Don Pendleton - Desert Impact

“Local bad guys?” Bolan asked.

“This part of the world attracts a lot of different types—and one of them is the person looking to disappear. If the Old West still exists anywhere, it’s right here, Cooper. A lot of black hats live in single-wide trailers or old camp shacks and have a record as long as your arm—or longer.”

“What a charming place,” Bolan replied.

“It’s not that bad,” Colton said. “Plenty of good people are here, too. Lot of folks who just want to live their lives in peace.”

Bolan nodded and watched as the desert landscape slipped past his window. The small highway carved a path between small mountain ranges.

A couple of miles before the border with New Mexico, Rivers turned off the highway and onto a dirt road that resembled a dried-out creek bed.

“How far out does this guy live?”

“We’re almost there now. He likes to keep to himself. Has this thing about wanting to see people coming.”

“Well, I get that. I’m just not sure moving to a remote desert is the answer.”

“I don’t know—after all the things you’ve seen and done, don’t the peace and serenity sound good?”

“It sounds good, but even when I’m on the other side of the world they seem to track me down.”

The desert was open around them, and in the distance Bolan could see free-range cattle and some of those trailers Rivers had mentioned. The road itself was filled with divots and holes, rocks, cow pies and at least one turtle basking in the late afternoon sun.

“Tell me more about this man we’re meeting,” Bolan said. “How long have you known him?”

“Most of my life,” Rivers replied. “I grew up in Sierra Vista and Tony and my father worked together. He was to be my godfather, but he didn’t think it was appropriate considering his line of work.”

“Makes sense,” Bolan said. “That kind of life doesn’t lend itself to long life expectancies.”

“Yeah.”

“I see why he’s a resource. He lived long enough to retire, and that’s saying something.”

They pulled into the driveway. Rivers slowed as guinea hens scattered in front of the SUV. The double-wide trailer had been modified with a screened-in porch, and large portions of the property were fenced and cross-fenced for the livestock.

Tony, a stout, silver-haired man, stepped out of the trailer, a woman perhaps ten years younger at his side. The two of them waved.

“That’s his wife, Eleanor,” Rivers said. “I hope you didn’t eat much today because she’ll insist on feeding you and be insulted if you don’t put away enough for two.”

“Is the food any good?” Bolan asked.

“Worth the drive.”

“Then I’m sure I’ll manage just fine.”

The SUV rolled to a stop and they both climbed out as Tony stepped forward and opened the gate that marked the edge of the small yard around their property. Two dogs, mixed-breed Labs of some kind, barked wildly and Tony snapped at them in Spanish, waving them away.

“Colton,” he said, a broad grin lighting up his face. “Welcome, as always. I see you brought a friend.”

The older man stepped forward, his left hand on his thigh supporting a small limp, but he didn’t falter as he shook hands. His eyes assessed Bolan quickly, and the smile that had lit his face a moment before faded a bit. “A dangerous friend, I think.”

“You’re a fast study,” Bolan said, extending a hand. “Matt Cooper.”

Rivers started to speak, but Tony held up a hand to silence him. “Okay, Matt, though I’m not sure the name fits quite right. If Colton says you’re okay, then I can believe that, but before you come in, we need to have an understanding.”

Bolan kept his silence, waiting.

“I know a man,” Tony continued. “He does mercenary work of one kind or another in parts of the world with names I can’t pronounce and most of which I’ve never heard of. You know the type?”

“Yeah,” Bolan said. “I do.”

“I figured you would,” he replied. “Anyway, this man is the nicest guy you would ever want to meet. He’s a good man to share a meal with and a better man to share a drink with. I like him a lot.”

“I’m not sure I get your point.”

“My point,” Tony said, “is two things. First, that man I was telling you about? He’s also the most dangerous sonofabitch I know. When it comes to killing, something I guess we both know a little about, there’s maybe no one who does it better.”

“Tony,” Rivers began. “Maybe we should...”

“Second,” the old man continued, “is that you remind me a bit of him. Actually more than a bit. So you’ll understand when I tell you that if you bring trouble to my door, that man I told you about, well, he owes me a favor, and I suspect he’d take it as no hardship to bring trouble to yours, Matt—or whatever your real name is.” He crossed his arms as he finished and stared hard at Bolan.

Bolan felt a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, tried to stop it and then gave up. The old man hadn’t lived an easy life, but his eyes were still damn sharp. Most likely, the threat was an empty one, but when a man reached a certain age, it was the only kind of threat he could really make. “I like you, Tony,” he said. “You’ve got enough brass for any three men on your own, and now you’ve threatened me with sure death if I come bringing trouble. I don’t. Matt may not be a perfect fit, but it seems to work out okay. I won’t bring trouble to you, old timer. On that, you have my word.”

Tony stared at him a minute more, then smiled and stuck out a hand. “Done and done,” he said. “Come on up to the house. Eleanor will want to feed you both, I imagine.”

The woman had waited on the porch, watching the exchange with interest, but now she stepped over to greet them. Bolan offered his hand but was pulled into a short, friendly embrace. Into his ear, she whispered, “Thank you for understanding,” then pulled away again, giving Rivers a hug, too. She smelled like baking apples and corn bread and all the wonderful scents of home, but as they entered the trailer, he noted pictures on the wall of her riding horses and any number of trophies to go with them. She was just as extraordinary as her husband.

“Now you boys get in here, but leave all those guns by the door.”

Rivers was already removing his weapons, and Bolan glanced at Tony.

“Don’t worry, son. There’s nothing to fear here. I have a suspicion that if you wanted it bad enough, you could get it quickly sitting here by the door.”

Bolan pulled the Desert Eagle from the holster and placed it on the table next to the door. He was halfway across the room before Eleanor stopped him.

“You must be as forgetful as Tony,” she scolded, “but you have an excuse. You don’t know that I won’t serve an armed man at my table. You can leave the ankle gun over there, too.”

Rivers and Tony both smiled as they followed Eleanor and left Bolan to pull the small pistol tucked into his ankle holster and place it on the table next to the Desert Eagle.

“Now, you boys sit down and I’ll fix you up something nice while you talk.”

Bolan began to argue, but Rivers shook his head, dissuading him. Bolan took his seat at the table.

Once they were all seated, Tony leaned back in his chair and cocked an eyebrow at Rivers. “So, what brings you, Colton? We love it when you visit, but I’m pretty sure you didn’t bring Mister...Cooper here without a reason.”

“True enough,” he said. “I figured you might have a bead on a situation we ran into a couple of days ago.”

Rivers ran through the fight on the border, showing them photos on his phone of the weapons and the serial nomenclature. Tony nodded a few times but didn’t interrupt until the younger man was finished, ending the story with his call to Bolan. Tony stared at Bolan and then looked at Rivers again. “This hasn’t been in the papers or on the news,” he said thoughtfully.