Tommy Gunn - Book One - Revenge on the Border

REVENGE ON THE BORDER

Book One

in the

TOMMY GUNN

Series

by:

Justin Case

Copyright© 2022 Justin Case

Copyright © 2022 Justin Case

All rights reserved

Published by Justin Case

ISBN 9781312577336

This Book is dedicated to:

All the Fallen heroes of Law Enforcement and the

United States Customs and Border Protection Service.

And to the families and friends they left behind.

And also to all the Patriots who have worked tirelessly...

in the face of great opposition...

to secure our Nation's borders against illegal encroachment.

God Bless Them ALL and keep them safe. 

Foreword

As with any Novel (or product) nowadays, I must offer you the following CAUTIONS....

This book contains written and sometimes explicit depictions of :

Violence, Murder, Criminal activities, Sexual situations, Strong Language, and re-created factual crimes.

It is also written from a decidedly Conservative Political Viewpoint, and may contain facts and truths that some persons will find shocking or offensive to their illiterate sensibilities.

By your free choice to read this book, you imply your informed consent to be exposed to the contents.

I recommend PARENTAL GUIDANCE for any reader under the age of 18.

Like anyone else who has even passively paid any attention to the recent events in the United States can attest, the literal WAR against illegal immigration and criminal encroachment on our Southern Border has reached a fever pitch.

Illegal Aliens cross by the tens of thousands. Many with the paid help of cartel coyotes who lead groups across the river and onward into our Nation.

Border encroacher's are often forced to carry packages across, many times at gunpoint.

Refusal has resulted in many execution style murders.

Young girls and women are routinely raped by coyotes during the trip, and countless more are, frankly, outright kidnapped and forced into the sex trade.

This sex trafficking has been found in ALL lower 48 States, Alaska, and even Canada.

Then, once inside the U.S., the illegal aliens often find (at an alarmingly high incidence) that they are not free to do as they please. More often than not, they are victims of extortion. Coerced under threats of violence into paying dues for years to the cartels who smuggled them.

Failure to pay is often met with retribution against family members remaining South of the border, and/or to themselves.

The cartel drug trade flourishes with our unsecured borders.

Fentanyl, a deadly drug that is manufactured in China, sent to Mexico, and smuggled into the U.S. by cartels, has become the #1 killer of teens and young adults in America.

It is all too commonly mixed with Heroin, Cocaine, Benzodiazepines, Methamphetamines, Marijuana, and other drugs to give them an extra kick. This is done haphazardly, in most cases, and results in the deaths of thousands of the users.

Standing on the battle line (yes, SINGULAR) are the Men and Women of Law Enforcement.

Understaffed, underpaid, and often facing threats of death to themselves and their loved ones. And, unfortunately, demonized and protested by the very citizens and politicians they place their own lives on the line to protect.

I chose to create the characters in this book series to reflect these courageous Men and Women.

ALL my characters are fictional. ALL the actions and events depicted are fictional... but they are based on actual documented stories and events.

I hope you enjoy this book, and will look forward to revisiting all these characters in my next book, Tommy Gunn - Book Two – Southwest Showdown, with the same enthusiasm as I am having while writing it.  (Expected release: July 2023)

Tommy Gunn -

Revenge On The Border

Preface

Heat waves distorted the image through the scope. Insects flitted and flew about, crossing the view like swarming enemy fighter planes. 

The man watched as he sipped slowly from the hydration bladder on his back.

The mid-August Texas sun had roasted everything for the past 10 hours, peaking at 108 degrees just after mid day, making it hard to even breathe normally. The dial on the man's small thermometer now only read a mere 90 balmy degrees.

Sweat still trickled down his brow and managed to avoid his frequent swabbing with the camouflage bandanna. Plunging below his eyebrows to sting at his eyes.

Fifteen more minutes.

The sun was getting lower and lower, and in just fifteen minutes or so the shade of the big rock to his Right would settle over his body and offer some small relief from the blistering heat.

Movement below. Something was happening now.

Eye back to scope, the man watched intently.

Studying.

Seeking anything he could use to determine the next destination of the group below, or what sort of contraband they might be transporting.

A dirty sweaty coyote rose from where he was sitting, stuffed his pistol into his waistband, and approached a couple of the IA's sitting all around the shaded wash.

IA's... shorthand for 'illegal aliens'.

People who sneaked into the Country, becoming criminals by that very act.

People who lived in fear of discovery, arrest, and deportation for their entire time here.

People from areas of Mexico that were experiencing the worst socioeconomic disaster ever known to them.

People who would risk death, and pay any price, to come into the United States. And in the end, would work for less than minimum wage.

People at the end of their ropes, desperate, and willing to take the chance. Even when possible death, rape, arrest, or even kidnapping into human slavery were real possibilities.

Good, salt of the earth people. The kind that had values and morals, but were overcome with desperation to the point of committing this illegal act. 

The big coyote stopped in front of the young woman. His sweat soaked back toward the observer's scope.

She sat wearily on a dead fallen tree, drinking from a plastic bottle of water. The first they had been given in several hours.

She was half of a 30-ish year old couple that had been too obviously hanging and sticking to the outer edge of the group, and seemed to be trying for invisibility.

Their little girl, who looked to be around 8 or 10 years old, sat under her fathers arm between her mother and father. 

The coyote's words to her were unable to be heard from the long distance, but the look of horror on her face, the way she shook her head, the look of terror as he gestured toward the young girl, and the fear in her eyes were unmistakable.

The coyote suddenly reached out and grabbed her by her hair.

The father pushed the daughter behind him and tried to stand, but was knocked to the ground.

Several kicks from the big coyote landed on his chest and stomach, and the woman raised her hands and shouted something.

Too far.

The cries were just a muffled wailing sound by the time it reached the man behind the scope.

The man was jerked up by his hair and set back on the dead tree trunk. A pistol pointing at his daughter before he even finished floundering to gain his balance. The overwhelmed father sank back, clasped his hands in a praying manner, and began what could only have been begging.

