Dark Places (28 page)

Chapter Eighty-three

No matter what month, the Mojave Desert is a harsh environment full of sand, yucca, creosote bushes, catclaw cactus, rattlesnakes, scorpions, and Gila monsters. Most of what exists there can hurt you, kill you, or eat you.

It was the perfect place for the outlaw bikers to hide out for a few days. Their camp was above the basin floor where it was cooler, near an abandoned mine once named The Money Spring. More of a trickle really, the nearby spring provided cool, clear water, allowing the bikers to live there until their food ran out.

Under the bright light of a full moon threatened by the near sunrise, Rocky and Crow lay on a slight rise above the quiet camp. Chin resting on his crossed arms, Rocky didn't take his eyes off the glowing coals of a campfire. His whisper seemed to carry as far as a shout in the pre-dawn desert silence. “They've done this before.”

“They can make as much noise out here as they want, and no one will complain.”

“It's quiet now.”

“That's the best time, when they're all asleep, or passed out.”

“See anything?” James' voice startled them both. Crow gestured toward the ground. “Damn, boy. Can't you make any more noise?”

“I've being as quiet as I can. What do you see?”

“Not a damn thing right now, but we'll see them all up close if y'all don't keep your voices down.” Rocky laid his head on an arm.

They were lucky to have such a bright night. The silvery light was going to be a boon to their plan, what there was of it. They couldn't be sure there were no guards, but Crow was convinced everyone was asleep. There was no need to post guards, and these guys weren't even close to military. Instead, they partied until after midnight while the three men waited and watched.

It was time to move, for sunrise wasn't far away. Rocky sighed. “You're sure about this?”

Crow nodded. “Yep. Sometimes being too sneaky and making a complicated plan is the wrong thing to do. I believe I'm going to walk in there and see if I can find her.”

“How you gonna do that?”

“James, lower your damn
voice
. I'm gonna get a jacket from the first guy I find. If anyone rouses up and sees their colors on me in this light, they're not going to think a thing about it. They'll go back to sleep.”

“And I'm gonna look for Pepper?”

“No. You're staying right here with Ned's shotgun and a pistol. If anything happens, you start shooting. There's enough light to do some damage. They'll grab the ground and we'll head back for the car.”

Ned rested in the Chevy's backseat a mile away. Rocky's Harley and the car were already pointed toward the highway. Cale's job was to stay where they were with the motor running. When they came back, no matter the outcome in the camp, they'd need to hie out of there as fast as possible.

Crow and Rocky rose and crept forward on bent knees, trying to move as quickly as possible while staying low. Muffled by sand, their footsteps were soft. The biggest danger for the moment was walking into something sharp and dangerous.

James watched them disappear and wiped his sweaty palms on his khakis. Pepper was his daughter, and it didn't feel right to have two strangers doing his job. The one thing James
did
know for sure was that he wasn't as dangerous as the two men moving slowly toward the camp. He'd chosen a different lifestyle than Ned's law work, or Cody's military experience. He wished he was tougher, wished he'd had more schoolyard fights as a kid, and wished Ned and Cody were there with him. He waited and worried.

Crow and Rocky came to a deep arroyo south of the camp. They squatted in the shadow of a Joshua tree and listened. Crow whispered in Rocky's ear. “See where they parked the bikes?”

Rocky nodded. The Rattlers had circled the camp to line their bikes up facing away from the cut. Only yards from the edge, their positioning was perfect for what Rocky had to do.

“Once we come up out of there, you can do your thing pretty quick. If it all goes south, jump back into the wash and haul ass for the car. They can't make this drop, and even in this light I doubt they'll try to chase you.”

“You're coming back through here, right?”

“Right. When I find her, we'll pick you up in there,” Crow jabbed a finger toward the arroyo, “and we can slip away. Work fast and keep an eye out for us.”

“Don't get anything started. You
know
I'm not a great pistol shot.” He gripped the thin butt of the revolver stuck in his waistband.

They found an incline that was less steep than the wash's walls, providing a small, loose trail to the bottom. Rocks rattled down, despite their caution. With each small, clattering avalanche, they paused and listened.

At the bottom, another unanticipated source of noise came from loose gravel and dry vegetation left from the last flash flood. The two men carefully worked their way across the wash to the far wall.

The access to the lip was a soft spill fanning at the bottom and narrowing to a tiny exit between a boulder and yucca plant. Pebbles and stones trickled downhill. Breathing hard from exertion and fear, they reached the top and paused.

Crow pointed toward the bikes and slipped Ned's largest sap from his back pocket. A proven weapon in countless fights, it was the perfect device for the situation. Rocky peeled off and disappeared.

