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Date Posted: 14:11:40 06/29/99 Tue
Author: Bishop, Mofofunk, Pike, Wing & Paladin
Subject: Blood Under The Sun, Chapter One continued
In reply to: Bishop, Mofo, Pike, Wing & Paladin 's message, "Blood Under The Sun, Chapter One: A Gathering of Eagles" on 14:06:15 06/29/99 Tue

A Dry Morning

Early the next day, as the sun just began to slide over the tips of the mesas that broke up the horizon, Pike and Bishop were conversing over a couple cups of coffee in some weak excuse for the greasy spoon species of diner. The coffee was pale and watery and nearly tasteless, but neither of the men was thinking about coffee or even the scrambled eggs and chunky sausage they were waiting for. Pike blew a whiff of steam off of the top of his cup and leaned in towards Bishop. He took a long sip by bringing the cup to his lips and leaning forward so that he could keep his eyes on Bishop.

'So. Do you have something against staying alive? Some sort of aversion to your own well being? Perhaps you’re allergic to getting a clue. Why the hell did you jump into the middle of that crowd? You, a goddamn black man of all people, should know what an angry mob can do....'

Bishop chuckled softly. He was sprawled all the way across the bench seat he was sitting in, bruises and a few gashes scattered around what parts of his body weren't covered by his clothes. He had been single minded about giving his target the beating of his life but he hadn't come out unscathed. Smiling, Bishop also leaned forward.

'The real question is, Pike, why weren't you right there next to me. You're not a well man, that's obvious. I saw the way your eyes lit up when I mentioned the opportunity to break multiple bones. You've hurt people and enjoyed it in the past, why not defend yourself now?'

Pike's eyes widened and his face drained of blood at those words. He settled back into the bench, seemed to shrink in on himself. He mumbled something unintelligible.

'What was that?' asked Bishop, thinking that perhaps Pike had been caught by fear and was embarrassed. Especially after his earlier outburst about having been 'around the block.' However, when Pike looked at him, Bishop was taken aback and realized it was something deeper. Much deeper.

'What ... what if they were right? I mean, maybe it was really me that killed Pete. God, I ... I always told the boy about how I'd been a vig... How I'd stopped, stopped for him... He'd always say, you know, he'd say: 'Come on Pops, you were great! You helped people! You did more than my first dad ever did!' I always told him that was wrong, but he musta wanted to, you know, follow me... Do good or some other useless shit... So he joined the army... And now he's dead.' Pike looked down, filled with shame.

Bishop, unsure of just what to say, simply sat silently for a few seconds. Then, in a low yet clear voice, he said, amazement thick in his tone: 'Pops? I thought Samms was your brother.'

Pike shook his head side to side, a wistful smile on his face. 'Nope...' and then he told him the whole, real story of how he's saved Pete and Pete only from that small town, how he'd done his best to raise the kid... The good times, the bad... Finishing with how it was his fault that Samms was dead. '... Maybe, maybe I could have done a better job somehow...' Bishop took it all in, then said one word: 'Bullshit.'

'Look, man, you did the best job you could. You know, that kid looked up to you, and having a kid you raise, even - or maybe especially - partway, want to be like you is just natural. The fact that he interpreted being like you as doing good just proves it more. You gotta let go. It was his choice, and his alone to join the army. You did a good job raising him, but the hardest part is admitting he's his own man. What Simon Thane did ain’t got a goddamn thing to do with it.'

Bishop took a deep breath. The breakfast arrived, and the men began to eat, thoughtfully. Finally, Bishop finished off his latest bite of toast and leaned closer to Pike. 'See the guy over there-' he indicated a direction by nodding his head '-? That’s the one that was driving that Bushmaster yesterday. Pike nodded.

'Already saw him. Perhaps we should have a chat with him.' As they began to get up, Pike reached out and put his hand on Bishop's shoulder. 'And Bishop...'

'Yeah?' the other man said, confused.

'Thanks.'


