Desert Exposure (27 page)

“It’ll hurt like a sonafabitch,” Mantis said. “It’s only a bandana, but it might stop the bleeding for a bit.”

Where had he heard that before
? He forced his eyes open. Mantis sounded like his father.

He couldn’t recall how many times his father had come to someone’s aid like that, or recounted his gory tales over dinner. The band tightened around his arm, and he clenched, clamped down on his jaw, and stopped the pain-wracked cry from gurgling up his throat and alerting anyone to their position. Just in case he’d been wrong about the taillights.

“I tightened it with a small stick. Remember to loosen it in fifteen minutes or so. Don’t forget, or you’ll lose the arm.” Mantis dug around in a small pouch strapped to his chest.

Michael gave a tight laugh. “Be the least of my worries.” Stars danced before his eyes. A wave of something bitter wafted beneath his nostrils: smelling salts. He gagged at the sensation. That damn Mantis, he thought of everything. Fernando. His name is Fernando.

“Thanks,” he said, and lay on his side, gingerly feeling around his foot. No bones jutted out at perilous angles. It might be a sprain. He stood and tested his weight on it. He’d survive.

“I need to, you know…get out of here before the SWAT guys arrive,” Mantis said, and he pointed over his shoulder toward the low lying mountains. “Less questions, the better.”

“Thanks buddy,” he whispered. “Get going.”

“Yeah, it’s best for my ongoing career.” Mantis laughed, patted Michael on the shoulder, and helped him to stand. Michael leaned against a tree trunk and shook his hand. The injury was to his left arm. He could still shake a hand and make it mean something. And he could still fire his gun.

“I’ll get your back for as long as I can,” Mantis said.

Michael nodded, and limped forward. “Stay safe,” he whispered.

Mantis slipped off into the darkness, his gun raised. It had become eerily quiet, except for the drone of the nearby helicopters. A copter’s spotlight shone through the trees across the other side of the park. It had to be at least a mile away. Had the heat sensors detected escaped men? Had they made a run for it? Or had they driven off in their car, and then been road blocked?

Out in the motor home park, lights had come on. He thought he heard Stanton’s voice coming over a speaker, urging people to stay inside. He hoped it was Stanton. The back door of the cabin stood open, the car gone. He dropped to the sand. He’d crawl the rest of the way, save energy, be less visible.

A couple of Humvees were parked along the entry road into the motor home park. The SWAT team had fanned out, running in the opposite direction to the cabin. He was out of the line of fire. He inched forward. The guys would get the Suarez brothers. They wouldn’t get too far.
Pity
. He’d wanted to take the Kingpin himself, but he was glad for the help of the team. Besides, he had to get to Henry’s body. They’d want to give him a proper funeral. That would be the least he could do for Rachel and the old guy. With his injured arm tucked close to his chest, Michael dragged himself on his side—digging his one good heel into the sand and pushing his body forward, stopping, taking a breath and wincing at the pain—and then doing all of it over again.

The sky had lightened enough that he could see the mounds of sand clearly. They hovered above the gravesite, a dark rectangle only twenty feet away. He pushed on, making slow but steady progress. The gaping hole in the earth drew closer. He tried not to think of the old man dying there. And then his gaze narrowed as he caught a glimpse of wispy gray hair. The guy must have landed on his ass. He must be sitting in the shallow grave, sitting up and dead.

“Awww, Henry,” he said.

A head popped up out of the hole. Michael stared at the old gray-haired guy, and he stared back. He pushed himself a foot closer. Who’d have believed it? The old guy’s survival revived his lagging energy, and he stretched out a hand toward the edge of the hole.

“I’m Michael.”

Henry put a finger to his lips, and indicated he should get in the hole too. “Quick,” he whispered. “No time.”

Michael looked down, didn’t know if he could, but when he saw the fear and concern on Henry’s face he knew it was imperative to move fast. Only a shallow grave, it would be cramped quarters. Henry helped him, but even then the pain pierced his body as it made impact with the harder sand floor. He sucked in a breath as he pulled his knees tight to his chest. Henry pushed him down, using only signals, and pulled his skinny legs up tight to make more room. They were both small men, not huge like Jack Fischer, which was a hell of a plus. He’d often thought his slighter body worked against him. Not this time.

