High Desert Barbecue (8 page)

L
ani colored and slammed her elbow into Scott’s ribs, but she wore a smirk of her own.

“
Oh,” Rollo said. “That
is
handy. I’ll be damned.”

M
oments later, Scott slipped through the tall grass, his head down in an almost unconscious effort to keep it from bobbing above the high ground ahead and revealing his presence.

W
hat am I doing, he asked himself. It’s not stalking. It’s certainly not creeping. Skulking, he decided. I’m skulking toward the enemy. Assuming that they are the enemy, that is.

W
hich raised another interesting question. Who was up ahead? Were they Rollo’s Forest Service pyromaniacs? Scott didn’t share his buddy’s conspiracy theories, but not because of any inherent respect for government employees. To the contrary, he considered anybody who preferred a life of administering laws and rules and living off of taxes to one of persuading people to buy what you had to sell and living on what you could earn to be more worthy of contempt than fear.

T
o a large extent, he’d always had a gut-level revulsion toward authority. The idea that some people claimed a “right” to boss other people around at the point of a gun, even if only implied, just struck him as absurd.

T
hen, years of writing about business had crystallized his convictions. So far as he could tell, government regulators were good primarily at tripping up the competent and propping up the screw-ups. Especially if the screw-ups were their buddies.

D
ifferent agencies had slightly different cultures, but it was like choosing from a menu of bloody-minded dysfunction and self-importance.

H
is musings had to share brainpower with his concern for the terrain. The grass through which he … skulked … scratched his bare legs below his shorts and caught in his hiking socks.

A
s he approached the ridgeline, he dropped to his hands and knees and began crawling through the grass, the phone clamped in his right hand. He grimaced as his knees scraped along the ground.

T
he air carried the sweet smell of ponderosa pines, a hint of dust suspended on the wind—and a strong whiff of gasoline.

H
e flopped on his belly and wriggled up the hump for a look to the other side.

W
hat the fuck?

F
ive, no, six people were in a circle wearing the bottom halves of Forest Service uniforms. Two of the men in the circle looked like unhappy cops at the beach, with short hair, aviator shades and deep scowls to accessorize their semi-undress.

T
wo of the bare-chested rangers were women, and they clearly weren’t believers in brassieres. The one with curly reddish hair was even worth a second look.

T
he six rangers surrounded a seventh ranger who stood at their center with a lit match cupped in his hand.

S
cott remembered to tap the shutter “button” on his phone, and held it above the grass to record the doings below.

I
t’s stranger than Rollo knows, Scott thought. The rangers sealed off the area so they could hold some twisted pagan ritual in the middle of nowhere. Jesus Christ, what if they decide to hold a human sacrifice?

H
e missed the comforting weight of his gun, left behind with Rollo and Lani.

O
ne of the women rangers—the one with chopped, dark hair—turned from the circle, lit torch held forward, and began passing through the grass, setting it aflame. She paused, dropped the torch in the grass, and donned a yellow coat from a pile of similar garments near one of the trucks.

“
Not so close,” the one with the matches yelled. “Take it further out, damn it. Burn the forest, not us!”

S
cott hoped the phone’s microphone had caught those words. He slowly panned the camera toward the San Francisco peaks towering above Flagstaff in the distance, then back to the firebug jamboree in the grassy field ahead.

J
ust as he carefully peered up to make sure the phone was capturing what he intended, a sensation like that of an oversized slug curling up in his right ear for a nap diverted his attention from the fiery festivities. Lying on his belly, observing nefarious doings in the forest, fifteen miles from paved road, Scott had received a wet willy.

“
Shit,” Scott yelped, slapping his hand to his ear.

H
e rolled on his back to find the source of the unexpected offense—and stared straight up into the grinning face of Champ. Left ear pointed to the sky, right ear folded in a salute, slobber dripping from the tongue that had just probed the man’s ear, the dog panted, and then licked his face in canine adoration. His leash hung unattended from his collar.

S
cott tilted his head, briefly, toward his friends. Lani had her arms stretched out toward him. She tilted her head and silently mouthed the word “sorry.” Rollo’s pack was open in front of him and he was frantically fiddling with something he’d apparently pulled from the interior.

R
emembering where he was, Scott tilted his head back for an upside-down view of the half-dressed firebugs. The first thing he noticed was that the group he’d been watching was now watching him. One of two rangers with matching crew cuts and shades approached. His scowl was even deeper than before and he had a compact gun in his hand that Scott recognized as a Sig.

I
s it a 9mm? Maybe it’s a .40. Then it occurred to him that there were better things to worry about.

S
cott slowly rolled over, and then rose to his feet with his hands raised high—the smart phone exposed for everybody to see.

“
Hey folks. You must be …” He surveyed the gestating inferno in front of him. “… State Department? Anybody have a light?”