Looking back to the woman and speaking, the coyote pointed to the ground in front of him. She began crying as she slowly moved to kneel before him.

The father looked away, apparently once again thinking of some sort of attack. Then the other coyote again pointed his pistol at the child and gestured.

The father slumped visibly, then hugged the little girl's face to his chest to shield her eyes. He took one last look at the spectacle of his wife and the coyote, and ducked his own face to avoid watching.

Reaching up, she hesitantly moved her hands to his mid section. Evidently unfastening his belt and dirty jeans, because she next lowered them and his underwear to his knees. She leaned in and moved her face to his groin.

The others in the group ignored the scene, just happy they were not the ones chosen to be molested or beaten this time around.

Behind the scope the man was disgusted and angry. He caressed the safety on the big rifle, but restrained himself.

He had to swallow his bile and watch her endure the abuse, and it didn't sit well with him at all.

His goal was the trucks that the group was awaiting, and discovery of the location that those trucks were heading to.

The coyote was brutal, grabbing the woman's long black hair and forcefully humping into her face. Raping her until finally his ass could be seen tightening and clenching through the scope.

Throwing his head back, he held her to his crotch with both hands. Her arms flapped outward like a bird attempting to fly, and she slapped at his thighs to try and make him release his hold on her.

And then it was over.

He shoved her backwards into the dirt, then pulled up his pants as she turned and wretched. Puking up his scum, and unfortunately all the meager water she had drank.

The scumbag turned to his cohort and spoke, laughing, then gestured to the woman.

Thankfully, the other man looked at her a moment and then just shook his head.

The coyote suddenly reached into his pocket. He pulled out and answered a satellite phone.

Something must have been about to happen, as he then began pacing and waving his arms as he talked, shouting at the group.

Within moments, Two large yellow rental trucks appeared over the distant hill. Approaching the location of the group on the dirt road, leaving a cloud of dust behind them.

Within just a few short minutes they had stopped, all the men and women were loaded into the backs, and they were moving again. Headed in the direction of the small town 25 miles away.

The man behind the scope was busy. Watching. Taking pictures as fast as the digital camera attachment on the scope could handle.

He zoomed in on the markings and tag numbers, as well as the faces of everyone he could.

As the trucks pulled away the observer stayed hidden.

And when the trucks rounded a curve, and dropped over a hill, the coyote turn to walk South toward the river.

He had a thick envelope in his pocket, and his sexual desire had been sated for a while. He hoped the group waiting South of the river had some young teen girls in it, or perhaps even a couple of young boys. Didn't matter either way to him, he would enjoy them, and their loud screams, regardless.

He stopped momentarily to wipe the sweat from his eyes and empty the remainder of a water bottle.

He barely caught a flash of something reflecting the waning sun to his left, and dropped the bottle. Quickly, he pulled out his binoculars. Scanning the hills in that direction.

Too late.

Suddenly, halfway up the side of a distant hill, he saw a large puff of dust from under a bush.

He thought he maybe should duck or fall flat on the ground, but that thought never made it from his brain to his muscles.

A single custom loaded 700 grain hollow-point .50 BMG round exploded through his sternum. Heart, lung, muscle tissue, skin, and spinal fragments were virtually pulverized and obliterated, mixing with his blood into the dark pink mist which sprayed out from his back.

Slowly the coyote fell backward, like a tall tree felled by loggers. And he lay still in the South Texas dirt as the booming report of the big rifle was identified and washed over his ebbing consciousness.

One more shot rang out. The coyote's crotch literally vaporized, and the body was flung backward almost a foot across the blood stained dirt.

Then silence.

Within moments of the second shot, Tommy Gunn was on his feet.

Sprinting to the customized Honda ATC, he fired the machine up.

Strapping the big rifle to the handlebar mounted rifle rack, he raced East-ward toward the dust trails being left by the Two trucks.

Reaching the dirt road without trouble, he gunned the engine to close the gap before they made it to the pavement Five miles away.

Lighter and more nimble, the ATC closed on them easily. The 750cc engine swap allowed the machine to reach speeds up to 95 mph. The barely used Five gallons of fuel meant he wouldn't likely lose them anytime soon.

He also knew they were headed right toward the old service station and diner, where his own truck was parked.

He was within 150 yards of the trucks when they turned Right, still East-ward, onto the pavement of the 2 lane highway. Tommy crossed the road without stopping, swung a wide loop, and rode up the ramp into the back of his truck.

A 1997 Chevrolet C3500 long-bed crew-cab Dually, with the 6.5 Diesel that he had paid a marine engine shop to 'bullet proof' by rebuilding it the way it should have come from the factory.

Grabbing the rifle, sliding the ramp into the bed, and closing the tailgate, he was pulling onto the road in a slight cloud of black exhaust smoke, in under 2 minutes. And was gaining steadily on the trucks. He was within 50 yards of the Two rental trucks in under 6 minutes. 

He'd already fired up the camera systems to record forward, sideways, and to the rear.

A bank of frequency scanners and recorders searched for any signals as he drove.

PAY DIRT!!

A cell phone call was picked up, and the recorders kicked in. A short conversation, but enough to glean the information he needed. He now knew the trucks' destination.

Tommy gassed on the big diesel, passing the slower trucks and charging ahead. Big pickups driving fast on Texas back roads was so common that the trucks' drivers and passengers didn't give him a second glance.

* * * * * * * *

Tommy watched through the viewfinder of a digital camera, attached to a big spotting scope, as the trucks pulled through the large roll-up dock door of a large metal warehouse. Then the doors were closed blocking further observation.

He smiled. He had located a key staging and distribution point. The cartels would have killed him just for looking for it... if they had known.

Satisfied with what he now knew, he walked stealthily back to his truck, climbed in, and turned the big pickup toward home. Mentally planning for his next move.

