by Alex Ander
“Because the handoff was supposed to be...” patting his brow with a handkerchief, Hawkins joined her, “quick.”
She glanced at the town’s citizens; half were meandering while the other half lounged in the shade, sipping beverages. Everyone here must have a different definition of the word ‘quick.’
He folded and put away the damp cloth. “We should have been on the road by now and heading back to the airport. What is it with this country? Everything seems to move at a snail’s pace.” Hawkins had come to Mexico a few times for work, and each visit had been the same as this one.
Devlin shot a look at her partner. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by to see your new little one. Things have been busy, lately.”
His mind showing him an image of his newborn baby, a boy, Hawkins smiled at a mother in the distance, carrying her child. “Yeah, I get it. Things have been crazy for Tasha and me too. She’s been great though. She knows I work long hours, so she gets up for the middle-of-the-night feedings.”
Devlin smiled. “Your wife’s a terrific woman.”
Hawkins snorted. “That’s an understatement.” He faced Devlin. “When this is over, let’s get together. I know Tasha would love to have you, Curt, and Cassie over for dinner.”
She nodded. “I’d like that too.”
The door to the makeshift jail opened. Mills and Chambers entered the daylight. They book ended a shuffling man; his ankles cuffed together, a short chain between the two. Another pair of cuffs secured his wrists near his stomach, while a second chain around his waist kept him from extending his hands too far.
Devlin eyed the man, matching his face to the one she saw in the file folder. Her eyes went to the captive’s clothing: a light-colored, short-sleeved shirt, khaki pants, and brown hiking boots. She had expected an orange jumpsuit and slippers. The Mexican officials had even allowed him to keep his black sunglasses.
The trio stopped.
Devlin removed the eyewear and handed them to Hawkins before squinting at the one in her charge, taking in his features—brown eyes below thick, black eyebrows that matched the dark beard covering tanned skin. “Mr. Patton, I’m Deputy Marshal Jessica Devlin.”
Patton looked away from the sun and blinked repeatedly.
She gestured. “This is Deputy Marshal Hawkins. We’re here to escort you back to the United States to stand trial for the crimes for which you are accused.” She took Patton by the arm and led him to the Suburban.
Chambers opened the right-rear passenger door.
After spinning the man a hundred and eighty degrees, until his back was to the Chevy, Devlin applied downward pressure to his shoulder. “Sit down and swing your legs into the vehicle.”
With her assistance, Patton complied.
“Keep going.”
He scooted left.
She got in and slammed the door.
The other doors closed, and the SUV sped away, heading for MEX-85, Hawkins on Patton’s left and Mills driving.
After attaching her prisoner’s safety belt, as well as her own, Devlin got comfortable in the seat. “Sit back and relax, Mr. Patton. We have a three-hour drive ahead of us.”
The man glanced around the vehicle’s interior and faced her. “What...no complimentary beverages or snacks?” Grinning, he rotated his head toward the agent on his port side. “This is the last time I use that fly-by-night travel agency.”
Hawkins glared at the man.
The smile left Patton’s face, as he leaned away. “Your partner’s not the fun one, is he? Let me guess. He’s the bad cop in this routine.” Patton came back to Devlin. “That must make you the good cop.”
She pushed him to an upright position and folded arms over her chest.
“Or maybe I lucked out and got two bad ones.” He filled his lungs and exhaled a loud, full breath. “So how about we play a game? You know...so everyone can get to know each other better. Plus, it’ll make the time pass quicker. Who wants to start?” He turned toward Hawkins.
Hawkins gritted his teeth, the muscles at the back of his jaw bulging.
Patton lifted a finger, “We’ll circle back to you, big man,” before facing the woman on his right. “Marshal Devlin?”
Her lips disappeared inside her mouth.
“I get it. Being the first one can be intimidating.” He shot glances at the agents in the front seat. His voice went higher. “How about either of you...care to share?”
