Setting: ATF AU
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters, settings or song references. I don't own the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from anything contained in this story.
NOTE: I want to thank the kind, generous and understanding editor, aka KET, for effortlessly going through this with her red pen. Thanks Pard, you got no idea how relieved I am to have my 'assets' covered. I am very very grateful, KET, thanks a million.
The sun was cruel and without mercy. The intense rays burned his skin and caused his still injured body to protest. The lack of proper food and water made his actions slow and sluggish. Then there was the hulking giant sharing the chain that bound their legs together.
He ignored the taunts. Bull Savage spent the first several hours of their work duty making filthy comments about Vin Tanner. But he underestimated Chris Larabee. It wasn't that he didn't care, which is what the sweaty mass of flesh next to him suggested. It was that he cared too deeply for the lost Texan. Images of Vin burning alive in the twisted metal wreckage plagued his days and slashed through his dreams at night. Bull would pay for what he did to Vin. For every bit of torture inflicted on the young man at the diner. For forcing them on the plane that led to his death. He'd pay dearly. Not with bullet or blade, but by fist.
"You got my word, cowboy," he croaked weakly, lifting another rock from the new path they were creating. Juan Xavier needed a trail from the river to the new base camp he created. But the distance between the two points was overgrown with trees, rocks, twisted vines and the like. Dynamite had cleared the trees and some of the guards were hacking at the vines. Bull and Chris did the hard work, clearing the heavy rubble. They began at dawn and now, six hours later, were still at it. A single break every three hours for water and fruit. A sharp whistle brought his head up. Three armed guards appeared with a basket and a canteen.
"Thirty minutes... eat, drink and shit... then back to work."
Before Chris could reply, the basket and canteen were dropped. Bull lurched violently, causing the blond to stumble. Angry, Chris yanked hard on the chain from where he sat in the dirt.
"Fuck off, Larabee!" Bull growled, lifting the canteen and drinking greedily.
"Give me that!" Desperate and beyond thirsty, Chris stood, wincing as his healing ribs and side protested. He tried to take the canteen and got a beefy fist slammed into his face. He went down hard.
Bull saw the damp blond head start to lift and kicked the midsection, ceasing all movement. He heard the guards laughing and ignored them. He didn't intend to be chained here much longer. He had a plan and if Larabee protested, he'd kill him and be done with it. He flipped the basket open and ate all the food.
"Five minutes, gringo dog,"
"Fuck you, asshole," Bull muttered at the leering guard. He stood and urinated on Chris Larabee's face, laughing when the injured man rolled away, eyes blazing.
Chris crawled to the empty basket and then tossed it away in frustration. He shook the empty canteen and growled. Then he launched his weak body at the wall of muscle. He slammed a fist into Bull's groin and then followed with a double fisted slam to his throat. The giant wavered and fell. Chris used his feet then, kicking the exposed belly peeking through the rough work shirt.
"No, Diego," Enrique, a new guard held his partner back. "Let them fight."
"Fine, but when this section isn't cleared by tonight, Juan Xavier will not be happy. You have not been here long enough to see his wrath. He'll hurt you and set an example."
"Fine," the cocky guard agreed as the larger American roused and jumped on the smaller one. He blew his whistle and approached with his partner aiming a rifle. "Get back to work!"
"This isn't over," Chris warned, swiping blood from his split lip. He eyed the guard and nodded to the canteen. "I want water."
"Three o'clock is the next scheduled break," Enrique replied and saw the blond's bloodied lips parting in protest. "One more word and you'll get nothing. Get your lazy gringo ass back to work."
With every rock, tree stump and tree limb he cleared, Chris killed Savage over and over again. He eyed the terrain, trying to calculate where they were. He heard water to the east and took note. He knew this road they were making was on no map. So any hope of rescue was out of the question. He listened to the water again and decided that would be his best option. Then a tug from the chain on his sore ankle spoke a cruel reminder. Wherever he went, Savage went as well.
"But not for long," he vowed, tossing a large rock.
"Well, young man, you are very lucky," Dr. Lorico noted, eyeing the x-ray. "Your skull was not fractured. You did suffer extensive bruising, however. It will be several weeks before you are healed. Your leg is coming along nicely. Continue to change the dressings and don't strain it. The other bruises and cuts are healing too. What you need most is good food and lots of rest."
Vin buttoned his shirt and eyed the people on the road outside the clinic. It looked like a very poor town; there were no modern buildings. The roads were dirt and there were no paved sidewalks. The children were barefoot and just like the adults, dressed in poor cotton garments. He didn't know how long he'd been here. They left the church early, but the trip had been rough. Every bump in the road sent a jarring pain through his head. At one point, he must have passed out. He awoke inside the clinic with a nurse by his side. His headache was pushing its way back and he winced as the sun hit his eyes. He slid from the table and shook the doctor's hand.