Chapter 1

Thomas Jefferson Gunn. Born August 17th, Age 35. 5'8 tall. Thick but muscular 200 pound build. Dark brown hair. Hazel eyes. His heritage was Choctaw Indian & South Louisiana coon ass" Cajun.

An eclectic mix that yielded some interesting personality traits and preferences.

Current occupation: Special Agent, tracker, and scout for an interdiction task force, assigned to locate and report on movement of humans and drugs by the cartels.

Tommy was not actually a Native Texan. His parents moved to Silverspur Texas when he was 2 years old.

His father, Thomas R., had always been a self proclaimed 'Patriot', and huge fan of the American founding fathers. Thomas Jefferson in particular, due to his outspoken and often fanatical beliefs about our fledgling Nation.

The senior Gunn could almost quote the former Presidents' writings and antics as if he himself penned the words and was eyewitness to the deeds.

After returning to the States from the Nam, he developed a serious mistrust of Government, politicians in particular. And that dislike fueled his passion for Survival-ism. What 21st Century survivalists prefer to call prepping in order to escape the critical eye of liberals who counted survivalist the same as the words 'militia' or 'weirdo'.

His little home town, Silverspur, was named after the former mining town of Silverspur England. One of the nearby towns to it back over there was ironically 'Texas', in the Inglewood Shire about 24 miles to the west.

Silver was discovered in the original Silverspur way back in 1890, when a farm worker noticed an outcrop of mineralized quartz. He was familiar with existing copper mining activity in the district and formed a small syndicate to work the find. Returns were indifferent, the claim was sold.

Fearing destruction of farming and grazing, a group of residents had sold their holdings for a nice profit and decided to emigrate to America.

They left Silverspur, arrived in the United States a month later, and immediately headed West.

They ended their journey in the cattle and oilfield strewn landscape of Southwest Texas, and founded a town which they nostalgically named 'Silverspur'.

Thomas Senior was drawn to this area of the 'Lone Star' almost 70 years later by the cheap land prices and high paying oil jobs during the Carter oil crisis.

Tommy lives the same simple life as they did, on the land his parents left him when they died. Nothing flashy or extravagant. Maybe some expensive toys and hobbies, but to the untrained eye he was just another local yokel redneck working stiff.

Tommy's nondescript 1970's 3 bedroom 'brick & stick' ranch style house sits on 5 acres.

Red brick, white trim, and a recently replaced light gray metal roof.

The interior remains as close to the way his mother had decorated it as it could be. Family heirlooms and keepsakes filled the spaces.

His only major changes had been when he took over the master bedroom. He had remodeled the master bath, and replaced the old queen bed with a modern foam Kalifornia king.

Outside, he had also added a back patio cover, under which he put a 6 person size hot tub, and a custom grill/smoker.

His nearest neighbor is almost 5 miles down the road.

A solar system with backup battery banks provides 100% off-grid power to both the house, and a 30' X 40' metal shop building. And a 25kw diesel generator is on standby for any glitches that may require it.

A 500 gallon above ground diesel tank made sure the genny would have plenty to drink, less any fuel he might have to use for the Jeep or Truck in a pinch.

Water is provided by a 1500' well that taps into a sweetwater aquifer.

The sewerage collects into a 1000 gallon septic system.

The quarter mile long driveway passes between Two barbed wire fences, and across Three cattle guards that can be raised so that they become draw-gates over deep ditches.

Each fence post around the property is color coded on the top 12 inches to also serve as a range distance markers from the house.

An automatic steel security gate at the main road serves to let anyone know they are not welcome unless invited. But opens with either remotes in his vehicles, or with a keypad that allows multiple codes for different people to be able to use a personal pin code.

In the back yard, if you can call it that, is his pistol and sub-gun range. Targets of all sizes and at distances from 15 to 60 yards are spread and scattered all about.

Looking 1000 yards beyond the back of his property, across his fence and on some neighboring land, that has been owned for generations by someone up in the Northeast that has likely forgotten all about it, sits a target array for his rifle shooting practice. He can shoot at his choice of steel targets, set up at 50 yard intervals, from 100 to 1000 yards out.

Underneath the concrete slab of the metal shop building, is a 20' X 20' underground shelter. Fully stocked with everything a person might need. One year of supplies for Six people.

With only Five of the originally intended occupants still living, it would be a comfortable stay.

TV and Internet arrive through satellite, and phones are Cellular/Satellite hybrids courtesy of the government. An antenna array on a 75' tower helps with some of the more 'eccentric' radio traffic and monitoring he needed to do.

In the house's carport sits a white, nondescript, 2013 Kia Soul.

Stored inside the metal shop are his other toys.

A 1990 Jeep YJ, completely rebuilt and customized, that has a 150 HP Turbo-Diesel engine.

A Honda VTX1800 Motorcycle.

An ultralight airplane folded nicely against the back wall.

And even an air boat powered by a 300hp Continental aircraft engine.

Along with these toys are a various assortment of tools and sundries he has picked up or inherited through the years, as well as his mowers and a 1965 Ford tractor he rebuilt with the senior Gunn as a teenager.

The well insulated and climate controlled shop makes puttering with his toys and hobbies a real joy.

Off site Tommy maintained a 12' X 12' locker at a secure storage facility located inside the boundary fences of a military installation.

Here he kept some of his 'work tools' that were better off housed inside the guarded military facility.

And he also 'rented' Two stalls at a local Horse Boarding facility, where he also kept his 2 horse trailer parked. And where the family of his best friend lives, and scrapes out a meager income.

An appaloosa gelding, and a paint gelding, both enjoy being pampered and spoiled on a daily basis by Two of the cutest little 12 year old half-Latina sweethearts that have ever existed.

The girls also ride and shoot like little Annie Oakley's, courtesy of their late father.

He was taken from Mia and Tia, and their mother Shasta, during a late night shift at his job as a Border Patrol officer.

