Retribution (Moonstruck Genesis #4)

Chapter 15

MAC REFUSED to let Harjo join him for the stand-off in the middle of the road, despite the other man’s insistence.

“Dammit, Harjo. Think! You and Amy just got married.”

“You have a wife and son.”

Reining in his temper, Mac nodded. “I do. But there’s a big difference here. You’re human and I’m not. I refuse to take you back to your bride in a body bag.”

Harjo wanted to argue, but knew he’d lose. Even if he could still pull rank, Mac would remain implacable. He finally let out a frustrated, “Dammit, Mac.”

“Just make sure you cover my ass.”

A short bark of wry laughter broke some of the tension. “Count on it. I do not want Hannah’s wrath coming down on me because you got hurt.”

The showdown he’d been anticipating was about to happen. They’d watched the gangsters load up and form a convoy led by a black Hummer, tricked out with more chrome than a Hollywood pimpmobile and windows blacked out with tint, approached so slowly no dust rose in its wake. It stopped, diesel engine idling.

Harjo’s voice whispered in Mac’s ear. “We’ve got your six.”

“I know.” Mac stepped from the shadow of the building, strode to the center of the street and faced the Hummer.

The drug lord slid out of the vehicle but stayed behind the open front passenger door. “This place is mine.” He yelled the declaration, defiance obvious in his arrogant insistence. “And no stupid cowboy won’t take it from me.”

“I’m not a cowboy.”

“Then you’re just stupid.”

Lightfoot’s voice whispered in Mac’s earpiece. “Target acquired.”

“We can do this the easy way, before your luck runs out.” Mac wanted to spit but didn’t as he added with sarcasm embedded in his tone, “El Suerte.” The Lucky One. That was this asshole’s gang name. Every time someone in town referred to the SOB that way Sean cracked up, quoting lines about a character named Muerte—the Spanish word for death—in a comedy movie about married spies vacationing in New Orleans. The only problem was this bastard killed people so there was nothing humorous about him.

“Yeah, we can do it easy. You turn tail and run and maybe—just maybe, I’ll let you live. You and the rest of this pathetic excuse for a town.”

Mac heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I was afraid you’d say that. See, it’s not about being easy for me at all. It’s about being easy for you. But since you can’t take a hint—” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

Seconds later, a bullet pinged off bullet-proof glass, somebody yelped, and El Suerte jumped before ducking behind the door as metal pinged again. Three shots reverberated and almost sounded like one. The soldier El Suerte had motioned to sneak in closer was sprawled face down in the dirt as a crimson stain bloomed across his back from Lightfoot’s through-and-through shot.

“Bullet proof and armor plated,” Lightfoot confirmed via radio as Mac faded back into the shadows..

Sean added almost immediately, “Boss, there’s an IED for that. Provided we can get the vehicle in the right position.”

“How’s your patient?”

“Not happy, but hanging in. The good senora will stay with her. I’m moving into position now.”

“Roger that.” Mac tilted his head slightly and raised his voice. “See? You picked the hard way. I’ll give you one more chance.”

“What makes you think I won’t come back and blow this motherfuckin’ rathole to hell and back?” The top of El Suerte’s head appeared and he waved one hand. “I don’t see too many guns, cowboy. I got a hundred fucking men just waitin’ to take you apart.

“He’s probably not lying, Mac. I quit counting at eighty-five. Good news is his Hummer is the only armored vehicle in the bunch.”

“Roger, Lightfoot.” Mac took a step forward so that he stood on that invisible line between light and dark. He crossed his arms over his chest. He wanted to be seen but not clearly.

“What gang you with, cowboy? Maybe we can make a deal.”

“What makes you think I’m in a gang?”

“Nobody legit would want this shit hole.”

The corners of Mac’s mouth turned down as he made a disbelieving noise. “Seems like the people who live here liked it well enough before you showed up.”

“I brought money to this town.”

“You brought dirty money, along with rape, drugs, and beatings.”

A string of curses in Spanish followed. “Fuck, man. Are you one of them fuckin’ do-gooders? Some lone-wolf-Chuck-Norris-wannabe? That’s Hollywood, you dumb fuck.”

Sean’s voice buzzed in Mac’s ear. “Boss, can I blow shit up now? Pretty please?”

“Roger that.”