Chapter 18

H
is nerves sizzling with adrenaline rush, Jason watched Ray stalk forward toward the stranger and his dog. He was surprised to see the wannabe G-man draw a gun from a hip holster. So was Tim, apparently, who looked at his partner’s pistol with open envy, and absent-mindedly stroked at his own hip. The group was well-armed, but most of the weapons were in the trucks as befit their just-in-case status.

J
ason missed the stranger’s opening comment, but it was obviously a wisecrack, to judge by Terry’s snort and the snarls emanating from Ray and Tim.

“
Buddy, you’re in trouble,” Ray said. “This area is closed to the public for your own safety. You’re not supposed to be here.”

T
he stranger didn’t look impressed. While his hands were up in a gesture of surrender, his face under his ball cap and beneath his sunglasses revealed a barely suppressed smirk. He faced the rangers, medium height and lean in a safari-style shirt with the sleeves rolled up and buttoned in place. But his legs below his shorts looked poised to bolt at a moment’s notice.

R
ay must have picked up on the stranger’s disdain. Jason’s ear’s rang as the wannabe cop fired a shot in the air, and he could barely make out the following words.

“
Goddamnit! I’m talking to you!”

T
he stranger’s dog, a big, black-and-white Australian shepherd mix, obviously picked up on the confrontational vibe; happily licking his master’s face just a moment before, now he glared at Ray and growled.

J
ason took a quick glance at his team, and honestly couldn’t blame the stranger for his attitude. Bare-chested, bare-breasted and brandishing flaming torches, the gathering looked like… Hell, Jason didn’t know what it looked like, but he suddenly felt like he should have a bone through his nose. The stranger looked too comfortable with the outdoors to be persuaded that this was an official Forest Service operation.

“
Crap. Ray, grab that guy and bring him over here. Let’s see what’s on his phone.”

T
hat’s when the popping noises sounded—one, two, three. And three little spurts of dirt erupted in front of Ray.

T
im and Ray immediately hit the dirt. Jason stared at Samantha, who looked at Rena, who peered at Bob, who glanced at Terry. Terry shielded his eyes with his left hand and pointed off into the trees at the far side of the field.

“
Hey, somebody over there is shooting at us!”

T
wo more pops.

E
verybody joined Ray and Tim in the dirt.

Chapter 19

P
hone in hand, Scott ran like hell back to his friends. He raced across the field, panting and sweating from nerves as much as from exertion. Champ trotted easily alongside with his mouth open in a big grin.

T
he dog had no idea what was going on—he just knew his human friend had involved him in an adventure, and he was having fun.

L
ani threw Scott’s pack at him as he reached the trees. The pack’s blue-gray fabric and yellow bungee cords filled his vision until he caught it one-handed in mid-air and hung a strap over his left shoulder with barely a break in stride. He felt the heavy weight of his gun in its holster slap him in the small of the back, and he vowed never again to leave it behind.

L
ani ran ahead of him, runner’s legs pumping, long, blonde hair flying from under her floppy trail hat, and athletic bra straining to do its duty.

A
lready huffing, Rollo took the lead. He had his pack over one shoulder, and what looked like an undersized rifle bobbed in his free hand.

T
hey ran through the woods, breathing deeply the thick, sweet smell of the trees that was now flavored with a strong hint of smoke. They ran between trees, across a bed of pine needles, and through high foxtails that stuck in their socks, pierced their ankles and caused Champ to yelp.

A
nd they ran without direction, because panic erased whatever vestigial hunch as to the truck’s location they might have retained.

T
hey came out of the trees and ran along a dirt road, preferring a clear path to somewhere over a blind run through forest that might bring them back to the firebugs—the
armed
firebugs.

T
hey ran until Rollo stopped in his tracks, pivoted to face back the way they’d come, and flopped into a sitting position with his back against a tree. His hat slid back on his head and a spray of graying hair escaped to form an off-color halo around his head. He gasped for breath.

“
Can’t-Can’t-Can’t-“

H
e held the mini-rifle pointed straight ahead.

S
cott dropped his own pack and drew his pistol, releasing the thumb safety as he palmed the gun.

“
What the fuck was that?” he said when he’d caught his breath. He tried to listen for the sound of runners or vehicles in pursuit, but the way the three were breathing a helicopter could have flown overhead and escaped detection.

“
Maybe they’re really pissed about the truck,” Rollo wheezed. He managed a chuckle that dissolved into a cough to let them know he was joking.

“
They
shot
at you,” Lani finally said. She turned to face Rollo. “And then
you
shot back.”

R
ollo rolled his eyes.

“
They just fired a warning shot, Lani.”

S
cott nodded.

“
And Rollo just got them to keep their heads down. Nobody actually got hit.”

L
ani just stared, and patted absently at Champ, who leaned against her leg.

“
So it was all in good fun?” Her face flushed bright red beneath her suntan.

S
cott smiled.

“
Well, maybe not ‘fun.’”

H
e turned his attention to Rollo.

“
Is that your Erector-set rifle?”

R
ollo grinned.

“
I always carry this in my pack. It’s my good luck charm.”