Jeff Sherratt - The Brimstone Murders

“Are you sure?”

“Dead sure.”

“Aw shit. Maybe I can flag a Chippie on Highway 58. We’ll take the cutoff road. Don’t worry. We’ll come back for your secretary. Now, let’s go!”

No, I was staying. I held the small pistol and thought, how am I going to hold off nine guys firing AK-47s with this peashooter until he returns with the 7 thCavalry?

I took a deep breath and let the air escape from my lungs. I figured I might not make it, but I couldn’t leave without Rita.

Raising my head, I peered over the edge. Hammer was right. The men were coming, crouching military style, creeping forward cautiously. They couldn’t know how many of us were out here. Maybe I could spook them.

I got off three quick rounds. The guards scrambled for cover.

Buddy stood defiantly in the middle of the gravel road and shouted, “Hey, we just want to talk. No sense in gunplay. Come on out with your hands in the air. I’ll hold my men back ’til I count to three. If you don’t come out, then we’ll be a-comin’ for ya. And I’m afraid we’ll have to kill you.”

I took a shot at him, missed by a mile. He dropped to the ground and looked around. When he saw one of his men, he raised his hand and tossed out a signal, his finger stopping when it was pointed right at me. The guard swung the weapon around.

Adrenalin coursing, I dove down next to Hammer. A heavy barrage of gunfire ensued. The rapid fire rattled my teeth. Slugs bounced off the granite in front of us, rock shards flying.

I tried to burrow deeper into the dirt.

An eerie stillness suddenly filled the air. I glanced at the red ants crawling up my arms, gnawing my flesh, and waited for the bullets to start flying again. I could hear my heart banging against my ribs.

Hammer said, “There’s a riot gun in the unit. You’ll ride shotgun…” He paused, seemingly appraising me. “You ready, O’Brien?”

“Not going.”

“You crazy bastard…” He started to say something else, but didn’t. “It’s your funeral.”

Buddy’s voice rang out: “Okay, I’m countin’.” He paused for a second. “One…”

Hammer’s eyes locked on mine. “Cover me.”

“Two…”

Rita’s image flashed in my mind. Hammer had to get help. I rolled sideways, out from behind the rocks, sprang to my feet. “Three! You son-of-a-bitch,” I shouted. Then I fired.

All hell broke loose.

I got off two more fast rounds. The shots missed, but Buddy’s men scattered.

I darted to my right, dropped, rolled, and shot again.

Buddy shouted at his men as they scattered. “Goddammit , get back here.” He swung around, drew a pistol and fired two quick shots over their heads. They stopped and turned. “Shoot that cocksucker! Now, goddammit!” He pointed right at me. The men raised their guns.

My heart raced.

Suddenly, to my left, a series of huge blasts sounded. Hammer, gripping the riot gun, stood next to the police car, pumping rounds into the line of guards.

I looked back. One guy went down, screaming, “I’m hit!”

Another guy dropped like a sack of rotten tomatoes. That left seven. Too many.

Buddy pointed at Hammer. “Kill him!” The men swung their rifles toward Hammer.

He lunged behind the car just as the AK-47s exploded.

I ran a zigzag pattern, sprinting through the scrub. Tripping over a rock, I struggled to my feet and got up running. I tore along the ground racing closer to the works. Stopping halfway there, I slid down behind a large yucca tree, gulping air.

I heard Hammer call out, “I’ll be back, O’Brien!”

Maybe he would. It was my only chance.

I raised my gun, squeezed the trigger and drew their fire, then jerked back behind the yucca. Almost instantly, slugs from the AK-47s peppered the tree trunk and whizzed by on both sides. Peering out, I saw Hammer leap into the cop car. Wheels spinning, the car zoomed backward and disappeared beyond the hump in the road. Some of the guards were still shooting at the fleeing car. Others continued to shoot at me.

I wouldn’t be safe here for long. Any more of this and the slugs would chop the tree in two, or they would rush me and I’d be one dead lawyer.

I checked the Beretta’s clip: one round. I jammed the gun in my belt, crouched down, and looked out from behind the tree. The shooting had stopped, and I knew why.

The kids at the borax plant had scattered in all directions. Buddy turned and pointed. Some of the guards took off to chase them, scurrying like rats across the desert. I bolted, moving five yards closer.

Buddy immediately turned back. He stood in the road with two of his men. They searched intently for me, gazing out at the scrub. I’d have to get past them to reach Rita.

I crept toward the office, moving quietly from one thicket of sagebrush to another. Most of the guards would be busy for a while, I figured. I had to find Rita and get her out of this place. But first I had to sneak past Buddy and his goons.

He continued to scan, his eyes sweeping from side to side. He signaled his men to fan out; one marched off to my left, the other to the right. They’d circle around and come up behind me. Then he must’ve thought he saw something. He shot three times at a dense cluster of cholla cacti ten feet away from me. Some cactus wrens fluttered and took flight.

Buddy was alone now, but didn’t budge from his spot. I had to make my move. If I waited too long, I’d be so outnumbered that I’d never get Rita out of here. I had one bullet left. If I shot at Buddy and missed… well, I didn’t want to think about that. Besides, I’d need that round in case anyone was guarding Rita.

On my belly, I slithered out from behind the bushes and inched closer. I scooted forward, moving at a deliberate pace. I thought of the old World War II movies, thought about how John Wayne would handle this. He’d throw a rock off somewhere, drawing the bad guy’s attention, and then he’d jump up, rush the guy, take his rifle, and gut him with the bayonet.

I couldn’t do that. Buddy didn’t have a bayonet.

A dry breeze stirred, andthe scent of coal tar pitch from the creosote bush I hid behind filled my nostrils as the sun continued to beat down on me. The unblinking reptilian orb of a fat chuckwalla, inches from my face, pinned me eyeball to eyeball like in a kid’s game of chicken. I wanted to smash the goddamn lizard with a rock.

I lay sweating, waiting for Buddy to move from his spot and come look for me, to move away from the road long enough for me to circle around him. I was only ten yards from where he stood, and another ten yards behind him was the entrance to the borax works. I figured they had Rita in the small office, which was located in the middle of the facility next to a towering crane and surrounded on three sides by piles of slag. Used equipment and rusty junk were scattered on the grounds heaped among a number of old stone buildings.

Shifting my eyes, I could see the two guards advancing through the scrub on either side. In a few moments they’d be behind me.

I didn’t have a second to lose; I had to make my move now. The guards who’d been chasing the kids were starting to return, dragging them by the scruffs of their necks. Soon they, too, would be looking for me.

Scrunched over, I moved out from behind the bush and scuttled closer. If Buddy turned his head in the slightest he’d see me. But I kept crawling through the undergrowth, purposeful and silent, like a cat after its prey. Five more yards and I’d be close enough to get the jump on him, take his gun and put it to his head. Then I’d force him to release Rita.

A thousand to one shot, maybe ten thousand, but it was a shot.

Suddenly, he turned. I leaped back behind a tall bush and dropped to the ground. Shots rang out; two slugs hit the dirt next to me.