Killed in cold blood by the lead coyote as he was passing out energy bars and ice cold bottles of sports-ade to the famished and nearly dehydrated people he had just apprehended.

Kenneth Granados died with his head laying in the lap of a 40 year old Mexican woman, while her brother tried to stop his bleeding. Tended by the same people he had been there to take into custody and send back to Mexico.

Their efforts failed.

As he was dying, the coyote was fleeing in his patrol vehicle, with the 400+ pounds of methamphetamine which the group of Illegal Aliens had been forced at gunpoint to carry across the river and border.

The good Samaritans tending to him knew Ken well. It was their 2nd time to be apprehended by him in as many years, and he had treated them very good each time.

Ken had a well known reputation along this part of the border as a Good Man who cared for the people as much as he did the law. He was always kind and understanding, and never allowed any of his apprehensions to be mistreated or denied help if needed.

Once he had even come to blows with an overzealous BP officer that was on loan from another State because the guy had bashed an IA for no good reason. It 'cost' Ken a reprimand, and 2 weeks at home with his family. A good trade in reality.

But the story had spread like wildfire, and Ken was the one who the IA's hoped would catch them, if they had to be caught.

But the worthless coyote didn't care about human life.

Ken left behind his wife, Shastain Shasta Granados, and twin 9 year old Daughters. Mariana Mia Granados, and Tiara Tia Granados.

And among the many co-workers and other friends, a man named Thomas Tommy Gunn.

Kenneth's funeral procession had almost 200 law enforcement vehicles and officers. 300+ motorcycle club riders, wearing several dozen different patches. And over 12 miles of Civilian attendee vehicles. Mostly Mexican-Americans who respected him.

Tommy rode his big VTX 1800 in the front of the long throng of bikers. Not able to compromise himself, or his cover, by joining the LEO's, or endanger the girls by joining the family in the limo.

Tia and Mia had to wait until they got home that afternoon before they could soak Uncle Tommy's shirt with their tears.

And later that night, after the sweet little angels were asleep, Shasta sat on his lap in Ken's favorite recliner and repeated the girls' performance, solo, while Tommy's own heart broke.

Tommy, gutted and heartbroken by the useless and violent death, almost gave up his lifestyle and his job over the incident. He was sorely tempted to leave the State and work elsewhere. But Shasta convinced (or more begged) him to continue his work and remain here, near them, and so he did. Both out of his love for the girls, and as a duty to his best friend.

The fact that he had vowed to kill the murdering coyote at his first opportunity was information he told no one. But many knew of his quest to find the useless POS.

Tommy had searched every database he could access, examined hundreds of thousands of photographs, and exhausted thousands of his own man hours in his search for 'El Jefe'. But he was no closer than he had been at the start. Not even the coyote's real name was known, only his nickname... and his face.

And now it was Three and a Half years later.

The man who pulled that trigger, and forever changed the lives of one man and Three sweet ladies, had moved up in the cartel organization.

He was now known to be border hopping with impunity, convinced he didn't have anything at all to worry about other than his cartel duties. His real name and identity was still a mystery to U.S. Law Enforcement.

The killer was living high on the hog. Plenty of cash to spend, fancy clothes, custom boots, only the finest food and drink. He flew in private planes, drove fancy vehicles, and took his pick of the beautiful women that he met socially, and those that he had snatched from the ranks of the trafficked illegals for his own twisted pleasures.

No, he had not lost his appetite for raping the helpless innocent young girls that had paid for his protection and guidance across the border. And to those in the trade, it was just part of the price they must endure to be smuggled across.

Tommy sat in his 'home office' and studied the faces of the men that he photographed at the warehouse. He wasn't sure, but one image showed promise of finally being his quarry. It would be a shame to move in too soon or too late and miss his target.

Tommy needed Information. And he had just the plan to let him get it.

Across town in a plain brick building, a phone rang. A man's voice on the answering machine.

American Protective Insurance. This is Agent Barnes. We are currently out of the office, but will return at 9 am tomorrow. Please leave your name, a callback number, and a brief description of how can I help you, at the tone.

BEEP

Tommy spoke, "This is Mr. Hunter again. My sales meetings today went better than expected. We can expect to cover 12 management level and at least 10 to 14 laborer level employees when this contract goes through. Full coverage on all of them.

But this one is time sensitive, the upper management may be leaving town soon to attend a meeting at their main office. I will E-Mail you the particulars and call you back in the morning with more details."

Click

Tommy always felt a little like James Bond when he talked in code like that. But the facade provided by the 'insurance company' was essential. Discovery could mean death to any operatives, as well as their loved ones.

Fire bombings of CBP, and especially any discovered 'Task Force' offices, were also commonplace.

He e-mailed a complete report, including a zip file of the photos.

Hard copies would be dropped in the 'night payment' slot at the insurance firm.

In the morning, Barnes would have them by the time he sat down with his first cup of coffee.

He entered the GPS coordinates of the warehouse, and a few other parameters, into a special database. Then added the codes that would initiate a task order and result in a high altitude reconnaissance drone being launched to orbit the location, taking pictures and video for the next 24 hours.

He also checked his bank balances while he was online. His last months pay had indeed hit the main account.

The four other accounts, totaling just under $500,000, were also swelled a bit by the interest accrued, as he had expected.

He transferred everything over $100,000 from those Four accounts into his main account.

New balance: $243,680.

He then made a 'payment transfer' to another account number that wasn't even in his name. One that he knew well.

$43,680 buys a lot of clothes and food and other girly desires.

5 miles across the County there was a woman and 2 little ladies that would soon benefit from the funds.

That done, he closed down the computers, and secured the safe room.

Shasta would complain and fuss, again. But it mattered not to him.

The money was almost useless to him if he couldn't spoil her and the girls with it.

Not like anyone else was banging on his door to apply for his generosity. Or his love.