Bishop and Pike made their way to where the man was eating his food and having a conversation with himself. They stood there for a moment, waiting for him to acknowledge their presence and look up. Both men eyed each other as the man continued talking to himself at length about the merits and flaws of the 2-egg breakfast he was wolfing down at the moment.

'Yes, yes, I think you're right. The eggs DO have a nice balance between fluffy and thick, and the bacons consistency is just chewy enough to make an impression, but not so crispy that it tastes like eating fried charcoal...on the other hand, the breakfast you had at the truckstop outside of Vegas 2 years ago was THE BEST....yes, it was good, but you ALWAYS bring up that truckstop. Aren't there any other places that you've ever had breakfast that you like?.....Well, that was a truly sublime and excellent breakfast.....Okay, that’s a good point...' He continued eating, humming a tune. Bishop and Pike looked at each other again, then shrugged. Bishop spoke first.

'Hey, pal, mind if we have a word with you?' The man didn't look up from his meal when he responded.

'As long as it has nothing to do with that girl back in El Paso, then sure. And if it does, she never told me she had a boyfriend, and I really didn't mean to shoot him in the head with that sniper rifle....'

'Uh, no, we don't care about any of that,' Pike said, keeping his voice as even as possible. 'We were just wondering why you saved our bacon in front of Roosters Roadhouse yesterday.' The guy just looked up at them with a dazzling smile.

'Speaking of bacon, the bacon here is SEN-Sational! Have you tried it?' Bishop looked as though he were fighting to keep his face calm as he replied.

'Yes, its great, but if you don't stop talking like a crazy person, I'm going to have no choice but to throw away your breakfast.' And with one swift move, Bishop snatched the plate away from the man and held it at arms length from him. The man looked up and fixed Bishop with an icy stare.

'Mister, I've killed people for doing less then touching my food. So unless you want to step outside and dance, do the smart thing and put the plate back on the table.' Bishop raised his eyebrow.

'You tell me why you helped us, and I'll give you back your food. Hell, I'll even pay the check, but you better start making with the answers, or the only mouth this plate will ever see again is the one on a trash can. So spill the beans, amigo.' The man kept glaring at him, then he dropped his gaze.

'The names MofoFunk. I'm a friend of The Wingnut; he asked me to keep track of you, make sure you stayed out of trouble.' Mofo looked at the plate. 'Could I have my food now, please?'
Bishop lowered the plate back to the table. Pike was giving him an odd look.

'The Wingnut....name sure sounds familiar. Doesn't he run with some creeper gang, guys called Hells Finest or something....? You know that guy?' Bishop, lost in thought, nodded.

'Yeah. He got me the info on Thane.' He looked down at MofoFunk. 'Why did Wing ask you to do that?' Mofo shrugged.

'I don't know, man. He just did. Said something about how you nearly got killed in Bangkok and needed him to watch your back, or something...' Bishop smiled.

'Bangkok. Son-of-a-bitch. Okay, that's cool.' Pike now looked more confused then ever.

'Bangkok? What the hell were you and Wing doing in Bangkok?' Bishop smiled.

'That's a long story...' Mofo looked up.

'I'd like to hear this story too, man. Wing always plays it so close to his chest, it's be nice to hear a bit more about the guy....' Bishop and Pike looked at each other, then sat down. Bishop lit up another cigarette (Damn, thought Pike, He sure smokes a lot) and started talking.

'Well, it really started in the middle of a job the day before we were in Bangkok.' Bishop took a long drag, then exhaled.

'Wing' and I were flying a C-54, that's a government DC-4, for The Company out of Guam. Huge load of crap, ammo, so forth. Our flight engineer was a native Cambodian. The Company liked to mix and match crews to look a bit more like a legit op, you know, small startup airline. It's a good thing the airport cops never inspected us by surprise, because we were always carrying dope or something like that mixed in with the guns and other crap.'

Bishop took another drag, leaned back against the booth's plastic and sparkle vinyl seatback, and exhaled smoke and words.

