I patted him on the arm. I had a hard time with emotions, but revenge, that I could understand. “That’s the spirit.”
“They’re gonna
VALENTINE
Quagmire, Nevada
June 21
1500
The Nevada sun blazed overhead as I hiked up the road from the Greyhound bus station. Quagmire’s bus station wasn’t really a bus station. It was a tobacco shop and party store that the Greyhound bus occasionally stopped at. Hawk knew I was coming, but he didn’t know what time I was getting in. No one was waiting for me.
I thought about calling him. I had a prepaid phone that I’d purchased after I landed in the States. I decided I’d just walk. I was probably being paranoid, but I was very leery about using a cell phone still. It was a good hike to Hawk’s ranch, but I knew the way. I shouldered my duffel bag and started down the road.
I was walking up Main Street in Quagmire when a big Ford pickup, adorned with an NRA and a US Marine Corps window sticker, slowed to a stop next to me. The driver, a crusty old guy wearing a NASCAR hat, rolled down his passenger-side window and got my attention. I immediately tensed up. I was unarmed, save a pocket knife I’d bought at a Wal-Mart. My left hand slid down to my pants pocket, where the knife was tucked away.
“You need a lift, son?” he asked. I had a big green military duffel bag, and my hair was still buzzed short. He probably thought I was a vet coming home.
I relaxed some and moved my hand away from my pocket. “If it’s no trouble,” I said, stepping closer to the pickup.
“Where ya headed?”
“You know the Hawkins place? It’s on the north end of town.”
“Oh hell,” the man said, grinning. “I know Hawk. C’mon, get in. Toss your bag in the back. I’ll give you a lift. It’s no trouble.” I thanked the man, threw my heavy bag into the back of his truck, and jumped in.
We rolled past the limits of the town, following a well-worn dirt road. About half a mile down it, we passed through a gate that had been left open, ignoring the NO TRESPASSING signs that were fading in the desert sun. The truck left a cloud of fine dust in its wake as we neared the house at the end of the road.
It was a modest-looking two-story ranch house, very unassuming and unremarkable in appearance, just like its owner. There was more than immediately met the eye.
The old man stopped his truck by a well-used, dusty Dodge turbo diesel pickup. I thanked him and got out. As soon as I grabbed my bag, the old man turned around and headed up the road again, leaving me standing in his dusty wake.
The sun was intense overhead. I squinted even through my sunglasses. I slowly walked toward the house, bag in hand. On the porch, in the shade, Hawk sat in a rocking chair, reading a newspaper and sipping ice water.
“Hawk,” I said, stepping onto the porch. He didn’t get up, but I knew he recognized me. If he hadn’t, I’d have been staring down the barrel of a .44 Magnum before I even got close.
Hawk folded his newspaper and set it aside. “Good to see you, kid,” he said simply. “I was glad to hear from you. I kind of figured you were dead.”
“You were almost right,” I said levelly.
“Where’s Tailor?”
“I don’t know,” I replied truthfully. “He was alive last time I saw him. It’s a long story.”
Hawk nodded and stood up. “C’mon in.” He led the way into his house. It was air-conditioned and mercifully cool inside. I was immediately greeted by a pair of big mutt dogs that wanted to be petted. Their tails wagged back and forth as they sniffed me. I smiled and set my duffel bag down.
Hawk shooed the dogs away and led me to his kitchen. He motioned for me to sit down and went to the refrigerator.
“Want a beer?” he asked.
“No thanks,” I said quietly.
“Ah,” he said thoughtfully. “Didn’t think you would. Here.” Hawk turned around and placed a ice-cold can of Dr. Pepper in front of me. The man knew me well. He then pulled out another chair and sat down, popping open a can of beer. “So, where ya been?”
I didn’t answer at first. I took off my baseball cap and sunglasses. Hawk got a good look at the scars on my face for the first time. He just nodded.
“Start talking, kid.”
I sat in Hawk’s kitchen and told my story for more than half an hour. Where I’d only told Ling a little bit about what had happened, I poured my guts out to Hawk. I knew I could trust this man. I told him everything. Gordon Willis. Project Heartbreaker. Zubara. The fighting, the killing, the loss, all of it.
My voice wavered a little as I recounted the night Sarah died. He sat back in his chair, rubbing his chin when I told him about the man called Lorenzo that had showed up in my room. He raised an eyebrow when I told him about how I’d first encountered him, and nearly captured a woman named Jillian Del Toro, but he didn’t say anything.
Hawk’s eyes narrowed a little when I described Sarah’s death and explained that I didn’t know who pulled me to safety. He would just nod and sip his beer, not saying anything, until I finished.
Hawk looked thoughtful for a moment. “Bad way, kid,” he said simply. “So you haven’t heard from Tailor?”
“No. He has no way to contact me.”
“He hasn’t called here,” Hawk said. “Eh. No worries. Tailor can take care of himself.”
“Did you get the package I sent?”
“I got it,” Hawk said. Ling had helped me ship my revolver and my knife to Hawk. They were both disassembled and placed in a box full of random machine parts I found. They apparently made it through customs. “Your .44 is all cleaned up and put back together. They’re up in the room I made up for you. I put your other guns up there, too. Figured you’d wanna go shooting while you were here.”
“Thank you,” I said, looking down at the table. I didn’t know what else to say.
“No sweat, kid,” Hawk said after a moment. “You know you always got a place here. Now listen. I need to go water the horses. You can come help if you want, but you’re probably tired.”
“If it’s okay, I’d like to go upstairs and lie down. It’s been a long day.”
“No problem,” Hawk said, standing up. “Your room is first one on the right upstairs.” I thanked Hawk again and made my way up to the room he’d prepared for me. I opened my duffel bag, found some comfortable clothes to sleep in, and crawled into bed. I was asleep in minutes.
It was dark when I awoke. I sat up in bed, sweat beading on my face. My heart was racing. I fumbled with the lamp next to the bed until I got it turned on. My eyes darted around the room. I was breathing hard. There was nothing there. I was safe in bed. Exhaling slowly, I rubbed my face with my hands. The clock said it was just after midnight. My mouth was so dry it felt like my tongue had swollen up. I climbed out of bed and headed down to the kitchen.
It was cool in Hawk’s house as I padded down the stairs. I was only wearing a pair of shorts. It was quiet. Hawk was undoubtedly in bed already. I made my way into the kitchen but didn’t turn on the light. I grabbed a cup and opened the fridge, pouring myself some water from the filtration pitcher.
I stood upright as a key hit the lock on the front door. I could hear the door swing open, then close again. It was then locked. I relaxed a bit. Hawk must’ve gone out late or something. No one breaking in for nefarious
