Hit and run
The called came on the small hand held radio, “Sylvia are you alright.”
“Yeah I think I have about ten more minutes before they arrive,” I said. “What is the word on the buses?”
“They are on the way, but it’s going to be a while,” Island Girl said.
“If they bypass me or worse, you are going to have to hold on till they get there,” I said. “I wonder why I feel like James Bowie at the Alamo?”
“You are going to have a better ending,” Gator said. “I promise you.
“Stay with the clients till that bus gets there. That’s an order,” I replied. “I can hold them off long enough I expect, but if not, they will be coming in blind so take advantage of that,” I demanded.
“I’ll be just fine.” I really wished that I believed it. I expected to die in that rotten smelling jungle. I regretted using that first bandit as bait. It was one of most inhumane things I had ever done. The torture had been necessary to save lives, but what I did in the end was murder. I had committed murder before, but it wasn’t the same. I had always justified it as just necessary, or the right thing.
“The difference is, I enjoyed this one for all the wrong reasons,” I whispered out loud. Maybe it was because I was pretty sure I was going to meet him face to face that I asked god to forgive me.
I watched the man with the AK-47 carefully approach the body. When he was close I tried to gut shoot him, but the red patch appeared on his body mass several inches to the right and much higher than I wanted. The result was still pretty much the same even if the strike was off. He was out of the battle and he was making a lot of noise. It would be hard for his friends to ignore him.
The wise and most strategic thing to do would be to leave him and bypass me. The problem was, like the conquistadors had found out before, it would take a long time to bypass this bottle neck. Unlike the native Indians, I wasn’t luring them deep into the kill zone. When the conquistadors walked into the trap that the Indians had set for them, there was no going back. I had left a wide area for the bandits to retreat.
After about twenty minutes, during which time I changed my position, half a dozen men came toward the screaming man. They came up in squad formation. I opened fire on them from the new location. I hit three of them with my first burst. I quickly switched the empty magazine out for a full one. The second three men had gone to ground. They were trying to acquire a target. I knew that I needed to move quickly.
They were about a hundred yards away. It might have only been seventy five, but it was a long way off. My guess was that they were spray and pray marksmen, so I wasn’t too awfully worried. I was more worried by the phone call which came at the same time.
“Sylvia,” the colonel said. “They are coming up the creek on your right flank.”
“Roger that,” I said. You had to love satellites, I thought. I rolled over to the washed out creek. When I was sure they had all turned the corner I opened fire with the A4. I fired for their bellies. I was trying to inflict maximum damage and still leave them screaming. I got three more and the others turn and ran to regroup. I went back to the original position to check on the three I had left alive there.
“Colonel what happened to the three I left by the body?” I asked. They dragged their friend into the bush. It looks like they are coming though the bush for you,” he said.
“Well, I still have to buy them some more time at the base camp,” I said.
“The good news is the bus is ten minutes out,” the Colonel said.
“The bad new is the bus is ten minutes out and the bandits are five,” I said.
“That’s about it. I have no idea where the bandits are,” he said.
I turned the phone’s volume up, then placed it under a bush. I moved about twenty yards away, which is a lot in dense foliage. I heard their boots moving fast toward the sounds coming from the phone. When they were close, I stood and emptied the magazine into the four men coming up the trail.
Then I heard someone speaking English behind me. “Don’t shoot it’s us,” the voice said with a thick British accent. Before I knew it there were two more guns on my side of the ledger. They actually stood beside me and sprayed the jungle. Suddenly there was a hell of a lot of lead outgoing. I was pretty sure by then the price of the Senator’s Daughter was too fucking high for the bandits, if there were any still capable of thinking.
“Well, do you want to hunt them down?” Gator asked in his slow drawl and a nasty smile on his face.
“Fuck no, I want to get out of here before the government knows for sure what happened.” We got back in time to get on the bus and drive away. Island Chick explained to the driver what would happen, if he stopped for anything at all. He was terrified and it showed. I didn’t feel one bit sorry for him. I was sure I was more frightened than him.
We drove and stopped only to gas the bus. Then we drove some more. We got to a border crossing just in time to be met by the border patrol. The senator’s daughter had called home and made the arrangements.
“It helps to have friends in high places,” she said to me. It was the first time I had smiled during the almost twelve hour bus ride.
“That’s probably why I’m always in shit. All my friends are in low places,” I said with a smile.
“You know my dad is going to be in Dallas to meet us, you probably should at least take a shower,” she said.
