Free Invasion USA by William W. Johnstone Page A

fact still broke Buddy’s heart—while Fred Kelso was seriously wounded and his condition still weighed on Buddy’s mind. The doctors at the Sierrita County Hospital gave Fred a fifty-fifty chance of surviving. There was some discussion about taking him by helicopter to a larger hospital in Tucson or Phoenix, but after a video consultation with doctors there, it was decided to leave him be since he was stable and the local doctors were doing everything that they could. He was still in a coma and had not regained consciousness since the bank robbery early that morning.
    Mrs. Montgomery had a broken hip and would be laid up for a long time. A doctor had checked Andy Willard and pronounced that except for the cut on his head, he was fine. There was no sign of concussion. His mother Carla was bruised and shaken up, of course, but the damage to her had been more psychological and spiritual than physical—other than the threat of AIDS or pregnancy.
    Tom Brannon was fine, not a scratch on him from his encounter. Buddy still had to shake his head when he thought about Tom jumping those two bastards with only a tire iron for a weapon.
    Tom was waiting outside Buddy’s office now, sitting on one of the plastic chairs in the hall with his wife Bonnie beside him. She had come into town right away when Tom called her to let her know what had happened. Bonnie Brannon was a tall, slender woman with a long, thick mane of brown hair. There might be a few streaks of gray in it, but a person would have to look hard to see them. She didn’t look old enough to have two grown children.
    Even through the big window in Buddy’s office that looked out on the rest of the sheriff’s department, Buddy had been able to hear Bonnie reading the riot act to Tom. He shouldn’t have taken such a crazy chance. He could have gotten himself killed. He should have thought about her, even if he didn’t care what happened to him.
    Then Tom had said something too quietly for Buddy to hear the words, but from the look of it, he had spoken only a couple of simple sentences. Buddy would have been willing to bet that they had something to do with Carla May Willard, because Bonnie Brannon had quieted down immediately. Her husband had saved Carla’s life, without a doubt, as well as the life of her daughter, and no argument Bonnie could make would top that one.
    Buddy stood up and went to the door, easing it open. He wasn’t looking forward to his conversation, but the sooner he had it, the better. He said, “Tom, could you and Bonnie come in here for a few minutes?”
    They stood up and came inside the office while Buddy went back behind the desk. Without sitting down himself, he motioned them into chairs and picked up a folder from his desk. He handed it across to Tom.
    â€œWe were lucky,” Buddy said. “The guy you grabbed spent some time in jail in San Diego. Four months on an assault charge, which got his fingerprints in the system. His name is Porfirio Mendez.”
    Tom had opened the folder and studied the documents inside, one of which had Mendez’s mug shots glaring out from it. “He’s from Guatemala,” Tom said, sounding a little surprised.
    Buddy nodded. “Most of the members of M-15 are from either Guatemala or El Salvador.”
    â€œM-15,” Bonnie said. “I’ve heard of them. They’re the same people who . . . who killed poor old Burt Minnow and Madison Wheeler.”
    Buddy nodded again. “That’s right.”
    Bonnie looked scared, and he didn’t blame her. She had good reason to be. This part of Arizona had been pretty quiet and peaceful until recent years. There has been some smuggling of drugs and illegal immigrants, of course, as there was along any border, but on a small scale. The coming of Mara Salvatrucha had changed everything. Those folks didn’t do anything on a small scale, and they killed indiscriminately, wantonly,