David Robbins - Thief River Falls Run

“Maybe you should stay in the SEAL,” Hickok replied. “There could be trouble.”

“I was sent to act as mediator,” Joshua reminded Hickok, his voice tinged with anger. “You can’t hide me away every time we meet someone!”

“Safer for you,” Hickok said, “safer for us if we do.”

“There!” Geronimo pointed.

Blade stopped.

The center of Thief River Falls consisted of a profuse growth of trees, tall grass, and bushes.

“Must have been a park once,” Hickok noted.

The buildings surrounding the former park were all shabby, unkempt, except for one. A two-story concrete structure, due south of the town square, displayed signs of recent maintenance. The walls were painted white, the front door still hanging on its hinges, and, unlike any other building in sight, this one had glass windows still intact. The raucous music was coming from this building, through several open windows.

“We’re being watched!” Geronimo pointed again.

A stocky man, dressed in black, carrying a shotgun, was standing on the roof of the concrete structure, studying the SEAL. He suddenly whirled and disappeared from view.

“Don’t like it,” Hickok commented.

“What do we do?” Geronimo asked Blade.

Blade picked up the Commando and opened his door. “We go in.

Hickok. Joshua. Myself. You stay with the SEAL. No one is to come near it, under any conditions.”

Geronimo nodded his understanding.

“Do we have to take Josh?” Hickok demanded, climbing out. He alertly scanned their immediate vicinity.

Blade nodded.

“Why?”

“Plato gave us specific instructions. Joshua is right. He was appointed to act as our official Family mediator. We’ll let him have his chance.”

“And if they turn out to be hostile?” Hickok asked.

“You know what to do,” Blade responded.

Joshua stood on the ground, stretching. “Thank you, Blade,” he said, expressing his gratitude. “I won’t let you down.”

Blade motioned for Joshua to proceed. They cautiously approached the building.

The music abruptly ceased.

“They know they’ve got company,” Hickok stated.

The front door opened. A lean man wearing jeans and a brown shirt, a revolver strapped around his narrow waist, stepped out, smiling, friendly.

“I don’t trust him,” Hickok whispered to Blade.

“Well, hello there!” The stranger walked down the front steps and extended his right hand. “It isn’t often we get new faces around here. My name is Bert.”

Blade and Hickok held back, tense, watching the building. Joshua looked at them, shook his head, and walked up to Bert.

“Greetings, brother.” Joshua smiled. “We are happy to meet you.”

Bert eyed Joshua quizzically. “Is that a fact?”

“Indeed,” Joshua affirmed. “You are the first person we have… talked to… since our journey began. We are extremely pleased to meet you.”

“Why don’t you come inside and meet the others?” Bert asked. “You can bring your friend.” He indicated Geronimo, who was now sitting in the front of the SEAL, leaning out the window, staring at them.

“Certainly.” Joshua turned and waved, beckoning Geronimo to join them.

Geronimo glanced at Blade.

Blade shook his head. “He stays with our vehicle,” he said to Bert.

“You worried someone might run off with that thing?” Bert laughed.

“Ain’t any scavengers in Thief River Falls. Only us.”

“Convenient,” Hickok commented.

For an instant, Bert’s brown eyes narrowed. He grinned and placed his right hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “Come on in.”

“Thank you, brother.”

“Brother? We aren’t related.”

They walked up the steps.

“All men are sons of the First Source and Universe Creator,” Joshua said. “This cosmic truth makes all men spiritual brothers.”

Bert gaped at Joshua in frank amazement. “Is that a fact?” He smiled.

“It is a paramount universal truth,” Joshua seriously intoned. He went to enter the building.

“Hold it,” Blade directed. “Me first.”

“Ain’t very trusting, are you?” Bert stepped aside. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

“Oh!” Joshua grinned sheepishly. “I forgot. I’m Joshua. This is Blade.

And the one with the eyes that never stay still is called Hickok.”

“Hickok.” Bert said the name deliberately, arrogantly.

“You stay put,” Blade ordered Joshua. He entered the building, immediately crouching and moving to the right, keeping his back to the wall, examining the room he found himself in.

The chamber was spacious, well lit by overhead lights.

They have a generator, Blade mentally noted.

There were four men in the room. Two were seated at a circular table in the center of the room, a deck of cards on top of the table. The cards were neatly stacked.

They aren’t playing, Blade told himself. They just sat down, probably placed the cards there to make him believe they were enjoying a card game.

To the right of the men at the table, leaning against the railing to a flight of stairs, stood the third man, cradling a rifle in his arms. This one was short, bald, and obese.

The fourth man stood behind a bar running the length of the left side of the building. He was tall, broad at the shoulders, wearing his brown hair long. An automatic was on the bar top, within easy reach.

All four men were studying Blade.

“Howdy there, friend,” one of the men at the card table greeted Blade.

“No need for the hardware.” He pointed at the Commando.

Blade slowly lowered the muzzle, his neck hairs prickling the back of his neck. Hickok was right. This setup stank. Still, he had to give them the benefit of the doubt. Ostensibly, they were sociable enough.

“You can come in,” Blade announced for Joshua’s benefit.

Joshua strolled into the room, all smiles, his hand reaching out for the big man at the table, the one who had spoken. “Hello. My name is Joshua.

Thank you for welcoming us.”

The big, bearded man smiled up at Joshua, his beady eyes narrowing slightly. “It isn’t often we get strangers passing through. My name is Joe.”

He shook with Joshua and indicated an empty chair on the other side of the table. “Have a seat and we’ll get you something to drink.”

“Thank you.” Joshua sat.

Blade frowned. Joshua had sat in a chair located between his position against the wall and the big man at the table, something a trained Warrior would never do. His line of fire was blocked. Pretending to be interested in surveying the room, he leisurely moved several paces to his right, insuring a clear shot at the two sitting at the table and the man leaning against the rail.

Hickok had walked in, directly up to the bar. He smiled at the man behind the counter, placed his Henry on the bar top, and rested his hands on the edge of the bar. His body was angled sideways, allowing him to keep his eyes on all four men. “I sure could use a drink, pard,” he said to the barman. “You got any fresh milk?”

The barman laughed. “Milk?”

“Yep. Milk,” Hickok answered, still smiling, his eyes gleaming.

“Sorry, sonny.” The barman guffawed. “We ate our cow a while back.”

“What do you have?” Hickok’s hands lowered almost imperceptibly.

“The real article.” The man reached under the bar and froze, his eyes widening.

Hickok’s Pythons were pointed directly at his face.

“Whew! Did you see him draw?” Joe exclaimed. “Did you see him draw?”

“I saw,” came from Bert. He was standing just inside the doorway, his right hand resting on his revolver.

“He’s fast!” Joe glanced at Bert. “Maybe the fastest I’ve ever seen.”