It was difficult to place his feet, watch for cactus, and keep an eye out of the leading edge of the camp and the sleeping Rattlers all at the same time. Crow had no idea where they were, but figured that most had passed out near the fire. The ancient part of the human brain sees fire as safety and security, and most people want to sleep as close as possible to the flames.

At least that's what Crow was counting on.

But then there's always that one guy that breaks all the rules. This one was either sleeping in a semicircle of catclaw for privacy, or had passed out there by accident. Crow missed seeing him, but the man's heavy breathing gave his position away.

Loose-limbed and rawboned, Crow flowed through the night like a panther, reaching the biker in half a dozen steps. He raised the sap and brought it down with all the force he could muster on the side of his head. The biker twitched, quivered, and lay still. The blow was loud enough to wake the dead, and Crow readied himself to face any attack that might rush from the shadows.

When nothing happened, he stripped the sleeveless jacket from the man's dead weight and found a .38 revolver under his belt. Crow stood and slipped his arms through the holes. Shells weighted the jacket on one side. He tucked the revolver in the small of his back. Carrying .38s and camouflaged, he entered the camp.

***

James was tortured by an internal tug of war. Obviously out of place in such a situation, he knew that covering Crow and Rocky was the best he could offer. At the same time, he was afraid Pepper was there, and his job as a dad was to find her and bring her to safety.

He couldn't pull his attention from a crumbling rock structure on the opposite side of the camp. The roof was long gone, as well as part of the nearest wall and half of the back. A buzz deep in his head kept telling him Pepper was in there, held against her will.

The more James thought, the more he convinced himself Pepper was inside, and here he was laying around and watching the camp. He rose, made sure the pistol was tucked in his waistband, and threw the shotgun across his shoulder.

James went to find his daughter.

Chapter Eighty-four

Dawn on that gray morning wasn't much more than a slight difference in the light. Cody, John Washington, and a dozen Oklahoma sheriff's deputies stopped on a dirt road out of sight from a cluster of fishing cabins of the Choctaw Fish Camp not far from the Kiamichi River. Some of the Oklahoma deputies were eyeing the big Texas deputy.

“I'god it's raining up here, too.” John's voice was filled with disgust as they closed the car doors softly and gathered with the local deputies.

“Don't worry, that black won't wash off,” someone said quietly and snickered.

Sheriff Quinn Davis dug a chew from a wrinkled BEECH-NUT packet. He tucked it into his cheek and spoke around the fresh wad. “Finny. Go wait in my car.”

“Why?”

Davis spat and rested his gaze on the deputy who'd spoken. “'cause I told you too.”

Jaw set, Finny stalked away.

“Cody, it's a good thing y'all got here when you did.” Sheriff Davis chewed for a moment. “They'll have to close the camp pretty soon if it don't quit raining. The river's about out of its banks and it'll be here before you know it.”

The local game warden, Ricky Garfield pointed. “Cody, I believe he's in the cabin at the far end. I called Edgar Sampson who owns the place and described West. He says that's where he put him. Quinn had sent men around back already, but John T. couldn't go far no-how. The river's not twenty feet from the back door now.”

Cody wished for another cigarette, but the rain made it impossible to light up. “Do you have a plan?”

“I thought we'd drive Ricky's truck up to the cabin beside the one John T.'s renting.” Sheriff Davis waved toward the thick stand of pines. “In this rain, they won't be able to tell us from anybody else wearing hats and rain gear. That'll at least get us close. The deputies can work their way through the woods, and when we're all near enough, we'll call him out.”

“He'll come out shooting.”

“We'll shoot back.”

Cody bit his lip. “How about letting me try something first?”

John growled deep in his chest. “That ain't a good idea.”

“You don't know what I intend to do.”

“Yeah, but I know
you
. You tend to bull into things and think later.”

“That's not true.”

“The Cotton Exchange.”

Cody paused. It had been his fault when he and John found themselves trapped in the Cotton Exchange with a lunatic murderer two years earlier. “Well, that one time.”

“You boys gonna stand here and visit in this rain, or can we get going?”

Cody saw a deputy with a brown canvas, Western-style slicker. He stood out in a group of yellow rain gear. “Trade with me, would you? And guys, y'all are gonna remind me of a bunch of Easter eggs walking through the woods in all that yellow. You need to get rid of it. A little water won't hurt you. Yours, too, sheriff. He ain't stupid.”

Cody shrugged into the smelly canvas and pointed toward one deputy in a billed cap. “Switch with me.”

The man traded, happy for something to block the rain from running down his neck.

Stripping off the last of the bright rain gear, Ricky climbed into the driver's seat as Sheriff Davis took the middle and Cody quietly closed the passenger door. They drove in like registered guests and pulled up in front of the cabin nearest John T.'s. Cap pulled low to hide his face, Cody stepped out and went around to the tailgate. A wooden box of trash was closest, so he reached over the gate and lifted it out, as if it were something they needed inside.

