Bolan nodded as they scurried to their car. When the third man came back outside, they peeled out of the gas station and sped down the road. He turned to look at the old woman, who reached into her bag and handed him a tamale.
“Gracias.”
“De nada.”
Bolan leaned against his car and munched on his tamale. He didn’t have to wait long for Rivers to pull up in his SUV. The people who’d been milling around recognized the Border Patrol agent and found better things to do with their time. Rivers pulled his tall frame out of the SUV and offered a strong handshake. “Cooper,” he said, a thin smile crossing his face. “Thanks for coming so fast.”
Returning the handshake, Bolan nodded. “No problem. I could use a little sunshine, and I’m happy to help any way that I can.”
“Good,” he said. “Why don’t we drop off your car at the station? No one will bother it there, and then we can take a little ride.”
Bolan agreed, got back into his rental and followed Rivers to the local Border Patrol station. It was a lot larger than many other stations, due in part to the amount of illegal immigrants they had to deal with and to the on-site holding facility. They passed through a heavy security gate, and Bolan parked his car while Rivers picked up a pass from the guard shack and stuck it on his windshield.
After signing back out, they headed north out of Douglas, and Bolan glanced at the man he’d helped before, his gaze asking an unspoken question.
“I have a friend I want you to meet,” Rivers said. “He’s a retired freelancer. Did undercover work for the U.S. Marshals, tracking for the Border Patrol, and if some of the rumors are true, he started his career in the Drug Enforcement Administration. Anyway, he’s been out here forever, knows every nook and cranny between Douglas and Sierra Vista. He also knows all of the local bad guys. All of which make him very useful.”
“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