The Directives (36 page)

With Lady Star idling, Bishop, Grim, and Cory
hopped off, moving away from the tracks and into the woods. “We’ll give them a little surprise from the flank,” Grim commented. “Let’s see how badly they want to rob our train now.”

But
the thieves had abandoned their position at the wooden obstruction.

The Alliance team checked all around the area, no sign of the men who’d been shooting at them just a few minutes before. “Evidently, they bugged out,” Bishop said. “They did their part and then hit the road.”

“Or they saw me kick those other guys’ asses and decided I was too bad a man to mess with,” Grim replied with a grin.

They returned to the iron giant, informing the engineer and firemen that it was safe for them to clear the log pile. Several passengers disembarked to help.

While the clean-up was in progress, Bishop thanked Cory and Kevin for helping. “I want you guys to continue on south. Make sure there are no more surprises in store for us.”

“Yes, sir,” they replied,
and hustled off to retrieve the stashed pickup.

Gomez found his rifle, the weapon unharmed despite being dropped. Bishop still had his doubts about the man, but kept them to himself. After all, he had saved the Texan’s life.

“The Baron is going to go frigging nuts when he hears his own man was behind all the train robberies. We’ll probably have a proper hanging when we get back,” Gomez observed.

“If Misery is still there,” Bishop replied. “He’ll get word that we foiled this attempt before we get back. I bet he heads for greener pastures.”

With a fair share of grunting and sweat, the track was cleared in 20 minutes. Lady Star again sounded her whistle, letting all aboard know she was bound and determined to make it to Galveston.

Butter’s legs held out, delivering Terri and her protectors to the East Beach. Along the way, the skies had grown increasingly dark and overcast,
blasts of wind rolling in from the gulf.

“Ma’am, I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to stay long. It looks like the weather is going to get nasty here in a bit,” Slim commented, studying the sky.

“That’s okay,” Terri smiled. “I just wanted Hunter to see the ocean… and to tell the truth, I kind of wanted to see it again as well.”

With her escorts in tow, Terri braved the blu
stery air and descended the seawall’s stairs. She kicked off her shoes and began heading toward the distant water, half walking and half sinking in the shifting sand, carrying Hunter and pointing toward the Gulf of Mexico. Slim and Butter struggled to keep up.

By the time they reached the shoreline, the waves were rolling in dark and angry. “Definitely not a good day for a swim,” she informed the infant. “One of these days though, we’ll come back
, and you’ll love it… I promise.”

Out of pure stubbornness, Terri insisted on sticking at least her toe in the water. Handing the baby to Butter, she dashed forward in the white foamy waves, managing to get ankle deep before retreating to higher ground, chased by an incoming roller – laughing all the way.

“Okay, guys. Sorry to drag you out here for just that little bit of sightseeing. Maybe the weather will be better tomorrow.”

It started raining on the way back, the boiling clouds finally producing moisture. Terri did her best to keep Hunter from getting wet, the rest of the party quickly getting soaked.

Their reverse course was easier, the wind at Butter’s back. Five blocks away from the beach, the big man slowed his pace, one very worried word coming from his lips, “Slim.”

There were six of them, all holding shoulder-fired long guns and spread across the road. Behind each man was a saddled horse. Their target was clear, all eyes staring at Butter’s taxi.

“Get us out of here! Now!” Slim responded, reaching for the duffle bag and its shotgun. Terri’s 9mm was already drawn, her body bending to shield Hunter.

Butter cut hard left, accelerating the heavy cycle-taxi with pumping legs. Slim’s attention was ov
er his shoulder, watching to observe the reaction of the riders.

After two blocks, it became clear that the horses were faster than the best Butter could milk out of the taxi. “Faster!” yelled Slim, seeing the pursuers gaining.

“It won’t go any faster,” replied the already breathless peddler.

Slim was on the radio, calling for support. After listening to the reply, he shouted back into the microphone, “This will be over in 3 minutes. Move your asses now!”

Disgusted and cursing himself, Slim turned to Terri and said, “They have to move the big coach out of the way so one of the trucks can get out. I should have thought about that.”

Not waiting on a response, Slim again checked behind and grimaced. “Butter, cut down this alley
ahead. We can’t outrun them; let’s buy some time via maneuvering.”

The big man made the turn, and for a second Terri thought they were going to flip over. She swore the carriage took the corner on two wheels.

Down a narrow alley they shot, the pavement much rougher, causing the thin wheels to bounce and thump the passengers in the seats.

Terri could hear the sound of horses’ hooves behind them. She turned to see the nearest rider less than 100 feet away and gaining quickly. She raised her pistol, thinking to slow them down, but Slim grabbed her arm and shook his head no. “Nobody’s fired just yet, ma’am. They may want to take us alive or just rob
us. It’s not a good idea to shoot first unless you have the most guns.”

Nodding, Terri agreed. “As rough as this ride
is, I couldn’t hit anything anyway.”

Butter came to another cross street, but had to abandon the alleyway. Two junk cars blocked the entrance, forcing another hair-raising turn onto the crossing surface street.

Slim spied one of those self-storage businesses just ahead, row after row of low buildings covering the grounds. “Pull in that place. Maybe we can lose them for a bit and buy some time.”

Braking just enough to negotiate the turn, they flew down the driveway towar
d the maze of mini warehouses. Evidently, their pursuers didn’t approve of the idea, a single shot ringing out, quickly followed by a shouted “Stop! Stop or we’ll shoot.”

