High Desert Barbecue (30 page)

B
ut that was during normal trips when nobody was trying to kill him. The worries involved in waging a running gun battle with psychopathic arsonists far surpassed the pedestrian concerns about water, food and wildlife that occupied him on his usual jaunts into the desert. He was wiped out; the only thing keeping him going now was his concern for Lani’s safety.

H
e knew he took Lani for granted. Maybe he should think about … what? Marrying Lani? Well, maybe not
marry
her. They could just shack up together. That would be nice, so long as she didn’t hog the bedcovers or give him a hard time about his friends, or his drinking, or the building codes that he wasn’t obeying. Not that she was prone to nagging him—her antipathy to any such behavior was a key component to their successful relationship—but his years of hard-won experience cautioned that odd personality changes tended to accompany major shifts in the delicate balance between men and women.

“
Maybe I’ll just buy her flowers,” he grunted.

A
bead of sweat dangled from the tip of his nose. It broke away and splashed down on his pumping right knee.

H
is breath took on a wheezing quality as the trailhead sign crawled slowly into view.

Y
eah, flowers. I’ll buy Lani flowers and take her out to a nice dinner. And I’ll seriously consider the whole shacking-up idea. But not marriage—not yet. I’ll hold that off for later.

W
ith his mind racing, Scott dragged himself the last few yards and reached the head of the trail.

“
You there.”

“
Wha—?”

T
wo men stood by the trailhead. One was tall, older and dressed in a threadbare sport coat and jeans. A biblical white beard sprouted from his chin. The index finger of his right hand jabbed accusingly at Scott.

“
You’re not one of my people! And you’re not a ranger!” the man said. His voice thundered like he was on stage.

I
nhaling sharply, Scott caught his breath.

“
Your people? Who in Hell are your—” He stopped. He stared at the man.

T
he bearded man stared back.

“
Oh shit,” Scott said.

Chapter 69

G
reenfield stared at the stranger in surprise. It wasn’t the man’s dusty, sweaty appearance that caught his eye—that was standard-issue for anybody enjoying a little time on the trail. Nor was it the somewhat tattered state of his clothing—neither Greenfield nor his companion were fashion plates themselves. No, what grabbed the floral-rights activist’s attention was the stranger’s look of grim determination.

W
ell, that and the strange-looking rifle in his hand.

“
You’re not one of my people!” Greenfield sputtered out of surprise. “And you’re not a ranger!”

T
he man said something back, but the pounding of Greenfield’s pulse drowned out everything except one muttered oath.

“
Oh shit,” Greenfield echoed.

H
e reached for the gun tucked behind his belt. His hand had just closed around the grip when he realized that he wasn’t going to be fast enough. The barrel of the stranger’s rifle was already rising.

“
Oh shit,” Greenfield blurted again. With a sudden surge he charged forward, directly into the stranger. He hit the man before he had a chance to bring the rifle into play. Together, they rolled into the dust, hats and guns scattering where inertia would take them.

G
reenfield felt his jaw painfully clamp shut as he hit the ground. He grunted. For long minutes they writhed in the dirt. The stranger was obviously stronger, but desperation allowed the environmental guru to cling tight in a bear hug that pinned one of the man’s arms to his side. The free hand pounded like a mallet on Greenfield’s head and back, tenderizing flesh wherever it landed.

T
he men’s legs scissored, sending them rolling now into a bush, then over a cactus (ouch). Spines and rocks and branches ripped at skin and tore clothing. A close-up view of the Earth exchanged itself for a cloud-speckled stretch of sky split by a hammer-like fist thundering down on—
Oh.
Greenfield saw stars.

“
Do something!” he yelped.

“
What do I do?” Happy whined.

“
Jump him!”

H
e felt the stranger’s hand closing on his collar and pulling his head off the dirt. He stared up into a cocked fist.

“
Jump him now!” His hands batted at the fist without and discernible effect.

“
I can’t!” Happy’s voice climbed frantically in reply.

“
Why not?”

“
I’m a pacifist!”

“
Oh,” was all Greenfield had time to say before the fist crashed down. He felt his nose give way and gagged at the sharp pain.

“
Good,” the stranger said, letting go of Greenfield. His head thumped painfully back to earth. “Then you won’t give me any trouble when I pound you.”

W
ith his left hand clasped to the pulpy remnants of his proboscis, Greenfield staggered back to his feet. He’d felt his pistol tumble away during the fight, and his pain, watering eyes and simmering panic rendered a search unthinkable.

“
Fuck this, he said. Then he turned and bolted toward the edge of the parking lot and the desert beyond.

F
rom the corner of his eye, he just barely caught a glimpse of Happy’s open-mouthed stare. The boy was doubled over, with the stranger’s fist stuffed deeply into his belly.

