“No, not yet. Tomorrow. Okay, let’s get to it then.”
My father was a man of action, and still in decent shape in his late sixties.
I walked down to the production part of the warehouse and dusted off the riding mower. I fed her with some gas and rode back up to the paddock next to the house.
“Get it as low as you can. You might need to do two runs over it,” my father said.
“That’s what I thought, too.”
I put on the earmuffs that were attached to the ride-on, started her up, and mowed circularly. It brought a smile to my face to have Dad here, working side by side. It felt like the old days when I was a kid and we had a few horses. As I looked at my dad measuring out the fences, it brought back memories.
“Now, son, this is the first time on the horse. You don’t need to break them like they tell you. You just need to develop a relationship with them,” he had told me.
That was a great day. It was my first day on a horse named Duncan. Duncan was a special horse. He was white with brown splotches all over him. Everybody loved Duncan, and he was the horse I won many events with.
I remembered crying in the barn when Duncan got old and passed away. He had been with me for twenty years of my life. I rode him every day. My father found me in there, curled up with my knees to my chest.
“It’s okay, Colt. Sometimes people or things are taken from you because you don’t need them anymore. Duncan’s spirit is still here. Never forget that. I bet you, right now, he’s stealing apples out of somebody else’s hand up there in horse heaven.”
“You think, Dad?” I wiped the salty tears from my face.
“I know, son.”
Now here my father was, whistling and dancing as he put down markers for the fence. He was a man of the land, and I’d gladly followed in his footsteps. Every now and then, I thought of Charlie. We made good progress for the day, and my chest swelled with pride at the accomplishment.
“Bella coming with us tonight? We have a standing date to play cards.”
“You’re teaching my baby girl to be a card shark?” I squeezed my father’s shoulder.
“Nope.” His old eyes twinkled with a spark as we walked back to the house. “I’m teaching her how to read people and pay attention to her surroundings. It’s a valuable lesson.” My father waggled his finger.
“Yes, it is, Pop. I think Mom is picking her up from school today.”
“Good. She beat me a little too quickly last time.”
“Sounds about right for Bella. She’s a smart cookie.”
“That she is, my boy.”
We’d started when the sun rose, and we were finished when the sun went down. The paddock now looked like an oval that you could run on. The fence posts were standing in position, ready for the next stage.
“Thanks, Pop, for your hard work today. It’s shaping up.”
“Yes, it is. Don’t you let anyone else touch that fence. I’m the best man for the job. Nobody can build a fence like I can,” he proclaimed defiantly. “Make sure you get those measurements. When I drop Bella off, I will finish it.”
“Okay, Pop, sure thing.”
I waved as he got in his old Pontiac and drove off. The mauve skyline of Merced let me know it might be time for a stiff drink. Before I had time to open the front door to the main house, a single gunshot rang out. I heard the horses neigh in alarm.
My heart lurched in my chest. Instincts kicked in. A weapon was needed.
I burst through my unlocked door and ran blindly to the bedroom. I picked up my semi-automatic. I checked, and it was locked and loaded.
Nobody messed with my horses. I ran down to the barn with my breath raised to a frantic pace. Ten paces from the barn, the gravel crunching under my boots, I slowed. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, then I opened the side door to the barn.
I flicked on the light. There in the middle of my fucking barn was a Spanish man who resembled the man the Russians had shot. He had to be from the Las Balas crew. Sweat was dripping off him profusely. I sized him up. He was solid in build, but I could take him. He wore all black from head to toe. Trademark Las Balas. He had slicked back greasy dark hair and an olive-skinned complexion. I could make out the long scar on his neck. He was staggering like he was drunk or on drugs, one of the two.
“You might have gotten my brother, but you didn’t know about me. Your fucking Russians couldn’t catch me.” His Spanish accent was thick, but I made it out and put two and two together, The now dead man wasn’t alone in the field that night. I stilled my breathing and assessed the scene. He’d shot one of the Palominos, and he was crying out.
With nerves of steel, I said to him, “So what are we doing here? You shot my horse, motherfucker.”
He threw his head back and laughed, his rotten teeth gleaming in the barn light.
“I’m a hard one to kill. Don’t you know that? They call me Hosea. You’re lucky I didn’t gut your horse.”
My Palomino was bucking and screaming with wild eyes. I could see him out of my peripheral, and it felt like someone had stabbed me in the heart a million times.
“What do you want?” I gritted through my teeth.
“Your blood in a bottle so I can take it back to my boys.”
I let out a deathly laugh. “That shit ain’t happening.”
I moved sideways and stepped one pace to him. He followed my steps. My muscles flinched, coiled and ready for action. My semi-automatic was loaded, and we were both pointing at one another.
“Put your gun down, and let’s fight fair. Man to man. You’re on my property. Let it be a fight to the death,” I said.
“Okay. You lower your gun, and I’ll lower mine.”
I knew what to do. Sure as the sun shone brightly in the morning. I knew what the hell I was going to do. “Let’s go then. On the count of three. One.”
He brought his gun down slightly. My eyes stayed unblinking, assessing his movements. They were rigid. His reflexes were off, almost like he was on drugs. I had him right where I wanted him.
“Two,” I shouted out, and we lowered even further. The pace of my heart elevated and beats flooded one after the other in my chest. He sniffed. Both of us were wide open. I solidified my feet. “All right, you ready?”
“When you are, motherfucker.”
“Three.” I gritted my teeth, dropping like lightning on one knee, twisting my torso to line up with his feet, and raising my gun. I squinted with one eye, aiming for the ankle. Clear shot.
Bang!
Target hit.
“Son of a bitch!” He crumbled like a house of cards and fell down, lopsided. He rolled around in pain. “You shot me, you piece of shit.”
Amber was standing shellshocked behind me with her mouth covered.
“Stay back!” I yelled. She heard the horse crying as she put the picture together. She fumbled with her phone.
The guy tried to move when he saw her with the phone at the barn door.
“No, you don’t, you piece of shit.” I kicked the gun out of his hand, and it slid across the barn.
“Yes. Roberts Crescent, please hurry. There’s an intruder here. Yes, he has a gun.” Amber was on the phone with the cops.
I kicked the Las Balas gang member in the teeth. I watched as his face ricocheted, and blood shot out of his mouth from the blunt force trauma of my cowboy boot. His face slumped to the ground, and his eyes began to roll.