Mills narrowed his eyes at the rearview mirror, delivering a gristly look to the chatty passenger.
“Wow. This is a tough crowd. Maybe we need to do a trust-building exercise first...” his chains clanging, he made circles with open hands, “you know...to create a safe space for talking.” His index finger went upward. “I got one.”
Mills eased his foot off the accelerator. “It looks like there’s an accident up ahead.”
Listing right and left, Devlin surveyed the scene: three mangled vehicles blocked a narrow stretch of the road, cutting off passage on either side.
Chambers unhooked her restraint. “Pull over. I’ll check it out.”
Devlin put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “No.”
Mills cranked his head toward the backseat.
Devlin met his gaze. “Drive back to Villa Mainero. There’s a road that leads out of town, to the north; it’ll get us to the highway.”
Hawkins inclined forward to see around the detainee. “How do you know that?”
She glimpsed him. “We had a few hours to kill...I studied a map of our route and the immediate area.”
Patton cocked his head at Devlin. Smart.
“Plus, it pays to have a backup plan.”
The prisoner pursed his lips. And tactical.
“Shouldn’t we,” Mills aimed his forehead at the accident, “see if anyone needs help?”
“We have a job to do.” Devlin pivoted her upper body to see out the back window. “You’re clear back here. Get this thing pointed in the opposite direction.” She spanked the front passenger seat twice. “Let’s go. Let’s go.”
Patton studied her out of the corner of his eye. Focused too.
*******
half an hour later
2:23 p.m.
one mile southwest
of san fernando, Mexico
Devlin checked the time on her watch. I don’t believe this. She shut her eyes and laid her head on the backrest behind her. Two more hours of him blabbering on and I might just shoot him myself...and save the legal system some time and money.
For the last twenty-five minutes, Patton had not stopped talking. No one in the vehicle had responded to any of his remarks. Not that that mattered. He was like a late night host delivering a monologue, minus the laughter.
He smacked his lips together. “I’m parched. Anyone have some water?”
Chambers held a half-full, clear plastic bottle between the front seats. “There shouldn’t be too much backwash in there.”
Mills and Hawkins chuckled.
Patton accepted the offering. “At this point, I don’t really much care.” He downed the beverage in one pull, compressed the container and affixed the cap. “Your spit,” he let out a short burp, “tastes divine.”
Chambers smiled at her partner. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”
Mills and Hawkins sniggered.
“Since the communication lines seem to be opening, let’s go around and say where each of us is from. ‘Marshal Backwash,’ you can go first.”
She lowered an elbow onto the console and squinted at Patton. “And you can go fu—”
“What the...” Mills touched the brake pedal.
The sudden deceleration sent Devlin’s head forward. Opening her eyes, she peered between the front seats and through the windshield, as the Suburban stopped fifty feet from a two-car collision. A man was on the ground, on his side, his back to the deputy marshals’ SUV. A second man was down on one knee, assisting the injured motorist. Both crashed cars showed minimal damage.
“It seems someone,” Mills caught Devlin’s eye in the rearview mirror, “doesn’t want you to make your flight.”
She pivoted her head left and right and spied a forest on both sides of the narrow stretch of roadway. She faced the accident. Each car had ended up near large tree trunks, leaving no room for other cars to pass. Her stomach muscles contracted, and her heart beat faster, as her eyes zeroed in on the kneeling man’s black leather jacket. Too dang hot for that...this is a trap. “Reverse.” She undid her safety belt.
Mills turned around in his seat. “What?”
“Get us the hell out of here!”
He thrust the gearshift to ‘R’ and stomped on the gas pedal.
The genuflecting man produced a handgun from under his leather jacket. His partner rolled over and aimed a rifle. Both men opened fire on the Chevrolet.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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Chapter 9
Punch It
Bullets pinged off sheet metal and penetrated the retreating Suburban’s front grille, as Mills spun the steering wheel left and sent the brake pedal to the floor. The windshield cracked, as holes and spider webs appeared on the transparent surface.
