames. It had been the same bike that had almost run him off the highway back when they were chasing Ellie Belle. She’d been riding on the back, wearing a string bikini and elf ears in the dead of winter.
Hank heard the high-pitched wail that sounded like a mosquito in despair. He steadied the binoculars and chased the sound.
“Oh no,” Hank said. “It’s Coil’s boy. He’s making a getaway on his dirt bike.”
Hank watched as the boy’s bike bounced and swung side-to-side as he hit dirt mounds and ditches before leveling off and moving away. A biker limped out the back door of the house. He fired off a rifle round in the boy’s direction, but it seemed angled up as a warning shot.
“I hope that kid can ride,” Whitehorse said, strapping a submachine gun across his bulletproof vest.
“Yeah, he can take care of himself on that thing, but now its just Shelly in there with those three animals. We need to move.”
“Here, take this.” Whitehorse stretched out his sinewy, tattooed arm and handed Hank a Benelli M4 Tactical twelve-gauge automatic shotgun. “It’s a smooth shot.”
Hank grabbed it and the extra ballistic vest Whitehorse had in the trunk of his police unit.
“Hank, we’re sitting ducks going in. Broad daylight and no cover. Let’s watch each other’s backs and shoot anything that ain’t Shelly.”
Hank had flipped the emotional switch that signaled to his brain and body that it was time to take care of business. No matter the personal toll.
“Ready,” Hank said.
“Let’s roll.” Whitehorse grinned and Hank recognized it as pure enjoyment. There was nothing like the job. Especially nothing like it when your life was in danger.
“Coil,” Hank said through the portable radio. “Whitehorse and I are moving in from east to west. We’re starting out beyond your pasture well. Your boy escaped out into hill country on a dirt bike. They still have Shelly.”
“I’m coming,” Coil said. “I’ve got Agatha. She flagged me down and wouldn’t let me leave without her.”
Hank grunted.
“Make sure she stays low in that truck,” Hank said and clipped the radio mic to his vest.
Whitehorse took the lead and Hank followed about three feet behind. There was an old dog kennel that had been emptied years ago. It was about four feet high and made of wood, but it would help them hide their movements until they got a little closer. Tall wheat grass also helped conceal their approach to that point.
Hank loved the adrenaline rush, but he was never much of a team tactical guy. SWAT was always for the stud grunts. Hank preferred the meticulous nature of investigations. He’d rather kick down a bad alibi than a door, but this was the job, so he did it.
“You okay?” Whitehorse asked.
Hank dropped to one knee as they approached the dilapidated doghouse. He was exhausted from the sprint across the open terrain, but there was no other option. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. It was only March, but to a Yankee from Philadelphia, it might as well have been July. Add in the fact that his face and body throbbed from his beating the night before, he was at a disadvantage.
“I’m good,” Hank said. “Let’s roll.”
Whitehorse peered through the remaining slats of wood on the kennel. One good bullet would’ve zipped through them, but it was better than sitting in an open field of grass.
“I think we run for the side of the house and then split up. I’ll go in the front and you take the back. We’ll clear the bottom floor and then meet up to check the second one. Okay?” Whitehorse suggested.
“On your signal.”
“On three,” Whitehorse said.
Hank heard Shelly screaming from inside. Whitehorse heard it too.
“Now,” Hank said.
They launched themselves from behind the old dog kennel. Immediately, a shot rang out from inside the old two-story wooden farmhouse. Chips splintered and shards raked across Hank’s face. He felt the stings, but didn’t see the blood until he had begun to shoot back toward the last window closest to the back door.
Hank’s counter fire was enough to send the anonymous shooter ducking for cover. It also gave him and Whitehorse a few precious seconds to get to cover. Hank sprinted only as fast as he could hold his shotgun level on target. His dark, brown eyes were laser-focused on the two windows toward the rear, while he knew Whitehorse was watching the two front windows.
Hank couldn’t slow his speed. Right before impact into the side of the house, he spun so that his shotgun faced away. His heft made a resounding thud. But it wasn’t like they were sneaking in anyway.
Whitehorse looked at him briefly and nodded. That meant it was time to go their different ways. Hank’s legs were heavy and wobbling. His arms and shoulders ached from holding the shotgun up and away from his body.