Chapter 70

T
he McGintys’ home was larger than Lani had expected, with an obviously recent addition tacked on to what had once been a modest house on several acres of land. Three vehicles of recent vintage were parked in the gravel driveway. Antennae poked from the roof, aimed alternately at the sky and at nearby Mingus Mountain.

A
goat grazed contentedly on a grassy island in the driveway.

“
Watch your step, young lady,” Bill said, as he helped Lani down from the truck. “We don’t want you getting injured now, after what you’ve already been through.”

“
Thank you so much.”

“
Think nothing of it.”

“
Bill, why don’t you show her where the bathroom and the computer are,” Emma said. “I’ll get her something cold to drink.”

B
ill nodded.

“
Lemonade. From hand-squeezed lemons.”

“
Oh wow. My favorite.”

L
ani followed the McGintys through the unlocked front door. Carrying her backpack, Bill turned to the right and she followed. As she did so she caught a brief glimpse of what looked like a large bedroom from the corner of her eye. A reflective silvery screen of the kind she vaguely associated with photography dominated one corner. It seemed an odd decor choice among the Mexican pine furniture.

“
Here you go,” Bill called from down the hallway. He held a folded towel in one huge hand and waved at a doorway with the other. He’d placed her pack on the floor. “Help yourself to the guest bathroom. I’ll get the computer booted up.”

L
ani took the hint. With a sigh of relief, she helped herself to a large portion of the McGintys’ hot water supply and a matching share of soap and shampoo. The shower was refreshing, but she paused before getting dressed. Her clothes were all fairly crusty from days in the desert, but the shirt and shorts she’d worn today were the worst. With a limited selection, it took only a few minutes to pick the outfit that would be the least offensive.

E
mma met her in the hallway. Without her cowboy hat her silvery hair made her look grandmotherly. The frosty glass of lemonade in her right hand completed the image.

“
Here you go,” Emma chirped. “Bill is waiting for you in our office.”

“
Thanks.” She slurped. “This is delicious.”

I
n the office, Bill looked to Lani’s eyes like an astronaut, centered as he was in a cockpit-like cocoon of electronic equipment that included no less than three video monitors.

“
Oh wow. My boyfriend would really envy your setup here.”

“
Oh we need it for our business. It’s all a big tax write-off,” Bill said. “Come over here and take a seat.”

L
ani pulled up a chair and squeezed into the space next to the big man. She placed the cell phone with its USB cable and the folded paper containing Scott’s instructions on the desk in front of her.

“
I hope I can download the video from the phone.”

B
ill chuckled.

“
Oh, we can manage if you get stuck.” With a quick motion he plugged the cable into the phone and the computer. “There you go.”

“
Oh. Thanks.”

F
lattening the sheet of paper with one hand—grains of dirt spilled from its folds onto the wood desktop—Lani began to work. She tapped at the keyboard in hunt-and-peck style, with two fingers curved and jabbing like scorpion stingers. The first task was creating an explanatory email to grab attention and give the video of the arson some context. She and Scott—assisted by Rollo’s inflammatory recommendations—had spent plenty of time talking over the particulars of the text, and she had a rough draft written down. The email would link to the video.

N
ext, she had to upload the video to Scott’s YouTube account. That went without a hitch.

T
he last task was to send the letter she’d written to the distribution list Scott’s old company used for media contacts.

“
Shit.”
“What is it?” Bill asked.

“
Oh. I’m sorry about my language.”

“
This house has heard worse. Let’s see …”

B
ill leaned in to peer at the screen.

“
It’s not taking your password.”

“
No. They must have changed the password after they fired Scott. I don’t know what to do next.”

B
ill tugged at the brim of the hat perched on his head.

“
Well, what are you trying to accomplish?”

“
I’m trying to send the video to Scott’s old media-contact list. It’s full of tech journalists who might be able to help us. But it’s not letting me do it.”

“
So, you just need to get that video out to as many important eyeballs as possible?”

“
Yes. The more people who see the video, the less reason the people chasing us will have to hurt us. It won’t do them any good if the video is all over the Internet. But now I’m stuck.”

E
mma’s hand came down on Lani’s shoulder.

“
Bill. Let’s let her use our distribution list. It’s full of politicians and press people.”

L
ani looked up at her hosts.

“
Really? Out of curiosity. What kind of business do you have?”

B
ill chuckled.

“
Adult entertainment over the Internet. You know, porn. It’s a goldmine.”

E
mma patted Lani’s shoulder.

“
You wouldn’t believe who’s on our list.”

Chapter 71

S
cott turned as a flash of movement caught his eye. He saw a dirty, tattered figure flee into the desert.

“
Hey!”

T
he man bobbed and weaved, as if dodging gunfire. He took no notice of Scott’s call and made quick progress through the brush, leaving a plume of dust tossed up by his pounding feet.