Luther's Wars

Just a bit.

But enough.

She felt almost joyful as a surge of hate and rage washed through her.

Duke's crude snicker stretched and twisted as Mae suddenly let herself fall, one hand grabbing the fore stock of the shotgun, the other closing on the double triggers as she twisted deliberately.

The sudden thundering blast of the shotgun shocked everyone into a horrible moment of ringing silence.

The butt of the shotgun, driven back brutally by the dual discharge of the twelve-gauge shells, slammed into Roy's groin. He doubled over, breath exploding out in a wheezing attempt at a scream of pain.

Staggering back one step, then another, Duke made a breathless burble. An oddly weak cough sent a fine mist of blood to hang the air.

Hands clutching mindlessly at the massive blossoming crimson stains across his midsection, Duke dropped to his knees, then slowly collapsed forward with fitful fading gasps.

"Goddammit!" Agent Cooper looked toward Mae and began to draw his revolver.

There are rules to life. Rules for basic survival. Things that men have learned over thousands and tens of thousands of years.

Beware of lions. Leopards lurk in the tall grass. Crocodiles wait at the river's edge.

Never step on a snake.

And never, ever, take your eyes off a fuckin' McCabe.

Luther rolled and in one quicksilver motion, snatched the hatchet out of the kindling bucket and twisted to slam it right through Agent Cooper's polished dress shoe into the floor.

A howl of pain erupted from the agent, and he lost his grip on the revolver. He fumbled for a moment, then finally felt his fingers close on the handle again, only to have it yanked from his grasp.

Luther's snarling face nearly filled Agent Cooper's vision as Luther was somehow, in some way, standing half hunched over, seemingly more animal than man. He moved in a horrible flicker, a wickedly long blade almost the color of dried blood appearing in his hand as if by magic.

Cooper's scream cut off abruptly, and he looked down at his chest. Luther was already drawing the blood-covered blade back from under his rib cage.

Roy struggled to straighten up, his face a mask of pain. Mae wrenched the empty shotgun away from him and launched it across the room, just as he shoved her roughly to the ground.

Even as the darkness closed over his vision, Cooper saw McCabe spin away backwards, weirdly graceful, flipping the blade into a reverse grip in one liquid motion then slamming it to the hilt into Roy's temple without even looking. A corner of what was left of Cooper's mind oddly registered the tip of the bowie jutting from Roy's other temple.

Footsteps sounded on the porch. Luther yanked the hatchet from Cooper's pinned foot, a single smooth moment almost too fast to register.

The door popped open, and the driver stepped in.

Just one step. He crumpled a fraction of a second later, the hatchet buried in his forehead.

Luther noted the gun dropping from the man's hand and frowned that the man had lied to him.

Mae pulled herself to her feet, her expression cold as stone as she watched all four men slowly fade away, candles guttering out.

She smiled, a slight, almost wicked smile, at Luther for the long moment it took him to catch his breath and straighten up. He checked each body for signs of life, shaking his head. "I guess we need to do something about this mess."

*****Thirty minutes later, as she watched Duke's boot heel finally slip under the surface of the foulness of the outhouse pit, Mae took a deep breath. "Serves 'em right. Shoulda known better. Goin' after a McCabe."

Luther studied on her for a long moment. "Three McCabes. They went after three of us." He gently reached out and touched Mae's stomach with his fingertips. Her breath caught in her throat for a moment.

"Three McCabes." Mae said it with an odd, tentative feel, testing the way it sounded. She smiled ever so slowly, hesitant but hopeful.

"Three." Luther reached over and Mae slipped her hand into his.

*****

Ratanakiri Province, Cambodia

"Christ, McCabe, thought we lost you back there. We need to keep moving. No air support allowed here."

PFC McCabe slung his CAR-15 and grabbed Squelch's radio pack to help him to his feet. "Just takin' care of business, Sarn't."

"Can't get a bird here. Closest LZ is six klicks dead East. Just over the border. Charlie is gonna be all over us in less than a klick."

McCabe gave an evil smile. "Nah, Charlie's got problems of his own."

Even as they started their push through the jungle, a series of flashes were followed by sharp explosions thundering from the south and McCabe's smile widened. "They shouldn't a left their shit layin' around; some asshole mighta boobytrapped it all."

Three ringing blasts shattered the air, only slightly muffled by the intervening jungle, the distinctive sound of claymore mines with their lethal fragments shearing through the jungle, followed by almost inhuman screams.

"And they shoulda stayed off the trail."

Behind them, the noise grew distant, but more explosions kept fracturing the humid air. A particularly large blast made Staff Sergeant Estrada pause and look back. "What the hell was that?

"If'n I was bettin' man, I'd say it was that supply truck full of rockets they had ways back."

"A snake couldn't have gotten to that through all those men."

"I reckon one did, Sarn't."

Estrada chuckled. "You got your bug bombs ready?"

Watching Squelch stumble forward, McCabe readied his sawed-off M79 grenade launcher and fed one of his own handmade flechette rounds into it. "If they get close, I'll keep 'em off our back."

The series of explosions rolled on for a long moment. Estrada shook his head. "C'mon, Snake, let's get out of here."

"Just you wait til the next mission Sarn't. Got myself some pure evil ideas."