"Thanks... fer checkin' me out, Doc. The padre's been takin' good care o'me."
"He's a fine man," Lorico admitted, releasing the slim man's grip and reviewing his notes. "I'm giving you some pain medication..."
Vin wasn't aware of the physician's words. He saw Father Carlos speaking with a young man outside the window. The youth had long dark hair and wide eyes. The priest's hand rested on his shoulder. Then he moved the large cross around his neck and it caught the sunlight. A flash caused Vin to cry out. Through a strange fog, he saw another cross, large and hanging from leather straps on a broad chest. The eyes were smoky, the hair graying and the smile true. The more he looked, the harder it hurt.
"Easy, son." The doctor caught the young man when his knees gave way. He led the stuperous body to a chair and eased him down. He examined the starry eyes and waved a hand in front of them. "Troy, can you hear me?" He saw the Saint Christopher's medal and lifted it. A hand shot out and shoved him back. The dazed eyes caught blue fire.
"S'mine... get away..."
"You're having flashbacks?"
"..jest tired..." Vin mumbled, eyeing the walls which seemed to be getting narrower. He felt sweat beading on his forehead and running down his back. The image came back with the man wearing the cross. Smoky gray eyes and a wide smile, that cross twisting and glittering in the sun. The voice of the doctor seemed so far away.
"Troy!" Dr. Lorico moved quickly, catching the man as he fell forward. He managed to get him back onto the bed and took his vital signs. His pulse was racing and his blood pressure too low.
"How is he?" Father Carlos entered the room, his worry lines increasing at the pale face with closed eyes.
"No fracture but the wound was serious. He had a flashback of sorts and passed out. I don't think he is up to riding back through the jungle in this heat to the church."
"I agree. I have several sick patients I've been neglecting. Tomas," he nodded to the boy waiting, "needs me to visit his mother. She's overdue with a child and bleeding badly. She lives in the hills. I won't be able to return by nightfall."
"Go, Father, he will be safe here."
"Very well," the kind priest moved to the bed blessing his young friend. "God keep you, son," he made the sign of the cross on the injured man's head, finished his prayer, then departed.
Arlee couldn't believe his luck! The overly protective priest was leaving. The doctor was already overworked and understaffed. He knew the night routine. It was the coolest time of the day and when the physician usually did surgery. That would buy him the time he needed. He scooted back to bed, sweating from the exertion. He no sooner hit the sheets when the priest came in the room.
"You're awake?"
"Yeah, Padre." He sat up, looking around and putting on a crestfallen face. "Where's Troy? You promised..."
"He's down the hall. Dr. Lorico wants to keep him overnight. He's been passing out."
"He's okay, isn't he?" The concern was genuine; he needed the tracker.
"No fractures... but a bad head wound. He needs time and good care to heal. "
He watched the injured man get out of bed and limp towards the door. "I wanna see him..."
"Very well, but he needs to rest. You mustn't disturb or upset him. It's crucial that he remains calm."
"He's my cousin!"
Something about the way the man reacted caused the priest to pause. But then the moment passed and he guided him to the room.
"Troy!" Arlee bolted for the bed, wincing as his injured leg protested. He sat on the bed, resting his hand on Tanner's shoulder.
"No, don't!" The priest pulled him back, angry. "I warned you. He must not be disturbed."
"I'm sorry, Father, but I thought he was dead... I didn't mean... I wouldn't hurt him..." Arlee thought of his dead brother and did produce tears. Tanner would pay for that... his fingers flexed as he drew up a grisly image. Staking the federal agent out and gutting him slow, pulling the knife from his balls upward. A hand on his shoulder caused him to shake it off.
"I'll try to return tonight. Until then, I want your word. Don't upset him."
"Okay, Padre," Arlee lied, sliding into the bedside chair and picking up Tanner's hand. "I'm here, Troy."
As soon as the priest left, he dropped the hand and zoned in on the injured leg. He ground his palm hard, causing the unconscious man to cry out, twist his head and jerk.
"You listen to me, pig," he leaned over, grabbing the square jaw. "You're gonna pay for killing my brother." He lowered his hand, gripping the exposed throat and applying slight pressure. He smiled when the victim began to struggle weakly, seeking air.
"Is there a problem in here?"
"No, Ma'am..." Arlee released him and stood. "He was having a bad dream."
