The Serpent and the Crow

Book 1: Chapter Thirteen

Hank sat in the back seat, directing where Douglas should go. Wade watched the ponderosa pines passing on each side of the road. Wade was so confused where they were.

Hank kept looking over his shoulder. Wade thought he was looking at the scenery. He realised he was checking if they were being followed.

Douglas said, "Chief, where are you taking us?"

"We're going to Owl Creek Ridge."

Douglas shared a look with Wade like shit was going to get heavy.

Wade said, "Sir, Owl Creek belongs to the AK. "

"No, it don't. Not no more. Too long has Trepidation has been acting like a rogue state but no more."

Douglas asked, "Why are we going to Owl Creek Ridge? Even I know that's Aryan Knights' Territory, Hank?"

A gun presses against Wade's head. Chief Kelly gritted his teeth like this was a long time coming. Wade is calm as if this isn't his first rodeo.

Douglas shouted, "What the fuck are you doing? Hank!"

Wade palmed his Colt.

"Don't fucking try it. I'm Old, but you ain't that fast kid, at this range, I can make myself a ham on rye and still shut down your computer." Hank said as he grabbed Wade's Colt.

Douglas said, "Take it easy, Chief. We're all friends here. We're all going to be like that song by the Eagles and take it the fuck easy."

"Don't child-talk me, Doug. I ain't no child, and this fucker's been spying. I don't know who you work for, but it sure shit ain't Corpus Christi PD, my friend. So, you're going to tell us right now. Who the fuck are you, Wade? If that is even your handle."

"Chief, I don't know where you got your information, but it was wrong."

"I'm going to count to five before I paint Dougie's windscreen with a red shade of Wade. Now, tell us who you are," Hank said, "One."

"Chief! You've got the wrong man. Put the gun down."

"I've never been more right. Old Hank should've trusted his gut when they transferred this sack of shit. I've worked horses all my life, and this boy's story smells like horse shit to me." Hank throws a dossier to Douglas, "Does that look like Wade to you?"

Douglas picked up a staff I.D photo labelled Wade Derringer, except the man is African American.

Douglas said, "Where did you get this from, Hank?"

"Yeah, Hank. That's confidential information."

"Never-you-mind, Sunshine. You're about one cunt hair away from seeing Hill-billy heaven, boy."

Behind the Camaro, a '21 Chevy Kodiak pulled out of a hidden dirt road.

Two skinheads held on to the guardrail on board the flatbed truck, sporting full-auto M4-A1's. The Kodiak revved up and shortens the distance towards the Camaro.

Hank said, "Two."

"It's not how he says it is, Doug."

The Kodiak is almost upon them. The skinheads loaded their firearms.

"Says the fucking liar from who knows where. Three."

Wade said, "You crazy old hoot."

"Shut your mouth, Wade."

"Four. Que Dios esté contigo, Amigo. "

Wade shut his eyes, anticipating his head coming apart like a firecracker in a pumpkin.

Crash! The Kodiak collided with the Camaro. Hank's 1911 goes off. BANG. Douglas propelled forward, and the Camaro swayed from side to side. Wade held his ear in pain from the ringing in his ear.

The two skinheads fired a burst of rounds into the Camaro's rear window as it shatters, debris flew throughout the Camaro. They hit the Chief. One round hit his Kevlar, and the other pierced Hank's right shoulder.

Wade recovered enough to kick start his muscle memory for responding to enemy fire. He grabbed his Colt back from the Chief, who is nursing his wound. Wade returned fire, two shots, and both the assailants' heads exploded in ribbons of skull and blood.

They hit the skinheads. Their bodies dropped to the floor of the flatbed. One skinhead fell off the Kodiak. The other hung precariously over the side of the flatbed.

The Kodiak revved up and hit the Camaro again. Hank tensed up and shouted in a fit of rage. The chief cleared the rear window of debris and glass with his 1911. He aimed at the driver.

Hanks said, "Motherfuckers. Old Hank's close to retiring you sons a bitches."

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten shots Hank sent to the Kodiak. He didn't hit anyone, but his grit impressed Wade.

The Kodiak swayed and fell back a bit and revved across the median line. It went neck and neck with the Camaro. Instead of ramming, the Kodiak nudged the Camaro off the road.

Every nudge sent shock waves of pain through Hank's shoulder wound.

Wade pulled on a lever and fell back in his chair. He fired his four shots from his Colt.
One of them hit its mark as the Kodiak veered into a ditch.

The Camaro skidded into a ditch on the opposite side.

Three men in the Kodiak got out with full autos. They riddled the Camaro with what seemed to be a hundred rounds.

The Chief had passed out from his wounds. Douglas' head rested on the steering wheel, unconscious from the crash. Wade ejected the barrel of his Colt. Empty. He saw the 1911 Hank had. He reached for it on the car floor, but gunfire prevented that course of action. Wade slouched out of the car as the automatic fire pinned him down. Fuck, Wade thought. He knows he's in a dangerous situation. He saw under the Camaro's Carriage and saw the feet of the men approaching and the spent cartridges hitting the gravel.

A man in jeans and a sleeveless denim jacket, with a swastika etched into his forehead, approached Wade.

The skinhead said, "Well, looky here, boys. We got two white jellybeans and one red in there. Now, all ya'll know I don't like to mix and match."

The other two skinheads checked the other side, where Douglas lay unconscious. The Chief squirmed in pain as he came too.

The skinhead remarked, "You fellas went way on yonder, didn't ya? Time to send you guys back to where you came from. In a body bag."

The skinhead raised his rifle, point blank to Wade's head, and aimed.

Splat. A bullet ripped through his swastika, painting Wade's face with pure Aryan blood.

Crack. An echo of rifle fire resounded through the woods. Followed by three more shots that hit the Camaro, and another skinhead goes down.

The last remaining skinhead ran, but a bullet hits his kneecap and splinters his kneecap. He fell face-first into the gravel. His rifle tumbled down the ditch on the side of the road. He squirmed in agony, screaming at his shattered leg, the bones exposed to the concrete.

Wade saw a woman in tactical gear, chest rig with magazines. She looked like she was in her twenties. Long hair. Tinted glasses.

"Detective Wade Derringer, I take it?"

Another woman popped out of the woods. She knocked out the screaming skinhead with her M-24 sniper rifle.

Wade asked, "Who are you?"

The woman smiled.