As Devlin undid her prisoner’s seat belt, she felt a spray hit her forehead.
The SUV lurched sideways in the middle of the road.
More incoming rounds strafed the driver’s side.
She grabbed Patton by the neck, shoved him to the floor, “Punch it, Mills,” and threw herself on top of him. Windows blew inward, dumping glass pellets onto her back and down her shirt.
Hawkins stuck his gun into the jagged opening to his left and returned fire.
Devlin drew her Colt 45 and braced for the sudden acceleration, but the large Chevy coasted backward a few feet and stopped. She looked up and saw Mills and Chambers slumped over in their seats. A hole at the back of the latter deputy marshal’s head caught Devlin’s eye. She wiped her forehead and smeared the red over her fingers. They’re dead.
A constant barrage of inbound gunfire shredded the SUV. Strips of leather and particles of foam flew around the interior, as more broken glass filled the space.
“They’re dead, Hawk.” Lying on her left side, she worked the door release with the toe of her right boot. “Bail out,” she kicked open the barrier, “on me,” and slithered backwards, out of the disintegrating four-by-four, dragging Patton with her.
Hawkins’ weapon ran dry. Reloading while crawling over the bench seat, he scrambled out of the vehicle and took cover behind the right-front tire.
Squatting, Devlin and Patton put their backs to the right-rear tire, she on his left.
Hawkins patted his ribs, winced, and scowled at his shiny, red palm. God da—he half stood, planted his Glock 22 on the hood, and worked the trigger.
Devlin eyed Patton. “You hit?”
He let out a quick breath through puckered lips and shook his head one time.
“Stay down.”
“No kidding. That must be why you’re in charge.”
She whipped her head toward her partner; he had assumed a low crouch. “How many?”
He dropped the magazine from his gun. “I saw four. They’re—” he fumbled while trying to insert a new magazine into the Glock’s magwell, “they’re armed with rifles.” He jammed the new cartridge holder into his weapon and ran the slide forward. “Our ride’s disabled. We need to get out of here. If—” twisting his torso, he grimaced. “If they flank us—ow,” he pressed his back to the fender and took a couple breaths. “If they flank us, we’re dead.”
Devlin heard the hitch in his voice. “Are you all right over there?” She pivoted her head back and forth, eyeballing the landscape. Tall trees were everywhere.
“Flesh wound...”
She glanced in the direction from which they had come, an open road. They’ll pick us off for sure.
“...I’m fine. We need better—”
Projectiles hit the side mirror.
Hawkins hunched his shoulders, as the car part flew over his head. “We need better cover. You get to the woods. I’ll keep them busy.”
Devlin faced Patton. “When I tell you to,” she dipped her forehead toward the tree line, “run.”
“That’s going to be a little difficult with my,” he lifted one foot off the ground and motioned toward the cuffs above his ankles, “charm bracelets on.”
She fished out a set of small keys from a jean pocket.
“You ready, Dev?”
“Ten seconds, Hawk.”
Bullets hit the Chevy from wider angles.
“We’re lucky if we have five. They’re flanking us. Go...now.” Hawkins spun counter clockwise and got off a couple shots from around the right-front corner of the bumper, at the men on his two o’clock. He rose up and fired over the hood, at the advancing men on his ten o’clock.
Devlin worked the locks and spread apart the shackles. “Move!”
Patton bolted for the thick tree trunks, aiming for the darkness between two of them.
Backtracking, she followed him, her 45 ACP barking louder than her adversary’s rifles.
One of the attackers clutched his chest and fell forward.
Swinging the Colt left, she sent a couple 230-grain jacketed rounds toward the second man and ran toward the forest, hearing her colleague bellow.
Hawkins grabbed his right side, fired at the approaching gunmen at his two o’clock, and collapsed behind the Suburban, his back to the tire, his breathing heavy and erratic. He glanced down at his blood-soaked shirt and put two fingers into the opening under his ribcage. He screamed.
