Patience County War (Madeleine Toche Series) (19 page)

“Well son, I know you didn’t come down here to say howdy. What’s up?”

“My dad wants to talk to Junior.”

“He may be my employer, but he’s also almost as bad an ass as you, and definitely don’t wear no white hat.”

“Dad needs a favor.”

Smith remembered how Sam’s father had got him this job when they left Detroit. One day they drove to this very BBQ joint, and that old ranger had asked the same old man out front to see Sgt. Junior Williams. How deferential the obvious gangster had been to the old man; great respect was shared. Junior himself had gotten an apron from the back for Smith and said simply, “If he can cook fine. If he can’t cook fine, but he has a job until I say he don’t have a job.”

Smith fondly remembered how they all had reacted when they tried his BBQ. Like all really good cooks, he knew his food was good. People didn’t
have to say it, but it didn’t hurt. That was more than four years ago, and more than a few real blues gigs. He got to do both things he loved again, after he thought he’d lose it all. There’s no joy in living the blues, life just works that way a lot.

“I will tell him right away. I know he will call your dad. Everything okay with you, Sam?”

“Me, I’m fine, just a Mexican meth problem.”

“Those drug problems don’t always turn out so good,” Smith gave Sam a knowing look.

“I know it, but this time they’re on my turf and have my friends to deal with.”

Sam and Smith ate some BBQ and Smith sent Sam home with his sauce. Sam knew if he asked he’d get the recipe, but knew better than to ask.

B
ehind the barn, a dilapidated storm cellar door hid a flight of cement steps. At the bottom, an electronic keypad guarded a heavy steel door. Very few people knew of the room behind the barn, and only a few had been inside.

The room and its contents gave John Trunce a sense of attachment to his old profession, as well as a sense of security. Behind the security door were racks of weapons and ammunition. Despite his eighty years, every gun was clean, oiled and ready for use. From here he had seen too many wars and too much combat to think that attack was impossible within the United States. 9-11 had also shown that to be not only possible, but probable now. He hadn’t been surprised in the least, only by the fact that it hadn’t occurred earlier. John thought of the people, who lived in all of the places where he’d fought, and how war was thrust upon them. How the peace and order of their lives had been shattered for years and in some cases decades by war. John knew the United States wasn’t immune. This situation was no different in his mind. It was an attack on the lives and
safety of his friends and neighbors. It was chemical warfare, just delivered a little differently. If there was to be retaliation against his family, friends, and community, it would be met with a more than determined resistance. If he could, he personally would kill them all. That was flat it. John did not have to remind himself that he was good at war. He was a living encyclopedia of modern combat knowledge and experience. He didn’t give a damn that he was pushing eighty years old. He remembered that many of the village elders who worked with the Viet Cong in Vietnam would have been considered old, but they fought alongside the men, women, and children against the world’s best equipped army and won. John also knew that the people he could count on if the fight came to them also felt as he did. These were people who lived as they did because of the experiences that they had lived through, so that they could find a small corner of the world and live in peace. Life to them was not about how much you can get, but how well you can live. They had all seen the abomination that the accumulation of wealth and power can become. War was never really about ideology, it was about power. Nothing had changed. Ideology was the mask leaders used to motivate the masses. A way to control people and to get them to go to war and fight, or to strap bombs to themselves and kill innocents.

John turned on the light and the room was illuminated. Racks of weapons were on the walls, each with a chest of ammunition beneath it. There were several automatic weapons, some modern and some dated, but all fully operational. John had two sixty caliber machine guns on tripods and thousands of rounds of ammunition. There were Claymore mines, rocket launchers, grenades and other manner of explosives: weapons from all of the wars he’d seen. John selected several lighter machine guns and ammo, carried them up into the main area of the barn and wrapped each in oil cloth and placed them in cases for transport. He took several grenades and cased those also. These were more modern, and he didn’t want any mistakes. He and Moon had reworked all of the explosive ordinance as it had come into his possession. There could be no mistakes when it came to them.

John pulled his jeep alongside the table where all of the cases were set, loaded them into the back seat and covered them with a tarp and strapped them down.

“John, do you think it will come to needing all that?” He looked up. Karen was standing in the doorway with a worried look on her face.

“I hope not, but I don’t know. I can tell you that we will all be prepared if it happens. It will be what it will be. Nobody will leave, you know that. Maybe this is just our time. I don’t understand much of anything about drugs and the like, but that doesn’t matter. We have to draw the line, and it might as well start here.”

“I know you are right and I’m glad you’re here.”

“I am glad to be here, with Karen Trunce and her Winchester.”

Karen smiled and hugged John, “The crazy thing about being older is that you worry a little less about dying, don’t you John? We’ve lived a long time and been very lucky. I just don’t want to go out feeling useless.”

“There’s little chance of that.”

“Where will I be?” Karen asked.

