On The Grind

Chapter 55

As we rode away from Cielo Ranchero, I was pumping so much adrenaline I didn't even feel the beating Horace had given me. I struggled to stay behind Rocky's bay, eating a lot of dust in the process.

The other fleeing stallions were fanning out, each heading in a separate direction. As Rocky had predicted, there was a low chain of mountains about half a mile to the southeast. If we could get our horses up into the rocks, we would be able to leave the pursuing Jeeps behind.

As I was calculating those odds, the first shots rang out. They made a flat popping noise, like a distant backfire. I pulled my Kimber and shot back. The instant I fired, White Smoke shied to the left, almost throwing me off. It looked way easier when John Wayne did it. My balls were engaged in round two, taking a brutal pounding on the silver pommel. I tried to ease this by getting into the horse's rhythm, but no matter what I tried, I was in agony. Every time I glanced back the Jeeps were closer.

"We aren't gonna make it," I shouted. "We need to find a place and make a stand."

"Over there " Rocky shouted and pointed to the right, where, about two hundred yards away, there was a tin-roofed line shack surrounded by a low adobe wall. It looked like some kind of storage shed for field equipment. Rocky wheeled and rode in that direction. I followed, bouncing like a rag doll in the saddle.

We made it to a spot behind the building. We didn't want our horses to get hit when the shooting started, so we turned them loose, slapping their flanks. They bolted, running away into the desert.

When I looked up, the Jeeps were now about five hundred yards away, slowing down and spreading out, attempting to surround us on three sides. Without warning, Rocky aimed his automatic at the closest Jeep and started firing.

"They're too far away. Save your ammo. We only have one clip each. Let 'em get in closer, then make every round count."

We hunkered down behind the low adobe wall and waited. In the distance, I saw the Jeeps coming to a stop. They were still about three hundred yards away, not out of range for a nine-millimeter handgun, but unless we got damn lucky, an impossible shot.

Several of the bodyguards were already out of the Jeeps and taking cover behind the fenders of their vehicles, aiming their long guns across the hoods at us. Then a voice blasted from an electronic bullhorn.

"Throw down your guns. Put your hands in the air! You won't be killed if you give up."

"Is that Manny Avila?" I asked.

Rocky said, "Whoever he is, he's got a great sense of humor."

"This must be his place. That rancho is probably the Avilas' Mexican gun-and drug-running base. They smuggle their contraband through that tunnel, then truck it up in produce vans and distribute it in L. A." Rocky didn't respond. His eyes were locked on our assailants. "Look, if Manny Avila is in that Jeep and we can get our hands on him, we could really change the dynamic here."

"How the hell we gonna do that?" Rocky said, cocking a worried eyebrow at me. "They're just gonna lay back and pick us off with those carbines."

"Hold them back, but don't waste too many rounds. I'm gonna try and get inside this shed."

"Why the hell are — "

I didn't wait around to explain. I headed for the front door of the line shack. Gunshots rang out almost immediately and little pieces of adobe dust flew off the edge of the building as I rounded the corner. I got to the front door, shot the lock off and, as bullets peppered the wall and wood above my head, I dove inside.

The shed held mostly field equipment-a big pipe wheel sprinkler that watered grass, lots of rusting metal farm stuff. Where's that spare submachine gun when you need it?

As I rummaged around in the junk, I heard the Jeeps moving again. The engines revved and growled as they moved in closer. Then I heard two more shots from Rocky's handgun.

I started pawing desperately through the mounds of junk stacked in the shack. There wasn't much, but I had come in here with an idea and finally found something I thought might work. It was a small pewter hose nozzle with a trigger, which was shaped roughly like a gun.

I snatched it up and ran back out of the building.

As soon as I was visible, more carbine slugs flew, but the shots were hurried and the bullets went wide, whining off into the distance. After another desperate run, I dove back behind the wall next to Rocky.

"What'd you get?" he asked.

I showed him the hose nozzle.

"Perfect. We can challenge these pricks to a water fight."

"How good a shot are you?"

"I'm a prizefighter. I never needed a gun to win an argument."

"Okay, here's how we do this. I'll yell out that we want to give up. We'll put our hands up, walk out. You throw your gun down, I'll toss this nozzle. Once they think we're unarmed, my bet is they'll get careless and come in closer. As soon as they're ten or fifteen yards away, I'll put down some cover fire with the Kimber. While they're ducking and dodging, you make a move, get to Manny's Jeep and drag him out. I'll be right behind you. Once I screw this nine in his ear, we got a whole new game."

"Are you kidding? That's all you got? What's to keep them from just shooting us once we stand up?"

"They've had plenty of chances to kill us in the last nine hours and haven't. My guess is they want to set it up so it looks right. Stage it, so they can say we got in a beef and killed each other. Manny's got a lot going on in Haven Park. He doesn't want to be stuck down here as a U. S. fugitive in a double homicide."

Rocky looked at me like I'd just grown antlers.

"I don't like this plan, homes."

I shrugged. "Let's hear yours."

The Jeeps were in gear and again moving up eloser. Two more shots rang out, ricocheting off the low wall we were behind. "Shit. This really sucks. Let's try it," he said.