'At any rate, this Cambodian didn't talk much. Did his job, watched all the gauges, commo'ed with the air bosses and ATC and that was about it. Kind of a shady character. Never talked unless he had to, didn't make eye contact when he DID talk, and never had anything but the task at hand to talk about. Chairman Mao would have hung medals on this guy with eagerness. A real worker. This guy was just fine, we'd been flying freight and bigwigs all over S.E.A., that's Southeast Asia, for more than a month with him without a hitch. Then he starts acting weird. I mean, not weird like a normal person would act weird, he just suddenly got friendly. Opened right up. Started cracking jokes, good ones, too. Told us about his wife and kids, asked us about our lives, marital status, and so forth. This was WEIRD behavior for a guy that before hardly ever uttered a word. After about three hours of this, he says he's going to take a nap and goes into the cargo bay.

Singer took yet another drag, flicked ashes into the horseshoe-shaped ashtray by the window, and continued talking.

'Wing and I didn't know what to think. He just kind of shrugged it off, and we kept heading for Iwo. About an hour later something went BANG' - Bishop shouted the word loud enough to turn heads in the entire joint - 'in the back and the guy came running up front with a gun. He had this wild-eyed look, and I thought we'd had it right there. He told us to fly to North Vietnam or die. Obviously, you can't do that with two hours' fuel left and NV six hours away. We told him we'd have to land at Iwo and fuel up or we'd die anyway. He gets real mean, tells us that if we even blink funny he's going to plug us both and fly the damn plane himself. The funny thing is, I think he would've. We touch and go at Iwo, fuel up really fast and hightail it out of there. Two hours out of Ho Chi Minh City, the guy tells us to get on the deck and firewall it to Thailand. Well, you don't argue with a guy that's holding an AK to your head no matter how weird he's being, so we ended up in Bangkok. We land; the guy makes us taxi into this hangar, and then tells us we're going to be executed as enemies of the People's Republic of North Vietnam. As this point Wing's getting real antsy, like blow an o-ring antsy, and just goes freaking berserk. Screams his head off, jumps out of the left seat, and before the guy gets the gun off of me and onto him, Wing's got both fists in this guy's face, and the Cambodian dude's putting holes all over the cockpit trying to plug at least one of us. They both fall over, the guy somehow gets the gun under Wing's chin, and I grab the fire extinguisher off the bulkhead and throw it right at the gook's head. BAM!' -heads turned again - 'hit him dead center, snapped his neck and send blood all over the place. Couldn't believe it, almost like divine intervention.'

Bishop exhaled loudly, took another drag in the cigarette, and slouched deeper into the booth.

'So that's what we were doing in Bangkok.'

The entire restaurant was silent. Pike and Mofo were looking at Bishop as though he had just suggested they all sing the national anthem naked and then play a few innings of baseball. Bishop, lost in thought, was staring out at the desert. In the distance, thunderheads were rolling in over the landscape, casting the sun in that ultra-bright glare that always comes right before a hard rain. Mofo was the first to break the silence.

'You know, if I didn't know Wing', I'd thing you had just lost your mind, buddy. But I have to say, that sounds like the kind of thing he'd be neck deep in the middle of.' Bishop shrugged.

'It was what it was. I'm no better or worse because of it.' He stood, dropped some money on the table. 'Well, Pike and I need to be hitting the road. I have some people I need to go see. You tell Wing thanks for keeping an eye out, and if he wants to join the party he's welcome to. Something tells me he's got other things on his mind, however.' He looked at the short man, who, even after a night at the Motel 13, looked as haggard as ever. 'Jesus, Pike, do you always look like boiled shit in the morning?' Pike gave him a dirty look.

'Fuck you, man.' Bishop looked at Mofo.

'What about you, Mr. Funk? You interested in joining the posse for revenge? Guaranteed lots of violence, death, maybe a little torture...should be fun.' Mofo gave him an odd look.

'I dunno, Bishop. That thing you and the Wingnut did.... That a regular type occurrence in your life?' Bishop laughed.