He stripped off his dirty smelly clothing and tossed it into the washer, and plodded naked to his bathroom.

The hot water in the custom built shower beat down on him and drove the soreness out of his muscles. He could have easily fit 4 'friends' in there with him to help with his cleaning duties. If he had 4 'friends' he would have liked to be naked and wet with.

The soap washed away the stink and grime of laying in a shallow depression in the hot desert for 4 days. His numerous bug bites were soothed by the cleansing.

As he washed down his body, the slick soapy washcloth felt good on his skin, too good in a particular place.

Without preliminaries or warning, a thick 9" problematic area sprang up.

No wonder though. It had been over Seven and a half months since Maria, his girlfriend of 12 months, had took off back up to College Station so she could finish Veterinarian school.

Tommy dropped the soapy washcloth and used just his hands and the bar of soap to 'wash' the affected area. Thoughts and images of Maria's sexy body, and what she always did to him with that body in this very shower, made the 'washing' a short task.

As his spent lust ran down the drain, he felt relaxed and became tired.

He though about a joke he had heard once as the last of the water gurgled in the shower drain.

He chuckled, 'Draino Babies.'

Rinsed and dried, and with a fresh application of deodorant and cologne, he turned off the lights and crawled into his King sized bed. The high thread count sheets felt good on his naked body.

His last thoughts were of the Maria situation.

The good times, which maybe weren't really quite as good as he would have preferred.

The bad times.

And also the sadness that he hadn't so much as heard from her since Two weeks after she left.

Eight months, less a week or so, without so much as a howdy do from her. It was not a good indicator that he ranked very high on the scale of importance in her life.

When he tried to think of them in future tense, he couldn't make his imagination create the same level of love and happiness as his parents had enjoyed.

And she'd never be content in this house for sure. She had quietly loathed his home, and his lifestyle, and it showed often.

Before reality set in, causing the usual depression and sadness, he thankfully fell asleep.

Chapter 2

The alarm, special ordered because it was an 'ultra loud' model, pierced the sound dam of his eardrums and bored into his head. He slapped it off and looked wearily at the time. 8:15 am.

His ears still ringing a bit from the past 15 minutes of the buzzer sounding before he actually woke enough to hear it.

He was late getting started already.

He quickly donned his usual attire. Clothing that changed very little, other than colors and such, except to adjust for seasonal temperatures.

Even his 'fancy go-to-town' attire was usually just a nicer, newer, or more dressier version of the same attire.

Head to toe he wore an old straw Palm hat with Gus crease. A thin cotton Blue plaid long sleeve western pearl button. A plain faded royal blue cotton neckerchief rolled and slightly wet around his neck. Faded worn-in jeans with a plain brown leather belt at the waist. And a pair of well broken-in plain Brown leather Justin cowboy boots.

A .380acp Ruger LCP pistol went into his pants pocket, a Colt M1911A1 .45acp pistol was holstered on his right side, and Two extra 8 round magazines on the left side. A Mora 'Bushcraft Black' knife in a custom leather sheath occupied the 8 o'clock position over his left hip.

He bypassed cooking and opted for a Diet soda until he could get into town. He knew the perfect diner for a good meal this morning.

The Dually would sit this trip out. He fired up the Jeep, and headed into town.

The deep knobby tread of the 'mud & terrain' 33's made a nice roaring hum on the paved road as he eased along at 65mph, thoughts and plans about the upcoming raid occupying his mind.

Many people hated the square headlights on the Jeep YJ, but Tommy liked the way they looked at night. It was harder to identify the Jeep just from the headlights.

The wider stance made it a little more stable on and off the road, and slightly more roomy inside.

Taking off the doors and the soft top side panels afforded shade and SOME protection from any unexpected showers, but mainly provided air flow that actually made the 90 degree temperature feel somewhat less overbearing.

He made a fast stop in at a plain brick building, to drop off his 'policy papers' as he called them, and he was relatively free to just hang out and relax for a few hours.

Sorta.

He had another reason for his choice this morning. More than just eating or visiting an old friend.

He wanted to sit in relative comfort while not seeming conspicuous as he watched the comings and goings from the cartel warehouse. He knew just the place too.

Turning the Jeep toward that part of town, he wondered how much shit he was gonna get for his long failure to show up there.

Tommy saw the only entrance to the Silverspur Industrial park coming up on his left, but he instead turned right. Pulling into the parking lot of an older diner. Backing into a parking space out front, he angled the Jeep so his dash cam was pointed toward the intersection.

The tinkle of the bell over the front door when he opened it to step inside brought an immediate and loud, Hey, Tommy! Oh my god! Long time no see! from the 35 year old redhead.

She was wearing a classic waitress' dress and apron.

Her ample 38 DD cleavage on full display to anyone who might want to ogle it (and maybe tip a little heavier).

Fit toned legs that belied how much time she spent walking and standing on them, were visible below the almost mid-thigh length pink skirt. Her white toothed smile set off by reddish pink lipstick, which went well with the rest of the overdone makeup.

The squeak of the grease stained soles on her white trainers as they made contact with the over waxed tile floor sounded audibly as she walked briskly toward him.

Hey Tammy darlin'. How's tricks? He replied. Just before she hugged him warmly.

She laughed as she broke the hug, reached, and handed him a menu. Then said, Same ol' same ol'. Just sit anywhere ya want sweetie.

A quick scan, and a nod to the only other person in the dining area. An older man in his 70's, dressed almost the same as Tommy, just more dated and worn clothing.

Tommy added his hat to the very similar one already on the rack by the door. Then he walked to his 'usual seat', a booth at the far corner that put his back to the wall and faced the door.

The tiles underneath the table, and the edges of the table itself, showed the wear of thousands of boots and elbows. Tommy himself had likely worn a few millimeters off this very table over the years.

She continued talking to him the whole time.

Yeah. Business has tapered off a lot ever since the oil companies had their leases canceled by this liberal President and his crew of ass-clowns. Things have been really bad slow.