Devlin ducked behind a wide oak and found a target. She eased off a shot.
The man nearest to Hawkins’ position crumpled.
She met her partner’s gaze.
Hawkins’ eyes were at half-mast. His chest was heaving.
She turned her attention toward the second encroaching marauder, launched two rounds toward him, came back to Hawkins, and read his thoughts: Take one for you. Devlin gritted her teeth. Not if I take one for you first. She stepped out from cover and started toward him.
Before she had taken a second step, something yanked her back and pushed her behind the oak. A split second later, loud reports came from her nine o’clock. Looking up, she saw Patton a foot away, holding a Glock 22 six inches in front of his belly.
The chained man let loose with a slow volley, directing his shots at two men near the two-car crash. “There’s too many.” Rotating his torso like a gun turret, he got off one shot after another. “We need to bug out.”
Devlin took in the scene: four gunmen with rifles were closing in on Hawkins from three sides. “Not without Hawk.”
“We’ll be cut to pieces.”
“I’m going for him.” Catching her coworker’s eye, she regarded him. Whether he had heard her or read her thoughts, she was unsure. The look on his face, however, told her he knew she was coming for him.
Shaking his head at her, he pressed his back against the SUV, made a face, and pushed himself upward.
The cacophony stopped, as the bandits reloaded their weapons.
Staring at Devlin, Hawkins gave her a single dip of his chin. “Tell her I love her, Dev.” He whirled around.
“Hawk!”
Hawkins engaged the gunmen, firing one handed. He felled one and sent another sprawling to the ground. The slide on his Glock locked to the rear.
Two bullets penetrated his upper chest.
He twitched twice, thumbed the 22’s magazine release, and reached for the left side of his belt.
Another bullet struck him in the belly.
He staggered backward, his left hand slapping at his magazine pouch.
As round after round entered her close friend’s body, Devlin watched Hawkins jerk and convulse. Her mind showed her images of the two of them, at a backyard barbecue, a snowy Christmas, her own wedding. She saw mental snapshots of her with Curt, Cassandra, Blake and Tasha, laughing and en
joying one another’s company, back lit by a roaring blaze in a fireplace.
Devlin swallowed. Her mouth was dry. She shut her eyes, as the men rounded the Suburban, their guns aimed at Hawkins’ prone, still form. I’m sorry, Blake. I’m so sor—
“Marshal Devlin!” Patton fired twice before shaking her shoulder. “Devlin, we need to move.” The branches above his head split apart, as the gunmen turned their rifles on him and the deputy marshal.
She opened her eyes, glimpsed Hawkins’ body, and forced the happy memories from her brain.
“Our position’s been compromised, Marshal.”
She closed her left eye, placed the 1911’s front sight on the closest attacker, and dropped him with one shot. The Colt’s slide stayed back. “Go.” Her voice was steady, as she pulled a full magazine from the pouch on her belt.
“What are you doing? You can’t take them all on. You’ll be—”
“I said,” she jammed a fresh eight into her weapon and thumbed the slide into battery, “Go.”
After casting alternating glances at her and the killers, Patton did a one-eighty, took a few running strides, and stopped. His head lolled backwards, Son-of-a... before he turned toward the deputy marshal, lifted his gun, and searched for a target. We’ll both probably get killed. Before he could work the Glock’s trigger, he noticed her retreating from the action. It’s about time you come to your senses. He reversed course and ran deeper into the woods.
Backing away from the tree, oblivious to the jacketed slugs zipping by her ears or burrowing into the surrounding earth, Devlin lined up another man. She applied pressure to the Colt’s trigger, and the hammer fell.
A second man slunk to his knees and keeled over sideways, as two more men seemed to materialize from nowhere.
Withdrawing a few steps, she fired a controlled pair at each of the newcomers before following Patton’s path into the woods, her mind envisioning the gruesome replay of a good man’s death.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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Chapter 10
Drop the Gun