'Mofo, that kind of thing happens to me all the time. You ever hear that ancient Chinese curse, 'may you live in interesting times?' Well, this girl I dated met her while on assignment in Hong Kong, actually.... Well, she and I had a falling out, and, well, that was the last thing she said to me. Ever since then.... What a nightmare.' He shook his head, lost in reverie. 'Anyway, if you wanna join up, you're welcome to. But its gonna be dangerous. The guy we're going after, he plays for keeps.' Mofo just smiled at him.

'Bishop, I gotta come along. I want to see what happens to you next! I've never had the opportunity to travel with a guy who was cursed before! This is gonna be great! Hold on, let me go take care of the check. I'll be back in a flash.' Mofo walked across the restaurant to a mild-mannered looking man in glasses who seemed to be trying to sink into his chair as the outlaw approached. Pike turned to Bishop once Mofo was out of earshot.

'Great. You're letting a certified loony-tune come along on this thing, and the only reasons he wants to join us is because he's insanely curious to see what happens to you next? Isn't that just a tad on the side of INSANITY?'

'Hey, Pike, you know what Sir Edmund Hillary said when he was asked why he wanted to climb Mount Everest?' Pike shook his head. 'His reply was, 'Because it is there.' Some of the craziest ventures that have ever happened have been based on a whim. If my continued state of cursed existence gives this guy a boner, and that means one more live body-and well armored car-to catch the lead that will inevitably fly, then I'm all for him joining the party.' Mofo finished talking to the guy, then came back to his table, dropped a dollar, and looked at Pike and Bishop, an eager smile on his face.

'Okay, Villa, lets ride!' He started out of the restaurant. Bishop and Pike reluctantly followed. As he was nearing the door, the waitress, Dolly, called out to him.

'Hey, hey pal!' Mofo spun around. 'You forgot to pay for your breakfast!' Mofo pointed at the man he had spoken with, and gave him an even, expressionless stare.

'Uh, no, no miss, he didn't,' the man stammered. 'Just, uh, just add it to my bill, please. Thank you.' He went back to his impression of the Invisible Man. Mofo smiled, waved, and started doing the hustle out the door. Pike gave Bishop a look of exasperation. Bishops face reflected his sudden doubt as well.

'On the other hand, having a guy who might or might not be certifiable could present a problem...' They walked out into the lowering sky.


**************

The dusty town of Miller, New Mexico had no real history to speak of; the only noteworthy thing about it was the fact that, in June of 1916, Pancho Villa and his bandits had staged a raid on the border town with the intent of pillaging it for supplies. Unfortunately, they were met by a surprise contingent of American soldiers. The Battle At Millers Creek, as it came to be known, was written as an American Victory, and rightly so: 5 Americans lost their lives, and 15 more were injured, to the nearly 50 Mexicans killed and 300 wounded. Beyond that, Miller had quietly stayed out of the path of history. It had sent its sons to both World Wars and to Korea, where they returned with honor, distinction, and even a few medals. They had even sent them to a little known country named Vietnam, where they had fought and bled and died with honor, then returned to a world that didn't want them. Miller, though, accepted all of its returning sons, the ones in uniform, the ones in wheelchairs, and the ones in caskets, always with a little bit of ceremony and standard small town gossip.

Today, though, one of its sons was returning incognito, which was his intention. Though the Royale was brand new, it was painted an unassuming shade of blue. Though it was armed, there was nothing obtrusive about the weapons; the driver was very intent on not drawing any attention to himself. At least, not yet.