She added in a fake sultry voice, And as far as tricks go, lets just say that it has been a few days. Doesn't even qualify as 'few and far between'. Not since Jerry moved back to Louisiana eight months ago. I never thought he'd just up and skedaddle on me like that when the wells were capped and the rigs stacked. Been mighty dry lately. Mighty, mighty dry. And she was now standing over him with a pad and pen, writing down his order.

I definitely know that feeling, since Maria left. he said without the humor.

Tammy just stood, watching him read over the menu as she wrote.

'Two eggs, over easy. Bacon. Grits. Two biscuits. Side bowl of gravy. And a large glass of OJ.'

He didn't look up as she finished writing and let her eyes roam over him approvingly.

Ya know honey, maybe you should invite me out for dinner and some fun one night. We could probably put our heads together and figure out a solution to all this 'drought' we've been having.

His eyes wandered up to hers and he grinned at her little smirk. Then he watched her large shapely ass wiggle and sway as she turned and walked away from him. Think about it baby. That's what friends are for, right? she shot over her shoulder.

She pinned the small sheet of paper to the order wheel and shouted at the kitchen, Order Up!

And from the back, instead of the gruff voice of Leroy... I'm on it!

A sweet voice that floated musically to his ears.

He looked closely and tried to catch a glimpse of the owner of that voice, but only managed a brief flash of straight black hair.

Tammy returned a minute later with a tall glass of Orange Juice, which she sat before him. As she placed silverware on a napkin, he asked, Where's Leroy today? And he slid the silverware to the right of where his plate would go while trying to seem disinterested in the owner of that intriguingly sweet sounding voice.

Oh, that's right, you haven't been in for a few months. she said with a pointedly disapproving look.

He's back up in Huntsville again. Failed his damn drug test. Got violated by his parole officer. Same ol' story.

She gestured toward the kitchen, Got a new little senorita for the time being. She's really good. Always on time. Good cook. Great English. No boyfriend or husband hanging around all the time, or constantly callin' here after her.

Tammy lowered he voice a little. Not much, but a little.

She snapped up this job so quick that I wondered if she had actually taken it for a minute. And she even took it for my first salary offer, didn't even try to talk me up.

She raised her voice to a regular talking volume, convinced that was enough to not be heard. Not sure her papers are 100% legit though. They're all from up in Oklahoma, if you know what I mean? But I was in a tight spot and needed help, and she was willin'.

She shrugged, Anyways, I figure she'll be a goner in a couple more months at the most anyway. She's too young and pretty to not have a dozen or more young men drooling and scheming to sweep her away from this dump of a town. Ain't no minimum wage job like this worth hangin' around here for.

He grunted affirmatively as he kept studying the menu, but was making detailed mental notes of her every word.

She added, Name's Nia. You can meet her when she gets your food ready.

He realized what had happened, yet again, at what she just said. He looked at Tammy and asked, What food? I didn't even order yet, honey buns.

Tammy playfully smacked him on his broad shoulder with her pen and grinned at the pet name. Yep. Still sweet as any that you'll ever find.

Then she laughed. I figured your usual order. Was I wrong?

He set the menu down on the edge of the table.

Well, No. he chuckled. But I would like having the option of going with a different choice someday. If and when my taste buds suggest it. 

The old man had been just sipping his coffee, grinning and shaking his head at their banter. He stood, dropped a Five on the counter, and slowly walked to the door. As he donned his hat and waved, she called to him.

Thanks for coming in Mr. James. See ya tomorrow?

He nodded, Sure thing Tammy. Have a good day sweetie.

Then he nodded, winked, and added, See ya round Tommy boy. Take it easy on these poor neglected womenfolk. And he laughed as he pushed through the door and stepped into the hot sun.

Tommy watched the old timer climb into a nice, well kept, blue and white 1974 Chevrolet C10 pickup. The old engine rumbled to life after only a short bump of the starter. The engine thrumming loudly through the straight pipes and short cherry bomb glass packs.

Blueys as the old man had always called them for some reason.

30 years ago the old codger had removed and replaced the entire stock exhaust on that truck at the old gas station, and the best shop in Silverspur, that he had owned and operated. It was located right down this very road a quarter mile or so.

Tommy's dad had brought the boy into town that day, and they were gassing up when the old guy fired the 350 up for the first time, following the modifications.

The old pickup still sounded the same. Well, maybe a bit louder now, but the same as it did to him all those years ago.

Tommy remembered those days fondly. Thinking back he remembered that was the same year he had first met Ken.

They began Kindergarten together that September. Next month would be 30 years.

Schools used to let out first part of May, and didn't resume til Labor Day.

But that was before liberals brought in teachers unions, before 'common core' had gutted any chance of actually learning true facts instead of revisionist gobbledy goop, and before the entire education system had turned to an indoctrination platform for socialists and communism.

Now kids graduated high school not knowing how to balance a freakin' check book, or even write a check. And their lack of common life skills turned them into emotional wrecks when they failed in the smallest of everyday tasks.

Ken and Tommy had managed to find a reason to square off with each other, and had fought like Two young wildcats on that very first day.

Well.. as much as Two 5 year old boys can fight like wildcats.

His ass tingled a little at the memory of Principle Skinner's paddle.

After that first day though, they become inseparable buddies, carrying on the friendship through and beyond their terms at Silverspur High School, until 3 years and a couple months ago.

Tommy felt a tightness in his chest, and a lump in his throat as he thought of his best friend.

In fact, Tommy and Ken had sat right here in this very booth and been served by Tammy's mom, Ms. Becky, on many occasions. Even on weekends, when they double dated because Tommy had an old beater car to drive and Ken didn't.

This was their 'hangout' of preference.

One of those dates had seen Tommy with a currently unmemorable girl, and Ken with the shapely sexy Tammy herself. Although the Two never actually got serious. Tammy was too close a friend, more like a sister to them actually, and neither of the Three would have risked their friendships like that.