"You better return to your own room," she ordered, ushering him out.
Arlee trotted to the window, just as the priest got a medical bag from his jeep. The holy man tossed it into a large sac and tied it to the horse. Then he climbed on behind the boy and they headed out of town. He knew some of the staff lived in those hills, where there were no paved roads. He smiled and eyed the priest's vacated jeep, which seemed to wink at him. His smile widened and he planned his escape. He'd lure the unsuspecting fed into his scheme and use his tracking skills. Then once he found his father, they'd have some fun with the Texan, then kill him slowly.
Jack Lynch eyed his partner's sour face and hid a smile. So far, the trip had been a bust and their leads dried up. They had hoped to find the hidden camp of the rebels but only netted a flat tire, sunburn and a stubborn mule, the latter having been in the middle of a narrow road and not moving. Jack suggested they coax him off the road. Pete wasn't so patient. He'd shot at the poor beast after cursing a blue streak. The animal fled then and five miles later, the flat arrived. Now, while the new tire was being prepared, he decided to goad his irate friend.
"Keep your pecker up then, mate," he tried to be optimistic, resting a hand on the kneeling man's shoulder. "It could be worse..." He jumped back when an unearthly growl, two hot eyes and a jack flew at him.
"Fuck off!" Pete snarled, raising the tool in a threatening manner. He was hot, tired and hungry. Most of all, he wanted good whiskey and a hot woman and a soft bed.
"Hmmmph!" the Englishman scoffed, offended. "Next thing you'll be blamin' me for this..."
"I did that ten miles back," the dark-haired man seethed, swiping sweat from his eye. "Let's take the river road, Yank..." he used a mock English accent. "Fuckin' mule..."
"He didn't do that," Jack argued, amused by the short temper.
"If we weren't on that road, I wouldn't have run over whatever the hell did this..." He hit his hand and cursed again. "Go play in traffic..."
"Righto."
Pete had just tightened the last lug nut and lowered the vehicle when his name was bellowed in an unnatural high-pitched cry.
"Fuckin' Limey's gonna put me in an early grave," he snarled, then grabbed his gun and ran, worrying about the unlucky, injury prone blond. "Jack!"
"Over here..."
He halted not far from the river, spotting the blond covering his face and backing up.
"What's wr...?" He rocked back then, the stench nearly causing him to vomit. He jogged back to the clearing and fished a couple of t-shirts from the duffle bag in the car. He tossed one to the shaken blond who was on his knees throwing up. He got a bottle of water and stood behind him. Finally, the dry heaves ended and he slid the bottle down.
"You okay?"
"I'm fuckin' great!"
The astonished dark-haired journalist stood up and frowned. It was not like his normally sunny friend to become so volatile. It didn't last long. The shaky hand pushed through the long blond hair and he shuddered twice, then the hand came up. Pete didn't hesitate; he hauled the shaken man up, resting one hand on the other's shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Pete... I didn't mean..."
"'S'okay, Jack." He eyed the riverbank, wondering what the photographer had found. The stench was one they'd experienced before, having covered grisly scenes of corpses in war and other events. What could have shaken the seasoned veteran up so much? "Was it a kid?"
"Hell, if I know... what's left... Christ... I..." Lynch paused, sucking on the water and shaking his shaggy head. "Bent down to wash me hands... knelt on a log... it moved... fuckin' head... no face... skin... just... shit... it popped up ..."
"Stay." Pete tried to lead his shaken friend to the jeep.
"Gimme a minute..." Jack took the shirt and tied it around his face. He caught the concerned eyes of the other and felt a tug in his gut. For all his cursing, drunken bouts, rows with women and the legendary bad temper, he wouldn't ride with anyone else. "It does a body good to be loved..." He gave a reassuring wink and nodded.
"Don't be lookin' this way, Romeo, I'd never be that drunk or desperate," Pete tossed back, tying the shirt around his face.
He took the lead, gun drawn and proceeded to the river. He flinched at the decaying corpse. Between the brutal sun and the damage done by wild animals and insects, there wasn't much left. He kicked the log and exposed the rest of the body, sending hundreds of insects scurrying from every opening. Then a glint of silver caught his eye. Sucking in a breath, he knelt and pushed the dirt off the object.
"Fuck."
"What?" Jack asked, watching the dark head shaking.
"It's a Fed... badge says ATF..." He stood, his mind rewinding quickly. "A couple weeks back, the day we found that kid." He coughed and backed up, the stench was overwhelming. "There was something on television about two Feds being kidnapped. They showed an airstrip in New Mexico."