The big Wolf’s ecstatic whoop was lost in the ear-splitting boom as he triggered a small explosion. The pickup parked behind the Hummer bounced into the air amidst a fountain of sand, rocks, and plant life. Orange flame licked along the undercarriage, discovered the gas tank, and latched on. In the blink of an eye, the tank exploded, sending fireballs shooting into the air like a Roman candle.

Panic ensued and the members of the cartel scattered like ants when a firecracker blows up their hill. Mac moved back to the middle of the road and remained standing, though he dropped his arms to his sides. One hand rested on the butt of his sidearm and the other held the automatic rifle that had been slung over his back. He raised his voice to be heard over the screams of injured men.

“Pull out now and we’ll let you and your men go. If you’re still here by morning, all bets are off.”

El Suerte, coughing and choking from the smoke and dust, stood up. “Fuck you, cowboy. You’re dead. All of you are dead.”

“I told you, dumb shit, I’m not a cowboy. Last chance. Get out of here and stay out.”

One of the Los Malvados opened fire then they all did. Mac fired back with the rifle as gunfire erupted from behind and beside him. He dove over a couple of hay bales for cover and counted to ten. The Wolves stopped firing on cue. The people of San Rios weren’t so disciplined but even their gunfire finally petered off.

“I count ten hostiles down.” Lightfoot reported in, his voice holding no emotion.

“Roger.”

“They’re grabbing the injured and retreating. Want me to hurry them along?” Sean sounded much too happy.

“Negative, Sean. Nate, Rudy, keep tabs on them.”

Both Wolves acknowledged Mac’s orders. Shadows coalesced into human form visible briefly before they disappeared into the underbrush. Mac watched until the cartel soldiers were well down the road, El Suerte and his armored Hummer leading the way.

Harjo appeared from behind the corner of a building and ambled toward Mac. “Sean has a couple of new patients. Nothing serious, mostly cuts, though Mr. Fox was hit. He claims it’s just a flesh wound but promised to let Sean look at it.”

“Where’s Danny?”

“Checking ammunition levels.” Harjo winced and inhaled. “Not too disciplined on our side.” He glanced around and dropped his voice. “We won’t last long without resupply or reinforcements, Mac.”

“Yeah.”

“We have the SAT phones.”

“Yeah.”

“Mac?”

“Yeah?”

Harjo laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Dammit, Mac. Say something besides yeah.”

“I’m open to ideas, Harjo. You’re the planner. I just carry out the operation on the ground.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. We’ve been in tough places before.”

“Yeah.”

This time they both laughed. “Then let’s go figure this out.” Harjo tapped the button to set his mic to voice activated. “Lightfoot, apprise us of any movement.”

“Roger.”

“Danny, maintain the perimeter and give us a report on supplies when you have it.”

“Yessir.”

Mac and Harjo headed to the cantina. Senora Artez had Honi up and walking when they came through the door. Lucy hovered over her grandfather while Sean cleaned and bandaged a scrape along the older man’s ribs.

“You were damn lucky, sir. I think your ribs are just bruised but it’ll take X-rays to be sure.” Sean patted the man on the shoulder. “If there’s any ice left, wouldn’t hurt to put a pack on it, keep the bruising down.”

“I’ll make one for him.” Lucy headed for the ice machine behind the bar while Sean joined Harjo and Mac.

“If they hit us hard, we’re toast. Even with my surprises.” Sean scratched at his shoulder and picked a two-inch splinter out.

Harjo peered closer at Sean’s wound. “You okay?”

“Just a scratch.” Sean noted that Mac was watching Honi. “We have her moving in hopes of getting her to dilate faster. She’s stuck at about seven centimeters. Full effacement doesn’t happen until ten. This is tough on her. First child and no drugs. Good thing she’s Nakai’s granddaughter. Any other woman would be screaming bloody murder during the contract—”

Honi doubled over, cutting him off mid-word. He loped over to her and as he spoke quietly to her, he rubbed her back until she could straighten. Senora Artez put her arm around the girl and led her from the room. Sean returned to the huddle.

“I’ve got to check her again. I’m worried. She’s been in labor a long time without any pain killers.”

“Can we get her out of here and to a hospital?” Harjo sounded more hopeful than he felt.

“Closest would be Las Cruces and you saw that road we came in on. You have a magic wand you can use to call up a rescue chopper?”

Harjo and Mac exchanged looks. If they called in their location, half the US Army would come to arrest them. It wasn’t an option. Yet.