But Butter didn’t stop.

“It was only a warning shot,” Slim tried to reassure Terri. “It was way high.”

They sped past three rows of the buildings, some of the garage doors open, other closed and padlocked. “Cut right here,” Slim instructed. “Stop as soon as you’re around the corner.”

Butter did as he was told, Slim hopping out of the back before the wheels had stopped rolling. He ran to the corner, peeking around to see the horsemen following, now less than 50 feet behind. Shouldering the 12-gauge, he jumped out in front of the charging pursuers and let loose with a blast, intentionally aiming high.

He watched long enough to see the lead horse rear up, a terrified shrill coming from the animal’s throat. Before the front hooves had returned to earth, Slim was running back to the bicycle.

“That should slow them down,” he was saying as he jumped back into the seat. “Go! Go! Go!”

In a few seconds, they were again flying past the garage door-fronted bins. “Turn here, then turn again as fast as you can,” Slim instructed from the back seat, never taking his
eyes off their tail.

After the second zigzag, Slim barked for Butter to stop. “Ma’am, I want you to take the
baby and go hide in that unit right there,” Slim said, pointing at an opening that showed furniture, boxes and a rack of clothing scattered inside. “Stay out of sight until our men arrive. I’ll come back and get you. Now please, hurry!”

Terri got it, the idea of shielding Hunter from a gunfight overriding her desire to help confront the bandits. In a few seconds, she was out of the carriage, running with her pistol in one hand, Hunter’s car seat in the other.

Having another thought, Slim pulled his radio from his vest, tossing the unit to Terri. “Guide in our cavalry. It’s already on the right frequency.”

Once he was sure she was out of sight, Slim yelled, “Go!”

It wasn’t much of a maze. In fact, the buildings were laid out in a relatively simple set of rows that failed to offer many hiding places. Finally, reaching the back fence of the complex, Slim pointed toward a corner. “Pull in over there. We’ll see if we can keep them busy until the guys get here.”

Butter turned the
handlebars, pushing Terri’s security team down the last short line of openings.

A man flew out of one of the empty bins, his diving tackle knocking Butter off hi
s seat, sending the two men tumbling across the pavement.

The now-pilotless cycle flipped on its side, spilling Slim out the back. He landed badly, pinned under the heavy carriage.

The man ambushing Butter was soon joined by a second fellow. In less than 10 seconds, both bushwhackers wished they had two or three more friends in the fight.

Grasping the man who’d knocked him free of the bike, Butter tossed the hapless attacker over his hip, driving his foe to the ground with bone crushing force. The second tried to grab the big guy’s arm, and that was a mistake he’d never forget.

Instead of twisting the limb to Butter’s back, he found himself holding an unmovable length of iron. Grinning at the surprised look on his attacker’s face, Butter effortlessly twisted free of the grip, slamming his palm into the man’s solar plexus with rib-breaking velocity.

Both of his opponents out of
the fight, Butter turned to assist his partner and froze. Slim was lying on the ground, two men looming over him with their rifles pointing at his head.

“That’ll be enough,” said one of the gunmen. “Knock it off, or I’ll aerate your buddy’s skull.”

Seeing that they finally had the upper hand, the spokesman’s partner patted down Butter, checking to see if their prisoner was armed. After determining that Butter was weaponless, he then bent to lend aid to the two stunned men still lying on the ground.

“Where’s the woman?” the man in charge asked.

Butter and Slim, now on their knees with their hands behind their heads, just stared back - neither of them feeling talkative at the moment.

Shaking his head as if tired of the whole affair, the lead bandit pulled back the hammer of his lever-action rifle and said, “I don’t have time for this shit. I’m going to ask one more time. If your jaws don’t start flapping, I’m going to put a bullet in the big guy’s knee. He’ll never walk without a limp again. So… where’s the woman?”

When no answer came, the man raised his rifle and aimed, but a new voice cut him off. “No need for that, Murph,” said an older man, appearing from around the corner.

He stepped forward, two more armed escorts bookending the new arrival, making it clear who was in charge. “Help them up, and make sure they’re okay,” he said to his bodyguards, pointing to the two men Butter had disabled.

“Look, fellas, we only want to talk to the lady. What’s her name? Terri? We know who and what she is,” the boss began. “My name is Corky, and I’m kind of the city manager around here.”

Again, the two captives remained silent, their stubbornness causing Corky to frown.

“I know you’ve got help on the way. I left ten men at this establishment’s gate to stop them. Besides, this facility is not so big that we won’t find her in a few minutes anyway, and the weather is turning bad fast. So let’s avoid anyone else getting hurt. No one wants to have a big gun battle. Please tell me where the lady is hiding. I only want to talk to her.”

“I’m right here,” Terri said from the shadows.

Corky turned to find himself staring into the barrel of the lady’s pistol. He grinned and shook his head, “Well now, don’t we have just a regular, old Mexican standoff.”

The rain began seriously pelting the gathering, the drizzle turning into a cold, steady downpour.

Corky seemed to ignore the discomfort, eyeing Terri closely before speaking. “I apologize for how we went about introducing ourselves, but I had to be sure who you were. One of my men claims to have met you once, and I wanted him to get a good look before I approached you. Your security men, however, reacted faster than we anticipated.”

“So, now you know who I am. Say what you have to say. I’ve got to get this baby out of the rain before he catches his death of cold,” she said looking down at Hunter’s car seat. “Let’s either talk, or start the killing - you decide.”