"Could be he floated down..." Lynch surmised, "...from a plane wreck... let's have a look then..."
"Get your camera, Jack, we'll take some pictures and tag this place. How far is Vincente?"
"Couple hours, if we push..." the blond noted of the next town. He smiled then, watching the grizzly, brash man some thought of as arrogant pull a small silver cross from beneath his shirt. He said a prayer, blessed himself and made the sign of the cross over the dead man.
"What?"
"They broke the mold, Yank," he choked, grinned, then started back to the car. After taking several photos, including a close up of the badge, they marked the site. They made their way up the river. Pete drove slowly, so they could rake the dense landscape with their eyes. Twenty minutes later, they spotted it. Jack's stomach wasn't up to the trip. The stench was overpowering. But he took a breath, picked up the camera and followed the leader.
"How many?" Lynch croaked.
"Two... I think..." Pete coughed. "Hard to tell... one's charred, the other one... poor bastard has no head... animals got to him." He ran towards the river, throwing up violently, then rinsed and scrubbed his ashen face. When he got back, Jack wasn't there. He followed the path back to the Jeep and found the other man, pale and sweating.
"Jack?"
"I got it..." he stammered, patting the camera. "The bloke that was burned... had a badge... ATF..."
"Goddammit!" Pete kicked the tire in frustration.
"Pete, I think..."
"Jack?" He turned as the smaller man slid sideways in a dead faint.
"You're turning into a woman!" the dark-haired man complained, lifting the camera and securing it. He eased the slack man into the Jeep and belted him in.
He marked the scene, wrote the coordinates down and then eyed the numbers he'd written hastily. Jogging around the twisted metal, he spotted several items lying on the ground. He picked up a wallet, which was void of money. It did contain the pilot's license and likeness. He spotted a piece of yellow paper and a phone number tucked in the fold. It had a date, a time and Silver City written on it. He wrote the number down and placed the city.
"New Mexico..." he murmured, recalling the grainy images he'd seen on the television the day they found the stranger. Maybe he was linked to this plane and the dead feds somehow. The phone number would be a lead. He sorted through his thoughts on the way back to the car. He'd call that number and scare up a lead. Then he'd call the F.B.I.
Vincente happened to be the home of a famous Mexican soap opera star. He got a kick out of Jack and Pete and they visited whenever they were in the area. More importantly, he had a big house, with a computer. He climbed behind the wheel and gave his unconscious friend's knee a pat.
"Hold on, Mate," he mimicked the other's accent and hit the gas pedal.
Someone was calling him. A voice floated just beyond his reach. He was swimming in a clear blue lake. The sun was out and it was beautiful. He didn't want to leave. He frowned and scowled, shoving his hand in protest. Yet the voice persisted and he swam harder.
"Come on, Tanner..." Arlee hissed, tossing away the small paper envelope with Tanner's pain pills.. Time was essential and the Texan needed to be awake, not doped up. The doctor and most of the staff were tied up with surgery. It was now or never. The jeep was tucked in at just the right spot. He could push it down the slight incline and cut into the main road down further.
Usually there was a large gap of time between dinner and the night medications being given out. Today, the few nurses on duty were busy with the extra surgeries to be done. So he'd waited until they were elsewhere, leaving the hall free. The darkness brought the cloak he needed to flee. Now he needed Tanner awake and on his feet. Frustrated, he ground his hand into the injured leg. That worked. Two eyes shot open.
"What the hell... where... shit..." Vin hissed, blinking in the darkness. Someone was pulling him up. Shoes were shoved on his feet. "...doin'...." he slurred, his head thick and still pounding.
"We're leaving, Troy. I'm Kevin, your cousin. You remember me, don't you?" He paused, pulling out the salt shaker and rubbing the spot he knew would sting most. "Chris is missing and we need to find him."
"Chris!" Vin's head shot up. His eyes were bright with pain and his heart was hammering. "Aw, hell, he's dead..."
"We don't know that. I thought you were dead and here you are. Chris is out there, hurt, bleeding.he's looking for you, Troy. You're his only hope... he'd never give up on you."
"Who are ya?" Vin blinked in confusion and felt the man bring his arm over his shoulder, half dragging him out of the room. "What are ya doin'?"
"I told you, Chris needs us. We can't wait. Do you want him to die out there? Or maybe have animals eat him alive?" Arlee dragged the sluggish man through the deserted hall and out the side door. It was cool and the night air surrounded them.