“You are kidding. The senator shaking hands with a few dirty women who just saved his kid’s life should be worth a few thousand votes,” I said.
It was hard to believe that twenty four hours later, it was as if the whole thing never happened. I was back in the swamp to pick up my SUV. “Congratulations Sylvia you always find a way to get things done. They aren’t how I would have done it, but it worked. I never argue with success,” the colonel said.
“You have to be lucky some of the time,” I suggested. “It also doesn’t hurt to have friends who watch your back. I want to thank you Colonel, but I’m also having second thoughts about all this bodyguard work. I almost died in a fucking jungle, in a piece of shit part of the world, so I’m not sure it’s what I want now. I like the puzzle solving for sure, but not the killing of people who are trying to kill someone other than me.”
“But you know nothing makes you feel more alive than when the stakes are your own life,” the Colonel said.
“I think I might finally have out grown it. Anyway don’t be surprised, if I say no next time,” I said.
“Would you rather I stopped asking you?” Martin asked.
“I don’t know. I did want you to know, I might decide that enough is enough,” I said.
“You do what is right for you. We here at the Dog will do whatever we can to support you,” Martin said. He gave me a stiff hug and then walked me to the silver gray Honda. He also handed me the box with my pistol and holster in it. I took the time to put it on and then cover it with an over blouse. I looked up to see Martin smile at me. He was smiling because I had put on the pistol. Things might not have changed all that much after all is what he was most likely thinking.
During the drive home I tried to make some decisions. I had kind of pulled Wilson away for the Sheriffs Department and their guaranteed position till he was old enough to retire. A couple of years at the most. Paying him his salary there would be about 75k but I ready paid him 35k so I just need to make about 40k more in the next two years. I figured I could do that easily if we had to take insurance work. I decided that I was going to pass on the jobs for The Swamp Dog, but not necessarily those they recommended. There were still the missing persons and blackmail sorta of things. I was just too long in the tooth for those paramilitary operations.
With that decision made I settled down to enjoy the drive. Well I was ready to enjoy it but there was a traffic accident in front of me. It came five minutes after I made the next business decision. A gray SUV came out of a side road and ran the stop sign. The small Korean car in front or me swerved to miss it. Another inch or two she might have. Her driver’s side front fender caught him in the read quarter panel. It swung him around and mashed a hell of a lot of plastic parts to dust.
The Korean car almost exploded from that minor impact. It was the airbags that did the most damage to the car’s interior and the woman driving. I had to swerve to avoid the woman’s crippled car. The SUV decided that he wouldn’t stop. I got most of his license plate before I got out of the car and headed to the woman trapped between the steering wheel and the air bag.
When I reached her car there was glass everywhere. The woman appeared to be in her late forties or early fifties. She was bleeding from a puncture wound to her chest. Since the wound wasn’t sucking, it wasn’t critical. I called 911 while I held my hand over the wound. I remembered that I was wearing a bra for a change so I stripped off my tee shirt and gave it to her to hold. It would help to slow the blood flow.
“911 what is your emergency?” the dispatcher asked.
“I am at the scene of a hit and run with injuries. The woman has a chest wound, but there is no sucking sound. I have her holding a Tee shirt over the wound. She is awake and talking but clearly a bit frightened. We need a sheriff and an ambulance. Can you track my cellphone signal? I’m somewhere on country rood 1100 about thirty miles from Ellisboro.”
“An ambulance is in route did you get a license plate and description of the car that left the scene?” the dispatcher asked.
“It was a gray SUV Chevrolet. It is reasonably new and had damage to the driver side rear quarter. The license is WAS 143 and two more numbers I missed. The driver is a male dark possible Middle Eastern. He was headed south/east on county road 1100 last I saw of him.”
“I hear the ambulance coming now,” I said. “It’s a good thing she is probably going into shock very soon. She is also terrified.” As soon as they didn’t need me any more I called Wilson. Find me a gray Chevy SUV partial license WAS 143 and two more numbers.
“What did the driver do to you?” Wilson asked.
“Hit and run. The bastard left me to clean up his mess.” I reported.
“There are two SUV’s with a similar plates but only one of them is a Chevy,” Wilson informed me.
“What’s his address?” I asked.
“Sure you don’t want to come home and wind down before you go looking for a hit and run driver. You know you might be over reacting a bit.”
“Wilson he is a dick head, and I need to have a talk with him,” I said.
“The sheriff is ahead of you I think, but here is the address,” Wilson said.
Edited by Walt