Tammy had been added to their little group in the third grade.

A fifth grade boy had shoved her down and was teasing her about the sack lunch she brought every day. He made out like her food wasn't as good as the cafeteria, and she had told him off smartly, tearing into him about her lunch coming from this very diner.

The older, larger boy shoved her and she had landed on her butt in the wet dirt of a half dry mud hole. Not quite mud, but still wet enough to stain and make an ugly mess of her pretty pink dress.

His big mistake was doing it in front of Tommy.

Nearly half the size of the bigger kid, Tommy waded into him. Landing punches and kicks that almost would have been effective on a smaller boy.

The bigger kid knocked Tommy down, and started to say something to him. But he never got those words out.

Quick as a flash, Ken had jumped on the bigger boys back and had him in a choke hold. His left arm around the bigger boys throat, and his legs wrapped around his waist. And Ken was punching him in the ear and jaw with his right fist.

Tommy had quickly gotten to his feet and re-joined the fray. Tackling the kid by wrapping up his legs and making him fall.

Once on the ground, the Two younger boys had somewhat of a better chance, and they had seized it with a vengeance.

Tommy's dad used to tell the story, and every time he laughed loudly about how the Two little guys had stood up to the bully and 'whooped his ass but good' that day.

Along with the tingle in his butt from the principals paddle, Tommy also remembered the sting of the black eye and the rusty taste of his bloody nose.

But the Two boys wore their identical left eye shiners with pride, every day, until they faded.

Unlike the 'legend' of that encounter that the other third graders told.. that had Tommy and Ken fighting with the skill of Dave Carradine from 'Kung Fu', and vanquishing all manner of brutes.. the Two had several bruises and scrapes from the encounter.

Tommy smiled at the memory.

Another factoid was that a couple days later, young Tammy had delivered the very first kiss with a 'real girl' ever to the pair. Her way of thanking them for standing up in her defense. 

From that time until now, Tammy had been 'one of the guys' and a close friend. Even when at age 12, it was already VERY evident she was in no way a 'guy'.

Maybe Tammy wasn't so far off base. The memory of her shapely teenage ass and large boobs was nice, REAL nice. And she hadn't changed all that much since, just the normal womanly stuff that all maturing women eventually experience.

Yep. Mature and ripened, with none of the spoilage some gals get.

Well, ALMOST.

She'd had a rough time after school, and went through men like a fat kid goes through chocolate cupcakes. But she had never broken contact or stopped being their friend. No matter what ass hat she took up with.

His reverie was instantly smashed and wiped away by that sweet voice, right at his shoulder.

Your order sir.

His breath caught, and he felt a little twinge in the center of his chest as her voice penetrated his ears.

And as he sat back for the plates to be tabled, SHE stepped to the end of the table, and he looked up.

(my god, she's the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. gotta talk to her. don't screw this up.)

Maybe 25 years old. Bright and smiling eyes. Long black hair. Dark brown, almost black eyes.

Skin the color of heavily creamed coffee... The shade women pay tanning salons billions of dollars each year to obtain, and still fall short of achieving.

No makeup on her gorgeous face. And a sweet genuine pearly smile behind lips you'd wade through brier patches, barefoot, in your skivvies, just to kiss.

A cute little nose.

Medium build, femininely soft but also naturally muscular, like a girl who did a lot of hard work. He guessed (rightly) she had 34 C tits, but they were not openly displayed by her choice of clothing. And a slim waist, flaring to rounded sexy hips.

She kept glancing at him quickly and shyly, then looking away. And her little Mona Lisa smile never faded from her lips.

Yeah, she knew he was looking, and didn't seem to mind at all.

Tommy sputtered a Thank You Miss. at her, and she replied, You are welcome, sir.

He thought quickly, for a change, and managed to speak before she stepped away, Not sir. Just Tommy. and stuck out his hand.

She took his hand and he almost didn't shake it at all, just kinda held it. He only squeezed it gently and held it softly while he sorta wiggled his wrist.

Okay then 'Just Tommy'. I'm NOT 'Miss' either. I am Nialohma. Nia for short. I mean, my name is... Nia. Nia Davis. She sputtered out to him, sounding almost flustered.

I'm not from here originally, I'm from Durant Oklahoma. Moved to Silverspur 10 months ago to help my Aunt for a while. She added. (why am I babbling my whole life history. he just wants his food)

I am very pleased to meet you, Nia Davis from Durant Oklahoma. I sure hope you like it here enough to stick around and let me bore you with my jokes and wild stories. This Two-goat town is in very short supply of beautiful young ladies. (Shit. That wasn't cheesy and obvious at all dumb ass.)

She blushed deep red and replied, I mostly like it here a lot so far. Small town. Quiet.  And I have a good job. Even though I didn't negotiate a good enough wage out of Tammy for anyone to actually live off of.

But I don't really need much since I live with my Aunt. The work load is just fine by me. And this job is actually close to my Aunt's house so it is convenient for me to walk, since I haven't got a car. And Ms. Tammy is just a wonderful boss. Treats me like family. I love her to death. (oh god, I'm rambling again.)

Tommy grinned bemusedly at her.

She finally took a breath, And yes, Mister Tommy Gunn, I would very much like to hear all of your stories and jokes. I have wanted to for some time now, ever since I... Uh, um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to prattle on like that. she blushed and looked downward.

(what? she's actually interested in me?)

Tommy asked, surprised, For 'some time now'? I don't understand. We just now met each other? And how is it you happen to know my last name?

She laughed nervously and explained in a rush, almost without breathing, I saw a picture when I first started here and asked Tammy about who all was in it. I recognized her, but you guys....

Anyway, She explained about y'alls friend the Border Patrol Officer. Ken was it? Yeah, Ken. Anyway she said that was him in the picture by her, and the other guy was Tommy Gunn. You. And she also said the 3 of you guys was really close friends and stuck together all through school. So, I've actually been kinda wondering when you might would be coming in, and if I would get to meet you. And now I have.