"Shit!" Vin's knees buckled. He couldn't seem to wake up and he was dizzy and nauseous. He swayed and staggered, fell twice, before the stranger shoved him into a car. He felt motion first, a gentle rocking, then the motor spring to life. The sudden change in speed and the bumps in the road caused his stomach to lurch. He hung out the window, leaving a trail of vomit in the wind. From his throbbing eyes, he saw a small figure glued to the dashboard. Something troubled him. Something was wrong. He tried to put the fragmented pieces of his mind together and lost. He slumped back, letting a black curtain fall.
"You rest up, Tanner," Arlee hissed, eyeing the bobbing head. "You're gonna need it. You're gonna find my Pa if you have to crawl through the fuckin' jungle," he vowed, heading for the spot on the river where he'd seen the tracks leading away from the plane. He'd follow the path back from where the reporters found him.
Every inch of his tortured flesh screamed for mercy. His side throbbed with wild abandon and his head ached. He swallowed and tried to slash his way through the thickness in his head. His hand moved and felt cotton. A bed? He tried to pull himself up and couldn't. He was too whipped. He tried again and a sharp pain exploded in his healing side. He cried out and grimaced, then felt a pair of small hands help him. He blinked as his feet hit the floor, shivering in the night air. He smelled her before he saw her. A gentle floral scent greeted him as a blanket was wrapped around his naked chest.
"Maria?"
"I've been so worried... the guards brought you back hours ago and you never moved. You collapsed. They took the chains off so the other one could continue. I cleaned and bandaged your wounds again." She held up a cup and nudged his lips, frowning at the sluggishness in him. "Chris?"
"Sorry," he muttered, taking a pill from her hand and nearly guzzling the cold water. "More..."
"Sit back." She helped him rest upright against the bunk, placing two pillows behind him. "I have some dinner for you."
Weak from hunger and thirst, he was trembling so badly, he couldn't find the fork. She placed the tray over his lap and came back with a tall cold pitcher of juice. She refilled his mug and warned him.
"Slowly," she coached, taking the fork from his hand with a smile. She saw the flush of anger and maybe embarrassment and reassured him. "Friends help each other... when one is down the other supports, okay? Let me help you?"
The roast chicken, potatoes and carrots were wonderful. He drained several mugs of water, then she brought him some herbal tea along with fruit. Sated, he sat back, feeling stronger and wiser. He took her hand and rubbed the knuckles, casting a half grin.
"Thank you, Lady Maria..." His smile widened when her blush grew. "You blush prettier than Vin."
She saw the smile leave his face and eased her hand from his. She brushed his hair back and rubbed his shoulder. His face was turned away, every fine feature twisted in pain. She saw his fist ball up, clutching at the worn cotton blanket.
"I'm sorry."
"No need, not your doing," he managed, trying to find some way to overcome the grievous loss of Vin Tanner. "He was..." He paused again, his mind's eye seeing the animated Texan dancing around the hotel room singing about rats. That brought a painful chuckle and his eyes burned.
"Special?" she guessed, and he nodded, unable to speak.
"How far's the river?" he asked hoarsely, trying to escape the pain of his vast loss. Also, his backside hurt. He wondered about the rat bite, vaguely recalling the ER doctor's warnings about infection. That seemed like a lifetime ago.
"About four miles... why?"
"Cause I'm gettin' the hell outta here..."
"No, you mustn't, they'll kill you. His men... the guards... roam the whole area. He is always worried about the government finding them."
"Dammit..." He shifted again, his backside stinging.
"It was infected... I purged it." She noted of the bite on his posterior and paused, watching his face fly up and color.
"Great..." he muttered, then chuckled softly, hearing Tanner's convulsive laughter. "Shut the hell up, Vin..." he whispered painfully, taking a shuddering breath.
"You must promise you won't do anything foolish!" She bent over and from a small cooler pulled out a Coke. "I saved it for you..."
"You got whiskey in there?" he teased, nodded and drank the sweet liquid. "It's good... thanks, Maria." He watched her pretty face and moved his hand, taking a long strand of hair from her eyes. "Without you, I'd be dead. I'm very grateful..."
"You have given me new hope, Chris. Maybe, I could come to America... and go to college."
"If we get out of here alive, Maria," he vowed, "I'll make it happen. You pick whatever school you want."
"Let me work on it," she decided. "I know his ways... how he operates. I will find the ... weak link... and then we will go together... yes?"
"You bet your sweet ass," Chris vowed tipping his Coke, then frowned. "What about your father?"
"I cannot trust him... because of his drinking..."
He saw the tears pooling in the beautiful eyes and took her hand. Someone so young shouldn't have so much pain. She shouldn't have to live in fear like this. Then he saw something else, a bruise under her eye.
"What happened?" he growled, thinking of the roaming hands of the guards. "Who did that?"
