Wild Country

then realized that the body of Harley Slaughter was collapsing on him. He flailed his left arm hard to deflect the corpse, using the impetus to continue in a back shoulder roll.

Lufo's blade was locked and in flight as the table flipped over, its blade sinking into the oak, pinning the tablecloth in place. His only other weapon was the heavy oak chair he grabbed as he ducked, it might do as a shield until he could tip another table over. He saw Ted Quantrill cut loose against Longo, saw the effects of Sorel's shots as the woman screamed and staggered to her right. Lufo began to swing the chair — it was a heavy devil, and he was out of shape — and then saw Quantrill's head snap hard against the tabletop, pistol-whipped by sheer accident.

Lufo had not been recruited into T Section for nothing all those years ago. He could reassess a problem as quickly as anyone, and his reflexes had once been almost as fast as Quantrill's. He continued the swing of that heavy chair and, instead of hurling it directly at Sorel, tossed it in a high spinning arc before he dived for the revolver poking out of Clyde Longo's boot top. A large object tumbling in a high arc tends to draw attention for a crucial second or so.

Sorel saw the chair coming as he bounced to his feet near the wall; sidestepped; saw Quantrill stunned on the tabletop and partly hidden by the woman. He fired at the only person who was in furious motion. The parabellum slug tore into Lufo's left pectoral muscle, was deflected by the high second rib, and exited after cutting a shallow trench to the sternum. Sorel skipped to one side, turned his attention to Quantrill, who had struggled to one elbow, blinking his eyes, and then realized that Marianne Placidas was again staring at him down the barrel of her little automatic. Who would have thought the bitch had so much vitality? He made a feint, then jerked back, and her next round buried itself in the wall.

Sorel fired while diving away, a throwaway shot intended to upset her aim more than anything else. Marianne Placidas spun and sat down hard on the floor, shot through the right bicep, her little weapon clattering onto the table near Quantrill's head. Ted Quantrill saw through watering eyes that his target was scrambling on all fours through the kitchen service entrance. While blinking furiously, he took a groggy sort of aim and fired a full-auto burst. One round carved a grazing welt across Sorel's back before detonating against the swinging door. For the next few seconds, Quantrill could estimate Sorel's success from the wild uproar of shouts, footsteps, and crashing of metal pans that receded through the kitchen.

Rolling from the table. Quantrill sprinted for the kitchen, went through the swinging door in a fast duck walk, bobbed up, and then stayed up, leaning against the doorframe. The shouts of alarm were now coming from the dusty street outside. Cursing himself, he reseated the Chiller and pushed back into the dining hall. Then he raised his hands. He was facing a very nervous fellow with a security star and an enormous Buntline Special.

Chapter Sixty-Four

Because most security cops knew a Chiller when they saw one, Quantrill had little difficulty making his needs understood. A federal 'brick,' or undercover field agent, often carried no ID beyond a Chiller, and a few even operated without that. Shaking his head to clear it now and then, mopping away runnels of blood from his nose with a borrowed bandanna, Quantrill sought to patch up the mess he had made. It didn't help that he had to ignore the troubles of Lufo and the woman.

'We've got casualties here, so I hope there's a chopper on the way.'

'On the bounce,' said the Buntline man, who had the look of a retired beat cop.

'I need two things right now. or there may be some innocent people killed. Get me a good high-gain VHP set, and throw up a cordon around Faro. Nobody, but NObody, gets out unless I see them first. Felix Sorel is armed and extremely dangerous, and I'm calling for as much expert backup as I can get.'

Mr. Buntline hurried out of the room. A waitress was sitting cross-legged with Marianne Placidas's head in her lap, comforting her and thumbing a pressure point in her armpit. 'Be sure you release the pressure now and then,' he cautioned, and knelt beside Lufo Albeniz.

The TexMex sat with his back against the overturned table. He had torn his shirt open and was trying to make a pressure bandage of a napkin with his right hand. Now he looked up at his old friend. 'Jus' like old times,' he said.

'Not quite. Is it the big one? Let me see.'

Lufo showed him. 'The best kind, compadre. One slug, two holes. Listen, you don' believe that stuff about San Antonio Rose. Right?'

'I know you match a detailed description, you dumb shit. I just never thought about you fitting it. But I'm betting Street didn't send you, so…' Quantrill sighed; placed a hand on the big man's good shoulder. 'Thank God you never could stay on one side for long. You helped. Thanks.'

'I was dead slow, Ted. I think I let that crazy woman follow me here. Whatever I had in this business, it's gone.'

'That's not all you've lost. Lufo—why?'

Lufo shifted for more comfort and managed a crooked smile. 'To get ahead. It's not easy when you have wives and kids on both sides of the border, hijo.'

'You'll have years to think on that when you're inside, looking out.'

'An' my kids callin' other guys 'papa'? You know I can't think about that. Drive me loco.'

'You were loco to fuck around with the likes of Sorel,' Quantrill said.

'Yeah. Compadre, you remember when I hauled your drowned ass outa that tunnel, about a thousan' years ago?' He waited; got only a grunt of assent. 'You tol' me after that, if I ever wanted a favor, jus' ask. Well, I never asked. I'm askin' now.'

'For what?' As if they didn't both know.

'For Mexico.' He closed his eyes as he said it, drawing the word out softly, 'May-zhee-coe,' as a child might drawl its mother's name. 'I won' come back. I'm not that stupid.'

After a long moment Quantrill said, 'Could you make it the way you are?'

'Never,' said Lufo, rolling his eyes upward. 'I swear on the honor of Anglos.' The crinkles above lean cheekbones said he was not to be taken seriously.

Shaking his head, trying not to grin, Quantrill stood up and spoke so the waitress could hear. 'For the record, Lufo, I can't let you go. And I'm absolutely certain you're hurt too bad to light a shuck on your own. There'll be a chopper for you any minute, and I have a job to do.' Pause: 'Any idea where Sorel will go to ground?'

'He was waitin' for the delta. Could go anywhere now.' As Quantrill started for the doorway, Lufo added, 'Listen, compadre, you wait for backups. You know how good you were in ninety-six? That's how good he is, I shit you not.'

'I know,' said Quantrill. and turned away. From the tail of his eye he saw the big TexMex already struggling to his feet.

Chapter Sixty-Five

Quantrill was patched in to Jim Street's personal circuit within two minutes, holding the VHP earpiece in place. He stood on the outside porch with a man named Bonner, the head of Long Branch security, at his side, in rapid conversation with Bonner until the Gov came on-line. The old man was not pleased with what he heard, and said so. Quantrill knew that the best excuse was none at all.

'Yessir, I blew it. His two cimarrones are ready for body bags, but Sorel's running loose out here.' A pause., 'They were wearing good cosmetic cover, that's how. I should have made them anyway. I didn't. One of 'em was Harley Slaughter; the other one… I dunno; from his phenotype, could be Clyde Longo without the beard. Prints will tell you; they're not going anywhere.' He said nothing about the woman and especially not about Lufo, who might indeed be going somewhere. Just how he might do it, in a town looking for a Mexican fugitive, was beyond guessing.

After another pause: 'Two civilian casualties, maybe more if you don't get some people here with flak