Bad Moon Rising

We reached one of the sheds and eased along the side so we could view the houses. Adan stopped beside me at the corner to show which house. His arm was extended and the index finger pointing as he said, “That one there.”

That’s when the Kiowa stepped from behind a tractor and leveled a Mini-14 at us.

I dove at Adan and knocked him out of the line of fire as the first shot burned into my side at the belt line. Four more rounds kicked dirt in my face and hit the metal shed above us, making a sound like hail before Hondo fired.

Hondo worked the trigger so fast he emptied the clip while the first ejected casing still tumbled through the air. He slammed in a second clip and watched over his sights for movement, but the Kiowa had vanished.

I pulled my pistol and said to Adan, “Run home, we’ll talk to you later.”

“I’m not going out there.” He looked at the long stretch of open field. “I’m safer here with you two.”

I couldn’t argue with that. “Okay, but you stay behind us.”

Adan nodded, then said, “Hey, you’re bleeding.”

I knew I’d been hit, but the adrenaline had any pain nullified at the moment. I took a quick look. The bullet cut a shallow two-inch long nibble out of my belt, pants and the flesh on my hip. I lowered my pants to check the wound. It looked like someone sliced a long divot as wide as my pinky fingernail and a quarter-inch deep. Blood soaked into my pants.

Hondo glanced at it, then back at his sights as he kept guard. I said to him, “give me your tee shirt.”

Hondo said, “What’s wrong with your shirt?”

“Mine’s a button down made of rayon and stuff. Yours is cotton. Wounds need cotton.”

He hesitated a second, then slipped his tee shirt over his head and handed it to me.

Adan’s eyes widened when he saw Hondo’s physique.

My side throbbed. I thought the bullet might have nicked the hipbone, but I didn’t have time to check.

I tore Hondo’s shirt into long strips and folded the sleeve portions into a pad that I pressed onto the wound, then wrapped the strips around my waist and cinched them down tight to stop the bleeding.

As I finished, Hondo said, “That’s my favorite shirt.”

“I’ll buy you another one.”

“It had Willie Nelson’s autograph on the sleeve.”

“Next time we run into Willie, I’ll ask him to sign a new one.”

“Hey guys,” Adan said as he pointed. We could see portions of the two black men behind the equipment, and evidence of at least one rifle.

I said, “They’re working their way closer.”

Hondo said, “Let’s put a stop to it.” He knelt, then lowered to his stomach, allowing him to see under much of the agricultural equipment. I did the same.

Two inches of space showed under some long pipes on a rack, and when their feet became visible, we opened up.

Hondo’s first shot grazed the side of a shoe and the man hopped like he stood on something hot.

My first shot hit the man’s shoe heel and knocked off his shoe, showing a black sock with his big toe sticking out of a hole. He hopped and yelped.

Then the rifles came over the top and the shooters blindly sprayed their weapons at us.

We shot several more times at their dancing feet before they moved to better cover. We rose from the ground just in time to hear an engine start on the opposite side of the shed. Moving quickly, we circled the shed in time to see the three men on a tractor, with the Kiowa driving and the two black men hanging on for dear life as they bounced across the rows in the emerald field while the tractor’s knobby wheels spun carrot plants high into the air behind it like orange and green confetti.

We weren’t going to catch them. By the time we reached Shamu, the local police had arrived. We told them what happened and they called the station to have other vehicles hunting for the tractor and the three suspects. Hondo and I followed them to the station where we gave full statements and signed the printed copies. By the time we finished night had fallen. I drove us toward Los Angeles knowing we’d worn our welcome thin in Bakersfield.

As we passed through Gorman going south on I-5, Hondo’s phone rang. He talked a bit, then put the phone back in his pocket. He said, “They found the tractor.”