Sheriff Davis unlocked the cabin and Ricky followed him inside. Cody sat the box on a rickety wooden table, and returned to the truck. He fumbled in the cab for a second in case someone was watching and headed toward what they thought was John T.'s hideout. Head low, he walked across the bed of pine needles to the tiny porch. Because the sandy ground drained well, it was like walking on wet carpet.

He rapped on the door with a knuckle and moved the long slicker to free his Colt, still keeping the handgun out of sight. The door opened and he paused at the sight of a barefoot young Indian woman standing there with a wet towel in her hand.

“Help you?”

“Yeah.” Cody stumbled. “Uh, I was wondering if we could borrow some…coffee? We left the house to set up camp and didn't bring any. It sure would be good this rainy day.” He quickly swept the tiny cabin with his eyes.

She smiled, showing brilliant white teeth. “We don't have any. John T. hates the taste of it. Besides, y'all got here too late. We're all gonna have to leave pretty soon. The river's up and the manager said he's closing down today.”

Cody started to answer when the woman's expression went from pleasant to furious as she glared over his shoulder. He followed her gaze to see a flash of yellow in the woods. Trying to maintain the moment, he came back to her with a smile, “Anyway.”

She tried to slam the door in his face. “John T.!!! Run!!!”

Shouldering her aside, Cody slammed the door open while drawing the Colt. Bowling her over, he stormed into the one-room cabin and realized it was empty.

There was no other door. Cody lunged back onto the porch to see John T. starting a beat-to-hell two-door Pontiac Catalina parked on the off side of the cabin. He'd been examining a Route 66 roadmap when Cody walked up. Concentrating on whether Pepper could be found after so much time, John T. really hadn't worried too much about the fisherman knocking on his door.

Cody pointed the .45. “John T.! Get out!”

Instead, John T. threw the map aside, started the car, and punched the accelerator. The tires spun on the wet needles.

“Hold it!” Cody jumped off the low porch and hit slick needles. His feet went out from under him and he landed flat on his back.

Realizing he was about to get stuck, John T. reversed, backed up, and shifted again. The car started forward. Sheriff Davis and Ricky Garfield darted around the corner, demanding that he surrender.

Still on the ground, Cody raised his pistol as John T. finally convinced the car to move. “I said hold it!”

The fugitive gained speed, steering directly at the two men who opened fire through the windshield, then split up in front of the oncoming car.

The big .45 bucked in Cody's fist. His first round shattered the driver's side glass, but John T. didn't slow. Cody fell and fired again at the same time the Indian woman in the cabin threw a shot at the lawmen in the trees. The deputies in the woods opened up on the cabin and the car.

It would have been suicide to rise into the barrage of bullets zipping by only a couple of feet overhead. Rolling onto his stomach, Cody added to the din as John T. stuck his left arm through the shot-out the window and blasted away toward the woods. The return shower of lead snapped holes in the sheet metal as John T. struck Garfield, throwing him over the hood. The game warden shrieked and convulsed in pain.

Sheriff Davis leaped against the cabin's wall.

Incoming rounds punched holes in both the car and the cabin behind Cody. The woman screamed, adding to the cacophony.

Partially blocked by the truck parked in his way, John T. aimed the Pontiac at Sheriff Davis, but instead of crushing him against cabin, John T. went limp and turned the wheel, sliding sideways and stopping only inches from the building. The engine knocked, rattled, and died.

John T. slumped against the door as he absorbed round after round of suddenly accurate fire.

“Knock it off, you dumb bastards!” The gunfire trickled off as Sheriff Davis' voice finally got through to the men. “I said knock it off! I'm under here!”

The last shot was late, and the lonely report echoed through the woods. Cody rose and rushed to the Catalina, the muzzle trained on the still form in the front seat, but it wasn't necessary. John T. West was shot to pieces, his cheek resting in the shattered glass of the window.

Cody dropped to his stomach to see Sheriff Davis lying partially beneath the car, pinned against the building. “Quinn, you hurt bad?”

“Only my pride.”

“Hang on a minute 'til we get Garfield out of the way.” Cody knelt beside the game warden. “How bad you hurt?”

Moaning in pain, Garfield rolled onto his back and gasped. “My whole leg's broke.”

Big John trotted up. “We'll get you to the doctor right quick.”

While two deputies rushed forward and pulled Garfield out of the way, another joined John to move the Pontiac. Cody reached over John T.'s corpse and steered the car as it rolled back far enough to free Sheriff Davis. With the Catalina out of the way, he sat up with a sick grin.

Cody knelt beside him. “What's so funny?”

Davis hung his head between bent knees. “I swallowed my chew, but hang on. It'll be back up in a second.”