"It's nothing..."
"It doesn't look like nothing to me!" he hissed with a father-like rage . Through the open flaps in the large tent, he saw Hector grinning like a wolf. Their eyes met and the loutish guard grabbed his crotch. "I'll fuckin' kill him!"
"NO!" She pushed him back. "It wasn't what you think. I'd kill myself first."
"Did he do that?" He saw her head nod and drop. "Did he touch you?" Again the head nodded and her hands locked together.
"He... tried... to... he got my zipper down... and... put his hand..." She bit her lip and the tears fell. "I used my knee... and he hit... me..."
"You're mine, you bastard..." he snarled, gathering her close and stroking her hair. "Cut that out, he's not worth your salt."
"I'm ..s..s...s...sorry..."
"You're incredibly brave," he corrected, using his thumb to take the last stray tear. "I'll get you to America, Maria. You got my word."
Jack Lynch eased his slim frame through the sliding glass door. Their host, Miguel Colon, was a silver-haired Cary Grant type. He was a star on the country's leading soap opera and also did films. They met him years ago and often stayed at his large home. He wasn't home tonight, but Marita, the housekeeper, knew them and let them in. They stayed in the guest room by the pool. Jack was ill upon their arrival and slept for an hour. Now, after a hot shower and a sandwich, he felt better.
He nodded to his partner and let his gaze wander around the pretty plants and flowers that were in large ceramic pots around the oval pool. He sighed, rubbed his eyes and sat down next to the intense dark-haired man. He knew the signs and gave a sympathetic smile. The headache lines were forming over his brow and the dark eyes were stormy. He reached for the bottle before the fingers snapped and poured a double shot of tequila.
"Anything yet?" the blond whispered.
"No, fuckin' feds..." Pete growled. "I'm on hold..."
"Hold?" Jack shook his head and poured a shot for himself. "Did you tell them what you found?"
"I didn't get a chance..." He sat up and nodded. "Yes, ma'am... my name's Peter DiTullio and..."
Jack grinned when the dark eyes rolled.
"Yes, ma'am..." he sighed and pushed his finger and thumb into his aching eyes. "...Annette... yes... that Pete DiTullio. No, ma'am... uh... Annette... I've never thought about doing a movie... I'm glad your mother thinks I'm sexy." He turned and kicked his laughing partner who was nearly choking. "I need to talk to the agent in charge of the missing ATF agent's case. This is urgent. I need to speak to someone right away. No, I don't know his direct line, or I would have fuckin' called him!"
"Uh-oh..." Jack laughed, watching the blood pressure rise.
"Too fuckin' bad if you don't appreciate my language..." He stood and fished out his wallet, fumbling badly. "I've had a bitch of a day, lady, live with it."
"What?" Jack tried to help.
"...a name..." Pete whispered, watching the other's nimble fingers working. Several pieces of paper fell out. He snapped his fingers and pointed to one. "Thanks... Yes... his name is McClendon, Eric McClendon. No, don't put me on..."
Jack flinched as the hand smacked on the glass table.
"Goddammit!" Pete vented, slamming his body back down. "She put me on hold again!"
"Is that the bloke you called before?"
"Yeah, bastard never called back..."
"Did Nicki verify that?" he noted of the service they maintained in Texas. They called a few times a week to pick up messages.
"Yeah." He shoved the glass aside and picked up the bottle, taking a good swig. "I called the F.B.I. when we brought that kid in."
"Missing persons?"
"Yeah, I used the toll free number. I told them where we found the kid and they connected me to a southwest district office. I asked the operator who answered who the division head was... I left him a message too."
"You think that kid is connected to the plane?"
"Don't you?" He sat back and began to drum his fingers on the table. "He turns up in the middle of nowhere, just about the same time they disappeared."
"You don't know it's them."
"It's them... I can feel it."
"There are a lot of tourists piddlin' about there. It could be a coincidence."
"Yeah, and I could be a virgin." He sat up, cupping his ear. "Yes... McClendon? DiTullio, that's right."
Eric McClendon yawned and nudged down the volume on the television. Turning on the light by his dining room table, he sat down at the kitchen desk and rummaged around in the drawer, finally pulling out a legal pad.
"Yeah. Go ahead." He picked up a pen.
"We found a body wearing an ATF badge, not far from Candamena Canyon, Mexico." He flipped through his notes and gave the number and the coordinates of where the discovery was. "Then we moved up stream and found part of a plane and two more bodies. A pilot and a passenger. He had a badge too."
"When was this?" The bored agent wrote down the other badge number.