“Where do you want to be?”

“With you, but I know that won’t work.”

John smiled and brushed her cheek, “Now you know how you tend to distract me,” he said with a sly grin and meaningful voice.

“You bad man, John Trunce.”

“Card carrying,” he said. They both knew that for John to function he couldn’t be worrying about her, as he would if she was with him.

“I’ll go and stay with Madeleine. I doubt there will be trouble there. Besides, I pity anyone who takes on Madeleine Toche, especially in her own home.”

“More importantly, in her own restaurant,” John said.

They both smiled as Karen said, “The French and their food.”

John kissed Karen and drove down a dirt trail behind his home and up along the ridge that separated his land from the valley, where the creek and the next ridge that led down to the outskirts of town and Madeleine’s restaurant were. It was 2:30, a good time to be stopping by. Lunch was over and Madeleine would be expecting him.

He pulled up behind the restaurant and Madeleine came out with a dish towel over her shoulder and walked to the jeep.

“Bonjour John, I see you have brought friends to keep me company.”

“Of course, Madeleine. May I show them inside?”

“This way.”

John picked up one of the smaller cases and carried it into the back door of the building and down the stairs to the cellar. Madeleine led the way and turned on the light. John opened the case and took out two small
bundles and two small ammo boxes. Madeleine picked up one of the bundles and unwrapped the cloth. When she saw what was inside she whistled, “I haven’t seen one of these since the war. You are thoughtful to provide me with something with which I am all too familiar.” Deftly she inspected the weapon, expertly breaking it down and reassembling it.

“The Germans did many things well. The MP 40 is one of them,” John said.

“I carried and used one for years. It is reliable and sturdy,” She said dispassionately as if describing a vacuum cleaner.

“There are two for your convenience and a thousand rounds.”

Madeleine opened both ammo boxes and in the second were two grenades. She looked at John and didn’t say anything. She just closed the boxes and moved to a corner of the room where she temporarily locked them in a sturdy trunk.

“Thank you John. I think we should have some wine, and you can tell me what you know,” she said as they walked back up the concrete steps to the kitchen above.

S
am sat in Nathan’s kitchen with Nathan, his mother, and father. “Dad will come by with whatever you need.”

“He’s already been and we’re ready, Sam. We’ve already planned to head to the ridge once the shit hits the fan.” Unlike John, Joseph didn’t even try to suggest to Nathan and Ua that they would be better off with anyone other than himself. It would have been a bad idea, and the anger it would have caused would have been legendary. Both Nathan and his mother knew how to fire all of the weapons at their disposal if necessary. Nathan would be mobile, and the ridge was his Alamo.

Paco stood before a group of men who functioned as the Hacienda’s foremen, under the shade of an awning that briefly protected them from the unrelenting desert sun that beat down. They were also all completely loyal to their Patron, each with a story of survival and aid from the man.

“Men, I am putting a team of soldiers together to carry out a mission for our Patron. I need you to discretely inquire among the men under your
authority to find those who have prior military experience, and then simply send them to me. Marco and Philippe have served with me in the past,” Paco said as he gestured to two of the men in the group. “They will evaluate others who may not have prior experience but have the necessary characteristics for the job. I know that all of the men would fight and die for the Patron, and he appreciates that sacrifice, but prior training is essential to the successful completion of this task. Please do this immediately, and in three days we will begin to choose the men.”

After dismissing the men, Paco directed Marco and Philippe over to a table that was positioned under the awning. Once they sat he unrolled a couple of maps that were set over to the side.

“This will be a slash and burn mission, strictly to send a message and to even the score for our men. We have no idea of what we will find, whether it is one rogue sheriff or a group of vigilantes. One thing we do know is that they are well armed. The Patron is a cautious man, as am I, and we will go in prepared. Our man on the ground will assess the situation and determine what the enemy’s strength is. The Patron’s nephew is his representative in the area and will be of whatever assistance I determine.”

Both men smiled very slightly and made eye contact with Paco. They were his men from his days with the Cuban Army. He trusted them completely, but they both knew that meaningful glances were much less likely to land them in trouble than any open commentary on the idiocy of the man under discussion. They remembered well the Patron’s attempts to educate his nephew concerning Agaves farming and their disastrous results. The nephew had basically spent his days harassing the daughters of the men, smoking cigars and driving over equipment and buildings when he had sampled too much farm produce. They excused all of it in deference to their Patron, and because the nephew was indeed loyal to his uncle. Manny seemed to have a gift for that: people just didn’t want to disappoint him.

“We will be crossing the desert into Arizona. We will travel light and use those days to finish our training. I agree with the Patron that we must not only be prepared, but also patient. If the Enemy expects or is preparing for an attack; they will expect it to be swift. The longer we wait, within reason, the less and less the enemy will expect us to retaliate. We will train hard, starting now. We will train with the men.”