The car parked in front of The Sheriffs office, the man exiting and walking into the small liquor store next door. As he did, he saw three more cars, a Clydesdale, a Stag, and a Bushmaster, all with Mexican plates, pull up and park in front of the movie theatre across the street. He smiled to himself. Right on time, he thought. This should go off without a hitch. In his minds eye, he saw the other cars all pulling into position: Two cars at the three officer border checkpoint. One car at the bridge over Millers Creek, swollen with the spring rain run-off. Four out at The Westerner, the only bar in the area where Vigilantes were welcome. Two at the small radio station that had been playing tinny Country and Western music for as long as he could remember. And finally, 5 at the real prize, the railway station on the south edge of town, one of 2 places in the state where train traffic into and out of Mexico was regulated by a miniscule staff of 5 people. He remembered planning the operation in the hacienda with The General, listening as the Intelligence Chief had outlined the plan, and named two possible towns for the operation, and the thrill he'd had when his old hometown was dropped in his lap like a surprise gift. He had responded immediately that Miller was their target, and The General had confirmed it without a second thought. He couldn't afford to be wrong, not with the money he's shelling out for this shindig, the man thought. Not to mention the incredible risks being taken in his name. But it only has to work for a week, he thought. After that, things will be fine. More than fine; The General will have what he wants, and I'll be so deep inside his organization that when The Boss drops the axe, we'll have those bastards by the huevos.... He smiled even wider at the thought.

He glanced at his watch; 3 minutes until noon, the inception point. High Noon, all bets were off. The smile sliding away, he remembered watching Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly fight the bad guys in the movie theatre across the street. He'd rooted for the bad guys, but they never won. The girl he'd been with, Amanda MacReady, she hadn't liked that at all. They'd only been 10, but from that afternoon to the day he had left the town for the last time to go to army basic training, they had never spoken another word to each other, or more specifically, she'd never spoken another word to him, though he had tried to talk to her on more then one occasion. Well, today the bad guys were going to win, although bad and good were all really dependent on your point of view. Hmm... Amanda MacReady. Maybe after the fireworks were over, he'd have to pay her a visit. He found himself liking that idea.

He looked at his watch again. 1 minute left. He pulled a six-pack of Cola from the large refrigerator and glanced around the store. Aside from the bored looking young woman behind the counter, there were a few other people inside; a pair of young teenage girls, laughing and joking; a man dressed in mechanic garb, thumbing through a nudie magazine, and a genuine cowboy, down to the hat on his head, the chaps on his legs, and the blued steel 6-shooter on his belt. He dawdled a bit, then walked up to the counter with the sodas in his left hand. Out the window, he could see dark clouds rolling in to drop more of the seasonal torrential rain on the town. Perfect, he thought to himself. As he stepped up to the counter, his watch reached 12. Across the street, the 3 carloads of armed men rushed into their assigned targets. Nobody in the town had the slightest hint of what was about to happen. On the radio, the DJ was talking about the latest debate between Carter and Reagan.

Simon Thane smiled at the clerk, put the sodas on the counter with his left hand, and with his right, drew the .44 Magnum he'd hidden under his jacket. 'Howdy,' he said to the young woman’s astonished face, the last thing she would ever hear.

Far off, there was the sound of thunder.

SPLAT.

SPLAT.

SPLAT, SPLAT SPLAT.

Big heavy raindrops sounded on the windshields, roofs, and hoods of the three cars. The man in the Bushmaster was leading the other two, riding in between both lanes.

'Man, this acting like I'm a loony thing isn't as hard as I thought,' Mofo smiled to himself.

The three cars headed southwest, into the storm, which, by the minute was getting worse.

'I guess I gotta keep it up though, don't want to confuse them any more just yet... but OHHHH, that Wing', he is gonna owe me big time! Yeah, maybe some new rims for the Wonkanator...' Mofo thought out loud. He began to hum his favorite tune, tapping his hands wildly on his steering wheel to the beat.

Bishop stared ahead at the Bushmaster taillights, weaving to and fro.

'What in the hell is that crazy doing?' Bishop glanced out his rear windshield at Pike, only to see a greatly distorted image of a rainwashed Palomino behind him.

The rain was coming down like liquid boulders now, the sides of the asphalt road, now long muddy lakes. But the three cars pushed on, speeding through the storm torrent.

