Free Houston Attack by Randy Wayne White Page B

Quirt? Doesn’t that seem a little weird to you?”
    The man shrugged. “You ain’t been in Texas long if you think that’s weird. Hell, half the millionaires in this state have protection organizations that would do the Marines and the CIA proud. Most of them are just tough old boys who got lucky in the oil fields, Hawk. They may act rich, but they still think poor. Most of them got the idea everyone’s out to rob what they got.” The man grinned and stretched, yawning. “I guess it’s true ol’ Skate’s gone a little overboard—they say he’s got guns up to the house that can shoot down planes. Big planes. Maybe he just figures he had to work his ass off to get what he got, and now he’s being damn careful he hangs on to it. That’s why they call him ‘Skate,’ you know. Boys say they call him that ’cause when he was a young Tom, he had to skate through a ton of shit to pull himself out of the country slums.”
    â€œYeah? What’s his real first name?”
    Quirt shrugged. “You’ll have to ask someone who knows him better than me.”
    Trying not to act too interested, Hawker shrugged. “Well, I don’t care what the man does—as long as he pays me my wages on time.”
    As Hawker turned to go Evans called after him, “Hey, Hawk?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œIf you’re after a cold beer, you’ll find the boys in Pearsall. If you’re after something else, drive right on into San Antone. There’s a house there called Flora and Ella’s. Price up front will seem steep, but it’ll save you money on penicillin later.”
    Hawker laughed in spite of his suspicions. “Thanks for the advice, Quirt. Flora and Ella’s. I’ll remember.”
    The moment Hawker started his pickup truck, Quirt Evans tossed down the magazine he was reading, strapped on his gun belt) then went outside to saddle his horse.…

ten
    In the mess hall of Ranch #4 there was a glossy wooden map showing all of Skate Williams’s holdings.
    Hawker had memorized the map and then resketched it in private.
    As he bounced down the rutted south Texas road, he switched on the dome light and studied his sketch. The five secondary ranches were like spokes on a wheel, all orbiting around Ranch #1, Skate Williams’s home.
    It made it very hard to sneak down the long road that led only to Ranch #1—and no doubt it was planned that way.
    Hawker wrestled with the problem as he drove. Finally he hit upon a likely solution. He slowed at the turnoff, then drove on past. He had hoped to find an abandoned barn in which to hide his truck, but there was none. He finally had to settle for a thick stand of sycamores by the shallow river, which flowed down out of the hills.
    He got out of the truck. It was a still Texas night with blazing stars and a full moon.
    Hawker could smell the fresh musk of the river as it burpled over stones.
    Hawker jumped into the open bed of the truck. In the back of the truck he had had a Houston mechanic weld an oversize tool chest to the wall of the cab. The steel lid was padlocked shut, and now Hawker opened the lock.
    Inside was the weaponry Jake Hayes had sent from Chicago. The one thing Hawker wasn’t able to hide in the tool chest was his computer.
    He wished he had it now—he would have run a check on Quirt Evans.
    Hawker took what he thought he might need from the chest: an automatic weapon (with plenty of ammunition this time); a little Walther PPK automatic; a new Cold Commander automatic rifle in place of his customized Colt Commander, which he had lost in Mexico; his Randall knife; several spider-size listening transmitters; a rope with a grappling hook; wire cutters; three different varieties of state-of-the-art explosives; and several grenades.
    He couldn’t be sure that he would need any of it. In fact, he hoped he wouldn’t. But, if he did need it he wanted it