He smiled at her rushed and yet thorough story, and nodded, Sounds legit.

She giggled, it was the sound of happiness and pure genuineness, all swirled up with sexy. And Tommy loved the sound of it.

I'll be over there if you need anything. I have to wrap silverware in case we get a lunch rush.

She looked down between them, and added with some mirth, But I will need my hand. You'll have to ask my Aunt for that before you can keep it. And added a wink and a flirty smile.

Tommy realized with her words that he still held her hand. He blushed furiously, and sputtered an apology.

She smiled sweetly and said it was 'totally okay', then turned, and walked back toward the kitchen.

'MY GOD WHAT AN ASS!' He thought to himself. Then felt very lecherous for perving on this sweet girl like that for some reason.

But it was.

That delectable derrière was rounded like a half basketball stuck to her backside, shaped perfectly for use as a nightly pillow, after spending a couple hours kissing and worshiping it of course.

Not too small, or too large, but just right for her 5'4" (?) frame.

True perfection in motion.

Just a little natural sway and bounce as she walked, not like the practiced and perfected intentional 'swish' of Tammy's ample derrière. Nia's was just... natural and perfect.

Her black t-shirt was tied in a knot at her right hip causing the delightful sight to be displayed most effectively in the skin tight stretch jeans she wore. Kinda like yoga pants, but thicker and with pockets and such.

The form fitting article of clothing also revealed 2 more things he found incredibly sexy. One was the nice gap between her perfectly toned thighs, tapering to a close about halfway to her knees, which themselves gave way to nice muscular calves.

Second was the outline of her bikini panties, the lines of which could barely be made out below the pants, but easily picked out by Tommy.

He didn't like 'thongs' and 'g-strings', preferring a girl who hid and teased him with her feminine wiles.

(think Susanna Hoffs of the Bangles, but Nia's breasts are slightly bigger)

He shook his head and picked up the silver to eat.

Tammy stood abruptly from where she had been seated behind the register, digging in the safe and scribbling on some papers, and then zipped a vinyl bag.

Tommy, baby... Can I impose on you for a big favor? she said. Too sweetly.

I'll do my best. he replied. But you know my limited talent pool. Some things I excel at, some things I don't. And your office doesn't even have a door.

He waggled his eyebrows and pasted a leering smile on his face.

Tammy laughed at his antics. Nothing like that ya old horn-dog. But if you're not in a hurry, could you hang around here for another 30 minutes or so? I need to run this deposit to the bank, and I don't like to leave Nia by herself.

He looked at her and grinned. That's no favor at all. Of course I can, and I will. Take your time.

Tommy thought, to spend 30 minutes more with Nia he would move the bank, on his back, to this very parking lot. Much less just sit here and eat.

Thanks sweetie. she said. Then as she picked up her purse she hollered over the sound of her car keys being grabbed, Nia... I'm running to the bank. Tommy's gonna stay here til I get back.

From the kitchen, Okay Tammy.

And she was out the door.

Tommy wondered briefly about Tammy's reluctance to leave Nia at the diner alone. Why was that a problem? Nothing ever happened in Silverspur, and Nia seemed as sweet and honest as they come.

Nia remained hidden from his view while he ate, doing whatever she did in the kitchen.

Tommy swiped a last little dab of gravy with a piece of his biscuit. Then washed it all down with the last of his OJ.

Nia asked him from across the room, More juice?

No thanks Nia. I'm good.

Was she watching him?

She came and began to clear the dishes.

He tried to hide the fact that he was watching her every move, taking in her beauty and graceful actions.

Hey Nia, I have a 'special request' or Two, if you don't mind.

She looked at him for a moment, studying his serious facial expression. Was she wrong about him? Was he about to make some lewd suggestive comment or request?

Okay, what do you need? She replied slowly. 

Well, I'd kinda like to ask about that picture you mentioned. Where did you see it? He said.

She sighed slightly and relaxed, relieved he wasn't like some of the other men she had run into here in the diner.

Oh, that. Okay, come with me. I will show you.

He stood as she picked up his dishes, and gladly followed her, as he got to watch her backside all the way.

Oh, and nix the 5'5" height. She'd be lucky if she squeaked out an even 5 foot.

They went through the kitchen door, then she nodded off to one side into the small office. Nia dumped the dishes in the sink then returned and pointed to the wall beside the desk.

There. That's the picture.

Tommy's breath caught and a lump came up in his throat. It was a picture of Ken, Tommy, Tammy, ...and Susan fucking Williams. How did he ever forget her crazy selfish ass?

The picture was taken on the night he had been thinking of a little while ago. It was Junior Prom. They were all just 16 years old.

The picture was taken by Ms. Becky, using an old 35 mm insta-matic camera. One of MANY she snapped before they left for the event.

Susan wore a 'New York's finest fashions" sequined evening gown. In all honesty, she looked HOT. But she had spent so much time bitching to high heaven, and had so adamantly and flatly refused to agree to or follow along with the plans that the other Three people in the group wanted to do, that Tommy hadn't cared Two shits what she wore.

And truth known, she had worn that dress out of pure spite. An effort to thumb her nose at the Three and flaunt her daddy's money in their faces.

Even without having wads of cash to throw at a single nights clothing, the other Three were still dressed pretty good. Odd, but nice.

Tammy looked like a glamorous B-Western heroine in her skirt and fancy western blouse, complete with western boots and cowboy hat. She had looked VERY 'edible' that night. A teen guy's dream date, at least for Ken.

Too bad he wasn't even on her radar, or she on his.

Ken and Tommy looked like a cross between a Mariachi band and Marty Stuart impersonators in their classic country & western style suits, complete with all the fancy stitching and sequins on the jackets.

Their Black Resistol hats were the only thing they had dropped any serious money on, and