***

Many miles ahead, in the muddy hills of New Mexico. Thane and his posse had taken the whole town of Miller hostage. 4 people were already dead. A clerk, a cowboy, and two officers.

Simon Thane leaned back in a chair and sighed. He had gathered most of the townspeople together in the small makeshift train station. But this isn't the way he wanted it to go. The inches of falling rain had impeded almost all of the vehicles that Thane had arranged.

'Damnit...' Thane gruffed softly to himself.

He thought of what he was going to do next. How to get everything straightened out. Some of Thane's men were getting antsy. And he knew that if any of them blew this now, and operation slipped up, The General would have is head on a platter. He looked down at his boots and sighed again, his demented mind racing...

What Thane didn't know, is that Bishop Singer, the man he thought he had taken care of, the man he had killed when those helicopters went down, was only miles away, speeding along the wet asphalt.

***

The Bushmaster, Hermes, and Palomino glided through the rain, picking up some speed as the weather was beginning to let up.

Bishop looked to his right, wiping away some steam that had formed on the inside of his windshield. He slowed down just enough to make out what the billboard said as he passed it...

He repeated it out loud to himself in a whisper, 'Welcome to New Mexico.'

******

Bishop’s first sign of trouble was when the taillights on the Bushmaster ahead of him lit up and the ugly orange vehicle started sliding across the road. Without thinking, he engaged the weapons and started watching the radar. A quick glance in the rearview revealed Pike was on his same wavelength. He started slowing down and moved to the right to clear Bishop from his field of fire. As both cars slowed to a halt, Bishop picked up his CB and called to the others.

'Bishop to Knight, Bishop to Knight, come in, what’s the delay, over,' he said, scanning the roadside for any possible hostiles. He didn't see how anyone could get out of the mud in the side of road unless they were driving a car with a bulldozer's' suspension and tires. Nevertheless, he remained alert and ready for trouble.

'Uh, Knight to Bishop and Rook, Knight to Bishop and Rook, you guys are out of luck, over.' Without a second thought, Bishop locked his weapons on the vehicle in front of him. Mofo had sold them out. His mind started racing. They'd passed a turnoff 7 miles back, if he spun around and floored it, they might make it there...but what if he had reinforcements waiting? He tried to size up the situation as he responded, doing his best to keep his apprehension out of his voice.

'Come again, Knight? Don't understand what you mean, over.' His fingers hovered over the trigger, his 3 7.62s ready to cut through the Bushmaster like a can opener. He thought really hard in Pike’s direction to be ready for action.

'Bishop, Rook, we have a bridge out, repeat, the bridge has been washed away into the river here, and I don't think you guys can fly across like me, so you're outta luck, over.' Bishop sighed. Shaking his head, he picked up the mike and responded.

'Knight, you need to work on your phrasing, you nearly got filled with lead, over.' Before Mofo could reply, Pike’s voice came from the speaker.

'Roger that, Knight. I was ready to send a few rockets up your keister, over.' Bishop shook his head in amazement as Mofo laughed into his mike.

'No worries, boys. I can't die, didn't you know that? I'm invincible. Yeah, I bought this potion from a woman in a traveling circus about 15 years ago, and since then, I've never had a scratch. So don't worry about me.' Bishop shook his head.

'Ah, roger that, Knight. In the meantime, we need to find an alternate way to Mescalero. If we can't take 62 because the bridge over the Pecos is out, we're going to need to find another route, over.' He picked up his map and started perusing it, tracing a possible route with his fingers.

'No problem, Bishop,' Pikes voice responded. If we had back to that turnoff about 7 miles back, we can head up to Artesia and take 82 out to Alamogordo. From there, Mescalero is only 30, 35 miles away. By the way, who do you know on the Reservation, over?' Bishop was surprised, then remembered what Pete Samms had said.

'Roger that, Rook. I keep forgetting that you know this state really well. Go ahead and lead the way, over.' He chuckled to himself, dropping the car into reverse. What a wacky little band they had.

continued in Chapter Two: Ghosts around the Fire

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