"About five o'clock tonight. They've been there awhile. Between the heat and the animals, it ain't pretty."
"No, I don't imagine it would be," McClendon noted with a touch of sarcasm. "Do you have any info on the plane? It might be border jumpers or drug runners."
"No, but the pilot is a Roberto Carrion, his license was from Baja..." He paused, frowning and getting annoyed with the blas� attitude. "What's with you? You got two missing men. You could show a little interest."
Jack eyed the other number on the paper, a phone number, and frowned. He pointed to it and Pete shook his head.
"What I know is you found three dead bodies. It might not even be Tanner and Larabee."
"I found their badges for Christ's sake!" Pete vented, rising along with his blood pressure. "You think this is some kind of game? I called you weeks ago with a missing person's report. It could be that kid we found was tied to this. You never even followed up."
"I get hundreds of tips every day and don't have time to follow up every crack pot who..."
"Fuck you, asshole!"
Jack winced, dropped his shaggy blond head and shook it. "Ever the diplomat," he muttered, watching the veins bugging out on the dark-haired man's temple.
"Look, pal, I got the information. We'll be in touch." McClendon was preparing to hang up.
"Oh, sorry..." Pete snapped. "What did I interrupt? You banging your nuts against Betty the blowup doll?"
That comment sent the mouthful of tequila he'd been trying to swallow across the table, and Jack coughed for several minutes, then saw the other man slam the phone down.
"Arrogant bastard hung up on me!"
"I can't imagine why," Lynch wheezed. "Calm down before you have a stroke."
"Dammit!" Pete pounded the table, strangling the neck of the bottle as he took it from the blond.
"Betty the blowup doll?" Jack tried, but couldn't help it and dissolved into convulsive laughter.
"Shut the hell up!" Pete smacked the back of the blond head and moved the lantern over to read the number. He dialed and waited, then nodded, cupping the phone. "... call forwarding..." He stopped when a voice mail came on. "Shit!" He hung up and turned.
"What?"
"The lead on CNN tomorrow morning, that's what!" he exclaimed. "Lincoln Savage!"
"Those blokes that were running around shooting up the states?"
"Yeah... they must have hired that pilot to fly them down here."
"And somehow they ran into those ATF agents... and kidnapped them." Jack tapped his fingers on the glass. "What now? Another call to the F.B.I.?"
"Hell, no!" Pete rose and collected his notes. "Let's see if the computer is up yet." He went inside, the blond on his heels. He padded through the Spanish style house into the study and flipped the computer on. It only took a few minutes and the news bulletins about the missing men came up.
"You were right!" Jack read over the other man's shoulder and wrinkled his nose. "You stink, Mate..."
"Denver." Pete wrote down the name of the senior ATF agent in the home office where Larabee and Tanner were from. "...kidnapped from a diner and driven to an airstrip in New Mexico... " He read through the article. "It's them... I'm gonna call this Travis guy." He flipped through a few more articles, then saw a familiar name. "He even looks like a prick!"
"Looks like he left Betty at home." Jack's lips quirked at the smug shot of Agent Eric McClendon. "Nasty lot, those Savages..." Lynch read about the younger agent being tortured. "Do you think they're still about?"
"No... You saw how that plane was torn up..." He dialed and waited, then got the Denver ATF operator. "This is CNN." He paused and gave his credentials. "I need to speak with Orrin Travis and it's urgent!"
He hid the car off the side of the road and made camp. He hadn't taken much from the hospital. Just blankets, some food, a knife and fork from his dinner tray and a plastic pitcher. He jogged down to the river and filled the pitcher with water. He ate a sandwich, saved from his lunch tray, and washed it down with water. Tanner was still out cold. He left him in the car, belted in. They would sleep for a few hours and then start out again. He knew he was close; he felt the wreckage couldn't be too far ahead. A soft cough brought his head up.
"Troy?"
"Huh?" Vin blinked in complete darkness and shivered. It was freezing. He was... was... he cast his eyes around, seeing dense trees. He heard water rushing nearby and the cool air was a result. "... hell are we?"
"By the river." Arlee rummaged in the bag and found a small tin of orange juice. He picked up the packaged crackers and walked towards the jeep. The injured man was trying to get out. "Hold on..." He popped the top and handed the stuperous man the juice. It went down fast.
"I gotta piss..." Vin slurred, wondering why his tongue wouldn't work. He fell out of the jeep and felt someone catch him. His head was pounding. He shoved off the help and staggered a few feet, relieving his throbbing bladder. Then he stumbled over to a rock and sat down hard. A pair of jeans appeared. He followed the body up, staring in dusky moonlight at a young man's face.
