Free Invasion USA by William W. Johnstone Page B

ruthlessly. Anyone who got in their way or inconvenienced them even a little was considered fair game. They were worse than animals.
    â€œI sent queries about Mendez to the authorities in Mexico and Guatemala, and I’ve gotten answers back from them already,” Buddy went on. “That’s mighty fast for those agencies to work. They don’t have a reputation for efficiency.”
    â€œThat must mean that Mendez is well known to them,” Tom commented.
    â€œYou could say that. He may have only done four months jail time in the U.S., but he’s been in and out of Guatemalan and Mexican jails since he was fifteen, on charges ranging from petty theft to murder. He got off on the murder rap—by that time he was known to be a member of M-15, and probably nobody really wanted to convict him anyway. They were just going through the motions. But he was sent away numerous times on drug-related charges, as well as rape.” He hated to say it in front of Bonnie, but she had a right to know, as well as Tom. “Rape is one of the gang’s main weapons. If they have a grudge against somebody, they like to strike back at him through his female relatives.”
    Tom and Bonnie exchanged a glance. She said, “You’re warning us, aren’t you, Buddy? You’re saying that I’m in danger as much as Tom is.”
    Buddy shrugged. “Mendez has a couple of broken ribs and a concussion, plus he’s been arrested for murder, bank robbery, assault, attempted rape, kidnapping, car theft, and anything else we can think of that might stick. It’s possible that because he failed in the job he was given, his bosses in M-15 might just cut him loose. It’s more likely, though, that they’ll want revenge for the man they lost, and they’ll want Mendez out of jail.”
    â€œThat last part’s not going to be easy,” Tom put in. “There are plenty of witnesses.”
    â€œWitnesses can be intimidated. Their memory gets foggy. They change their testimony. They leave town and go so far and so fast that they can’t be found.”
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong with my memory . . . and I’m not going anywhere,” Tom said.
    â€œI know,” Buddy said with a nod. “And I’m counting on that. We’ll do everything we can to keep you safe, but you’ve got to do your part, Tom. Keep your eyes open . . . wide open.”
    Tom nodded.
    â€œI know you’ve got hunting rifles and shotguns at home. You might want to put one in your pickup, and in Bonnie’s car, too.”
    â€œI don’t want to carry a rifle or a shotgun in my car, Buddy,” Bonnie said.
    â€œNow, Bonnie, this is serious,” Buddy began. “You might need to defend yourself—”
    She hefted her purse and said, “In that case, I’ve got a perfectly good .38 automatic right here.”
    Buddy just stared at her for a second and then said, “Oh.”
    A faint smile tugged at the corners of Tom’s mouth. “Bonnie’s probably as good a shot as I am.” His expression grew serious again. “But she doesn’t have the experience that I have when it comes to handling a gun while somebody else is shooting at you.”
    â€œVietnam was a long time ago, Tom,” she said crisply. “It’s not like you’ve been engaging in weekly gunfights since then.”
    â€œNo . . . but some things you never really forget.”
    â€œLike how to ride a bicycle?”
    Tom grunted. “Yeah. Like how to ride a bicycle.”
    Buddy hoped for Tom’s sake that he remembered more than that. Before this was over, he might need more deadly skills than bicycle riding.
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    They left the sheriff’s office and the courthouse a short time later, stepping from the air-conditioned coolness into the heat of an Arizona afternoon in June. “Buddy’s not going to need you for anything else?” Bonnie asked