Henry cupped one ear and leaned forward. Michael held his breath and listened.

The sound of someone running through the water hit him. He nodded at Henry and raised his gun. The old guy nodded back. The sound came straight toward them.

Chapter Seventeen

Rachel, Jack, and Manuel pulled up behind Stanton’s car. Jack got out and checked it.

“It’s empty,” he said as he slid back into the back seat.

Stanton’s car was parked back a bit from the entrance into the trailer park. Down the highway, Rachel could see another car. A dark blue Honda. The same vehicle that had cruised through the parking lot at the Rabbit Ranch on Tuesday night, full of young Latino males. She looked over at Manuel.

“That’s Arturo’s car,” he said. “They call themselves the Suarez gang.”

Rachel nodded and shivered. She put her window down. No sense dwelling on things like that. “I’m guessing Michael and the guys crossed over this way. They’d have been going to the cabins that are scattered along the edge of the river.” She looked around. “We used to stop here quite often. Grandpa liked to photograph the wildlife.” Rachel got out of the car and shouldered her backpack.

“You could get caught in cross-fire. You and Ralph stay here,” Jack said.

Rachel glared at him.

“I’ll go and check things out. The gang might have had the same idea. It’s too dangerous, and what about Ralph?”

“Do you have an extra gun?” she asked, closing the door and sticking her head back through the window. “Ralph will be fine.” She put him inside her jacket and zipped it up.

Manuel reached over and opened the glove compartment and pulled out a gun. Then he grimaced. “I’m going with you.”

“You don’t have to,” Jack said.

“I do.” Manny got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side.

Rachel pushed her way through the double strands of wire that were slung loosely between the post stumps. Gunshots rang out, and the sounds of helicopters coming in over the low lying mountain range had her heart pounding. She prayed they weren’t too late.

“Wait up,” Jack said. “Let’s think this through. We need a plan.”

“No time for that,” Rachel said. “We’ll get to the river and see what’s going on, and then decide on a plan of action.”

****

Henry put a hand on Michael’s gun and shook his head, then he slowly raised himself up and looked over the area. They were like two soldiers in a bunker: Michael the injured, and Henry the spotter, waiting for the enemy. Only they had no idea who the enemy was. Could it be one of the SWAT team? Michael had two rounds left and one more magazine. He didn’t want to start firing at a wild animal, or worse, one of his own guys.

His head pounded, and he felt woozy from pain and blood loss. If it was a wild animal it would smell the blood, follow the trail, and it might end up doing them both in. He felt light-headed again, and closed his eyes for a few seconds, and breathed deeply. When he opened his eyes he saw Henry peeping over the sand. He wondered about Mantis, and Stanton.

The sloshing water sound had stopped. When Henry sank back down, a slow smile creased his already creased old face. “Just like I figured,” he whispered.

Henry was close enough to Michael’s face that he felt the warmth of his breath, and the stale smell of food and coffee. He didn’t mind. It felt good to have another human being close by. The guy beckoned him even closer, and pressed his mouth almost to Michael’s ear. “They run. They circle back. Always the same plan.”

Michael nodded. He figured Henry wasn’t talking about wild animals. He must mean the brothers. “They think they’re safe that way.”

Henry nodded, and then nestled closer. “I call them Younger Brother and Big Brother, not sure of their names. Anyway, Younger drove Big away in the car, allowing him to escape on foot and double back. Younger used himself as a decoy.”

Michael winced against the throb in his arm, and then widened his eyes. “Big returned?”

Henry grinned broader. “It’s all about family loyalty. Big gets saved at any cost.”

Michael watched the old guy, and almost shook his head in wonder. He’d been through so much, yet still thought logically. He’d obviously watched the whole thing. Seen the guys escape, then a few of the SWAT team members do a sweep of the cabin, while the other hummers and the copters gave chase. But why didn’t Henry give himself over to the care of the good guys?