His deep, shallow breaths were loud and awkward, but he wouldn’t rest until they rescued Shelly. He’d been off the job too long, and boy, was he feeling it. Police fitness was completely different than regular physical fitness. But Hank’s determination would carry him through.
Hank fell to the ground as holes were blasted through the wooden exterior walls. One of the outlaws was randomly shooting through them, but the hollow walls and studs were zipped through like Swiss cheese. The home was set up on blocks, so Hank dropped onto his back and rolled slightly under the house.
He watched Whitehorse maneuver to the front edge of the house and stoop down. Then he sprinted across about a twenty-yard gap until he reached the rear of Skinner’s police cruiser. He began placing shots into the house. It looked like he was trying to clear away the shooter who was blasting at Hank.
Hank heard heavy footfalls against the non-insulated wooden floor. He could tell they were running toward the front of the house. Hank approximated the outlaw’s location and let three rounds rip from the automatic shotgun. He staggered the distance to lead whoever was running.
A loud holler echoed throughout the house.
“Oh, yeah,” Hank said.
But soon, the thumping began again, except there was a noticeable gimp in the stride. Hank heard the front screen door slam open and curses were yelled between the rapid, automatic rifle fire. It sounded like an AK47 rifle. He watched Whitehorse hunker down behind the rear of the Ford Interceptor and try to return fire.
Hank tried to pop ground-level shots to hit the guy in the legs but couldn’t get the angle. He was moving too fast.
Suddenly, Hank heard a thundering crash. His body jerked and he smacked his head on the bottom board of what was plumbing pipes. He saw Coil’s monster black matte-colored Dodge Ram pickup truck raging through the wood and barbed wire fence gate.
The headlamps bounced as the tires lifted off the ground for just an instant. The massive motor roared like the Hulk as it accelerated. All Hank was able to see was the chrome grill of Coil’s truck smash into and then run over one of the outlaws. It looked like Ox.
“Follow me,” Coil hollered as he jumped from the truck when it crashed into his cement steps attached to his front porch.
Whitehorse left his cover position and followed Coil in through the front door. Hank rolled out and sprinted to the back door. He circled around the small patio porch. It was set about four-feet off of the ground. Just as Hank stepped up on the first concrete block, the back screen door exploded open.
It was Detective Bud Skinner.
The dirty cop held a rif
le in one hand and a semiautomatic pistol in the other. Hank didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger and drop him.
“Two down. One to go,” Hank radioed to Coil.
“They’re upstairs,” Coil said.
Hank saw Coil and Whitehorse stacked one behind the other as they began a slow approach up the winding staircase that led to his and Shelly’s bedroom. Hank moved to the base of the stairs in case they needed help. Hank held his position and began to dig shotgun shells out of his pants pockets to reload into the chamber.
He heard footsteps and shouting, but he wasn’t sure who was who. There were two thuds on the other side of the staircase. Hank thought there were only three outlaws inside, but they hadn’t gotten a good visual of all the players. With Skinner and Ox being gone, that should have only left them with Axel, aka Tony Smith, to deal with.
“I knew you were a cop,” a voice said from behind him. Hank froze and his blood chilled. “I can smell a cop a mile away. I should’ve shot you myself last night.”
Hank turned so Tony was in his line of sight.
“Nice and slow,” Tony said.
Tony held Shelly in front of him with an arm wrapped around her throat. Shelly’s hazel eyes were bloodshot and bruises had already begun to discolor her pretty face. Her naturally curly brown hair was wet with sweat and stuck to Smith’s arm and her forehead.
“Drop the gun or I’ll blow her head off,” Tony said with a snarl.
“This is stupid, Tony. You’ve blown a career and wasted your life for something that doesn’t even exist. The gold is just a myth.”
“It’s real,” Tony said. “You’re nothing but Coil’s snitch. Start moving.”
Hank tried to step back, but the staircase wall had him hemmed in. He was still holding onto the shotgun.
Tony jammed the .45 against Shelly’s head again and she closed her eyes, trying to make peace with her end. Tony jerked her up and let her feet dangle while he cut off her air supply.
“I told you to drop it,” Tony said.
“Hank?” Coil called out.
“Down here,” Hank said, keeping his eyes on Tony. “We’re all down here.”