"Troy?" Arlee squatted down, glad for the totally blank features. He hugged Tanner, controlling his fueled emotions and the urge to beat him. He had to play the part of the overjoyed relative. "God..." he choked, "I thought you were dead..." He felt the body stiffen and pulled back. He rested a 'comforting' hand on the other's shoulder. "It's okay, the doctor said your memory was affected by that head wound. Don't you worry, I'll take care of you. We'll find Pa and Chris and then go home."
"Home," Vin rasped, his heart aching. He wanted that too, badly. But he didn't know where home was. A group of crackers and an orange appeared in his hands.
"It's not much, but..."
"It's fine," Vin nodded, "thanks... uh..."
"Kevin," Arlee lied. "Lincoln, just like you. Our Pa's were brothers. Your Ma and Pa died a long time ago."
"Aw, hell." Vin slumped, swallowing the dry crackers. The orange was sweet and he devoured it.
"Chris raised you up..." He prodded, seeing the dull eyes shine.
"Chris!" Vin hissed, his heart hammering. "Chris... I gotta find 'im..." He stood and was shoved back down.
"I know, I know," Arlee persisted. "But it's too dangerous to be on this road at night. We're in the mountains in Mexico. There are rebels all over. They'd kill us as sure as looking at us. We gotta be careful."
"Yeah," Vin nodded, "Where we headed?"
"Up river... to the place where..." He paused, thinking of his uncle's body and the tracks. "I can't remember much but I know we were near water and something bad happened."
"Bad?"
"A mercenary... and his men. A mean dude with yellow hair and green eyes..." He waited and saw nothing in the other's face. "He used his knife on you... his men, they beat you."
"Hell..." Vin shuddered, "I can't recall..."
"With that chunk out of your head, it's a wonder you can remember anything."
"What about the others?"
"Chris and Pa? I don't know... I remember getting you free and us trying to jump in the river to escape... there was gunshots... Chris... I think he covered you with his body... somehow... I don't know ... I woke up all wet... got to the road and some reporters found me. Troy, I thought you were dead..."
"He's dead," Vin said flatly, a pain inside resurfacing. He felt a loss so profound it took his breath away. He knew, somehow, Chris was dead. He couldn't see the face, but he felt the loss. He clutched his beloved chain and felt tears brimming.
"Hey," Arlee wanted to laugh at the emotive face. "Don't get upset. I'm counting on you. You're the best tracker..."
"Tracker?" Vin cocked his head.
"Yeah, you read the land... You can find Pa and Chris. Maybe they got away... they could be hurt... looking for us. It's up to you. He's depending on you. He saved your life."
"All right... all right!" Vin shouted, causing his head to explode. "I don't wanna hear no more." He stood and went back to the jeep, sliding into the seat. His eyes went to the dashboard and his fingers followed. "Couldda swore..."
"What's that?" Arlee had yanked the small statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary from the dashboard. He'd found other stuff belonging to the priest, the car registration, some rosaries, a sick room set and Bible. He'd tossed them all out of the car.
"Nothin'..." Vin mumbled, his headache forcing his eyes shut. Then the image of the priest swam by. "Aw, hell..." he sat up, clutching the side of the window. "The padre... where's the padre?"
"He's back in San Pedro. You said goodbye... hell, you damn near broke his ribs, you hugged him so hard. Don't you remember?" he goaded, watching the guilty face and enjoying it.
"No... can't recall... anythin'..." Vin mumbled.
"What's the last thing you remember?"
Vin thought hard, pressing a hand to his tender temple, but nothing came up. A meal with Father Carlos and his father. Then... then... blankness.
"Eatin' breakfast with the padre and his Pa... but... .nothin' else..."
"That was a few days ago," Arlee lied, resting that comforting hand on Vin's shoulder. "You were in the hospital for awhile. Then the doctor released us... remember?"
"No..." Vin sighed, wanting the pain and black box where his memories should be to leave.
"Never mind." The killer pulled the blanket over him; he couldn't afford for the tracker to get a fever. "You just get some rest. I'll take good care of you," he vowed, already seeing the naked chest, hands bound over his head and a knife slowly pulling out his entrails.
"Thanks... Kev...in..." Vin slurred, his eyes falling shut.
Arlee waited several minutes, watching the chest rise and fall. The Texan's mouth went slack, and the lips parted slightly. The soft snore brought an evil smile. He tapped that pale face and took out the small knife. He ran the dull side along the white throat and felt his excitement rise.
"Oh, yeah, 'cousin', I'll take gooood care of you..."
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