“I’m going in,” Michael said.

“He’ll see you coming. Windows face this way. They were well armed. Stash of ammo that filled a large sized duffle bag. Scopes, AK 47’s, didn’t take that with them in the car.”

“But didn’t the SWAT team take the duffle?”

“Nope. They ran in and out.”

“Okay,” Michael whispered, his gaze never leaving the back of the cabin. “Go on with your story.”

“When Younger walked me down here, I knew where we were. I’d suspected, but wasn’t certain until then. I’ve been camping out in these parts for years. Know the river. Know the scents. I could see beneath the hood, and he hadn’t bothered to tie my wrists or anything.”

Michael nodded but didn’t interrupt. He’d seen Henry fall into the hole, and had assumed he’d taken a bullet.

“Heard the water and deliberately stumbled.” Henry emitted a soft laugh. “Did that, so I could get a better sense of exactly where we were. Saw the grave. When I heard you, and the firing started, I was a foot or two from it. I took a roll and a dive, and bided my time.”

Michael smiled through his pain.
Smart man
. “What was in the sack next to the car?”

Henry frowned as he thought that over. “Oh. Laundry.” He chuckled softly. “Younger liked everything clean and neat. Big is a useless piece of shit. Spoiled rotten.”

Michael almost laughed out loud.

“Here’s what I think,” Henry whispered. “He gets more ammo, coupla guns, food, straps on a backpack and follows the river back to the highway. Makes a cell phone call. Maybe has to wait for a final say so, for a hook up. The cousin from Almagro picks him up.”

“The cousin?”

“Arturo. Don’t know the last name, but he’s got a nasty gang of brothers. Younger called them the Suarez gang. Heard that a few times when he got cell phone calls, and there’s an Arturo works for my granddaughter. I saw all the guys once, and I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy. Most of the time I was blindfolded when they came, but…”

“And Manuel?”

“Nope. Not him. Clean as a whistle. Very protective of my girl. Never did like Arturo.”

Michael nodded. Relief flooded him. For some reason he wanted Rachel to have someone she could turn to, someone who would protect her. He doubted he’d make it out of here alive. Not if the old guy had been right, and Big was heavily armed. He turned toward Henry. “So what do you think happens next?”

Henry shrugged. “We wait. Got anything to eat?”

Food
? That sounded good. “Inside the vest, right pocket, couple of chocolate covered protein bars. Left pocket a couple of juice boxes, small but—”

“Chocolate?” Henry almost pounced on him.

“Easy there old guy. You’re going to do me in.”

Henry chuckled, retrieved the two bars and peeled off the wrapper, handing the first one to Michael. Then he eased back onto one elbow, and tore back the wrapper on his own bar, and with eyes half closed, he nibbled at it, savoring and murmuring over every bite. They drank the kiddie juice boxes, knowing this might be the last liquid they’d have for a while. Still, the river wasn’t too far off. If Michael could get a clean shot, Ricardo Suarez wouldn’t make it as far as the river. And then they’d find water and food in the cabin.

Henry finished the juice, took off his sweatshirt, and then pulled a t-shirt over his head, revealing white wrinkled skin that puckered in the early morning chill. He put the tee shirt between his thighs and wriggled back into the sweatshirt.

“What are you doing?” Michael whispered.

“Need to release that tourniquet. Then rewrap your arm.”

Henry proceeded to tear at the shirt with his teeth. Once he’d made a hole big enough he tore the material into strips. “Never did say who you are,” Henry said. “But I think I got it all figured out.”

Michael watched as the old guy removed the bandana, and carefully cleaned his wound.

“I’m Detective Michael Delaney,” he said softly, trying not to wince at the throbbing wound that pained in his arm.

“Younger said you’re shacking up with my girl.”

“Did he?” Michael raised an eyebrow, and watched Henry closely as he began to apply the bandage. The pressure of the new bandages made him feel better, even though Henry’s pale blue gaze turned steely. He figured he owed him an explanation. But what exactly could he say?