Now he was sitting in the night, freezing because he needed the engine to be off for silence, and he was too far from the fire to feel its heat. His jaws ached from chewing a piece of bubble gum for over an hour. He turned his head to the driver’s open window and spat out the gum like a pink bullet, then looked through the binoculars again and saw movement.
He sat up. Two men stayed in the flickering shadows and crept to the old pickup some thirty yards from the burning house and barn. He pulled the M-4 closer and continued to watch. The pickup started, then the vehicle eased from its spot to the road and drove with the lights out in his direction.
Riffey was suddenly in a quandary. Do I shoot them, or shoot the truck? If I kill them, what will Holland do to me? He watched the pickup gather speed and come down the pale road. If they turned on the headlights, Riffey knew the two men would see his vehicle in the brush. Crap! What do I do? He put down the binoculars and pulled the cell phone from his pocket to dial Holland’s number.
Headlights flashed on and Riffey was momentarily blinded. He heard the pickup roar into acceleration as he blinked to clear his vision. The old truck raced toward him on the caliche road, banging and rattling, raising a ghostly cloud of dust that was backlit orange and yellow by the fire and looked like something from a witch’s den. Riffey squinted into the headlights as he held the phone and raised the rifle one-handed, firing three fast rounds.
The bullets hit the front of the pickup, sounding like hail on a metal roof, then the pickup swerved toward him. Riffey yelled as the old pickup struck the driver’s side a glancing blow that clicked his teeth together. Riffey jerked from the impact and his cell phone rocketed out the open window, disappearing in the darkness.
The old truck continued down the road. He turned to watch it and saw two yellow blossoms of flame erupt from the driver’s window. One of the bullets hit the front fender of Riffey’s Jeep, then the speeding pickup was around the bend and running fast on the unpaved road.
Riffey heard the hissing sound of air escaping the front tire. He gritted his teeth and said, “Next time, I’m shooting them.” He exited the vehicle and searched for the cell phone. Ten minutes later he gave up, sighed and got out the jack and the spare. As he worked, he occasionally stopped to look into the distance. Twice he saw Kinney’s pickup lights as they travelled through the desert night. He skinned his knuckles while taking off a nut, and sucked at the blood. “I should have taken that job in Afghanistan,” Riffey said.
***
Sam’s old pickup bounced over the potholes and washboard ruts in the rough caliche road as he drove faster than normal.
He said, “We’re taking that watch to somebody who might know how to access it.”
“Do they wear a badge? If so, I can wait in the desert.”
Sam chuckled, “No badge.” He stayed on the roads going across country and through neighboring ranches, avoiding the pavement until no longer possible. Miguel opened wire fence gaps and ranch gates as they continued, always making sure to close them again after passing through.
Some of the roads demanded that Sam put the pickup in four-wheel drive to climb steep, rocky ridges and traverse shallow draws and ravines. After several hours, they drove towards Terlingua, but turned off on a side road before reaching the town. Three miles further, they stopped in front of a gate into a fenced property. There were Private Property and No Trespassing signs on both sides of the metal gate. Sam nodded and Miguel exited the pickup, opened the gate and held it until the pickup passed through, then closed it and returned to the pickup. They continued down the road toward an adobe house nestled snug against the base of a long, flat-topped mesa.
Sam said, “That’s Mona’s place. She built all this herself.”
“You like this woman.”
“Yep, she’s a good friend.”
“How will she help us?”
“Well, I think she can help. We’ll see when we get there.” Closer to the house, they passed an array of solar panels, six small windmill generators, a few metal sheds, a lush, green garden with assorted vegetables, a verdant orchard with ripe peaches showing on the trees, and an open chicken coop. Chickens and goats wandered near the road and were unperturbed by the passing pickup. Thirty yards from the house was a large barn with the big, sliding doors open. An orange, midsized Kubota tractor with a front bucket on it was parked inside. Along one interior wall was a tool bench with tools scattered haphazardly. Other areas contained various assorted pieces of pipe, electrical wiring, plumbing accessories, and other odds and ends.
Sam parked the pickup in front of the house and waited. Two large Great Danes, both harlequins with untrimmed ears, trotted onto the porch and stood at the front door.
Miguel said, “Those are very big animals.”
“They are. Mona told me they weigh about one-eighty apiece. They’re brothers from the same litter. The one with black around both eyes is Spenser and the one with black around one eye is Marlowe. She named them after a couple of her favorite book characters.”
“She reads many books?”
“Uh-huh, and writes them, too. Novels, good ones.”
Miguel nodded, then said, “Do we get out now?”
“No, we don’t. Mona knows we’re here, and she’ll come out in a bit. Then we can get out.”
Miguel saw the door open and a woman come out to stand between the two dogs. She was in her early forties, Miguel thought, and nice looking, with a little of the tomboy look, like someone who enjoyed being outdoors. She was taller than average, with short, black hair and striking eyes. She wore jeans and a comfortable looking, pale blue, western style work shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows and the shirttails out. She wore moccasins, too, Miguel noted.
Mona said to the dogs, “Sam’s here with a friend. Be good.” She waved at the pickup and said louder, “Come on in!” She disappeared into the interior.
Sam opened his door and said, “Let’s go.” They walked to the steps, and the dogs wagged their tails like short, stiff whips. Their heads reached above Sam’s belt. The two men scratched both dogs’ heads, and went inside as Spenser and Marlowe left the porch to sniff Sam’s pickup.
Sam didn’t see Mona when they stepped into the large living room, but he heard her voice, “Back here, in the kitchen.” The two men walked through the living room to the kitchen. Mona said, “Good to see you, Sam. It’s been a while.” She turned to Miguel, “I’m Mona Ingram,” and put out her hand. She shook Miguel’s hand softly, knowing this custom of people from Mexico.
“Miguel Luna.”