"Hell, I'm starting to wonder if you sold your soul to the Devil."

"Lucifer wouldn't take it. Been told, he said us McCabes are too damn much trouble once we get down there. 'Fraid we'll take over."

Estrada chuckled. "I believe it. Either way, you aren't going on the next mission. The captain said we have a slot at RECONDO school we can send you to. Charlie needs a break from you."

McCabe grinned as an enormous roiling orange ball of fire rolled up into the sky. He'd been wondering when that fuel truck would go up.

*****

Mark's Steakhouse, Jefferson City Missouri

*****

"You Big Bill Cooper?"

Big Bill looked up from his steak. "If you know to ask that, you know who am."

Luther McCabe sat down without asking and waved to the waitress. "Just some black coffee, no sugar. Me and the Man here got some talking to do."

"Who the fuck are you?" Bill put his fork and knife down.

"Name's Luther McCabe. I figure your brother told you about me." He held up his hand as Bill's eyes flickered to the door of the steakhouse. "Don't worry none about your boys. They're still alive. Just a might uncomfortable in the trunk of that Caddie of yours. I'm not here to start a brawl, just trying to get everything laid to rest."

"Where's my brother?"

"He's gone, and he ain't comin' back." Luther shook his head. "Took everything personal-like and got unreasonable."

"You're a fucking dead man."

"Might be. But I heard tell you didn't even like your brother."

"Family is family."

"Don't I know it, but that kinda thing is for backwood hicks like me." Luther gave a low chuckle. "I thought you were a businessman."

"I am a businessman."

"Then why would you be wanting to be acting like a fool? Your brother was killin' all kinds of people. No reason for it. That wasn't good business."

Big Bill stared at Luther. "That wasn't my call. He was handling that end."

"Sure, I get it. Everybody's gotta have a job. But you ain't stupid; you know he was out of control. So he started a war, and he got a likin' for it. He'd a got killed or he'd a been caught sooner or later by the police, be all over the news. Better he just disappears, doncha think?"

Bill shifted. "I'm not gonna let that happen."

"See what I mean? That's not a businessman talking. Think about it. What's all this shit cost you already? Just one of those trucks had more 'shine than my whole family coulda made in fifty years. It was nasty shit, but there was a helluva lot of it, and you had buyers. You a businessman or not?"

Both men paused as the waitress put a cup of coffee in front of Luther and backed away cautiously.

Bill grimaced. "I want my money back."

"People in Hell want ice water too, Boss. Cost a' doing business, and you know it. 'Sides, you can make that up."

"That money was going to some serious people."

Luther looked thoughtful. "Serious people. Politicians or mob boys then. Y'all only had two guards out there, so I'm guessin' some political boys. Unless you got yerself a death wish."

Bill stared at him coldly. "I want my money back."

"You're startin' to repeat yourself. We already had that discussion. I think you'd be better off droppin' that."

"It's not your choice."

Luther sighed and blew out a long breath. "No, you're right, it isn't. It's your choice if'n you wanna keep going down this road. But here's the thing: you got shit all over the place. You have trucks driving hundreds of miles. All the way to Memphis and Nashville, out to the Rez in Oklahoma. All those big stills in warehouses and basements. You can't protect everything all the time, and I got all the time in the world. I learned that from Charlie. How much are you willing to lose? You lost five trucks already. A couple of those stills had ten-thousand-gallon mash tanks. That big one just south of here, in the old warehouse? Hell, that had to have three of those mash tanks. And it won't be just me. A lotta those old boys out there wouldn't risk killin' a revenuer, but now that it's just another feud with another old hillbilly? Shit, they're oilin' up those rifles already."

"I've dealt with shit like that before."

"Bull-shit. You ain't never pissed off everyone at once before, or you wouldn't be here. How long you think it'll take afore some old son drags out his ought-six deer rifle and puts a hole in your head from five hundred yards? They know who you are." Luther leaned forward. "Right now, they're blamin' your brother. Let it go, Hoss. If you don't, this ends bad for you."

Big Bill Cooper pursed his lips. "What do you want?"

"Stay outta our shit. There's more people wantin' 'shine than there is 'shine to sell. Leavin' us alone won't make much difference in price, and you damn well know it. How much more can you grow anyways? You're buyin' protection, but there's a limit. If the big boys in Saint Louis and KC see you as a threat, they'll push back, and you'll be in a world of hurt."

"I can handle myself."

"Out here, sure. You're a big fish out here. But them Italian and Irish boys got a lotta guns. Hell, the bottom of the Mississippi is full of guys who thought they could handle them."

Bill sat silent for a long moment, and Luther pushed on. "I ain't gonna hold you responsible for your brother lessen' ya make me. But if you push me, I'll end ya."

"He had a son."

"Best you tell him he had himself a fatal accident. Be better for everyone."

Luther waited for an answer, but none came. He slowly stood up. "We don't need to talk again. I see any a your'n down there, I'll assume you sent 'em, and I will bring pure hell on you. So you be clear as fuck on that with your boys."

He tossed three twenties on the table. "Your treat, Bill."

*****

McCabe Farm. Devil's Hollow, Missouri

*****

"Sheriff. What can I do for ya?"

"Luther." Jeb gestured to the two men in suits, standing cautiously back from the porch. "These gentlemen have a few questions for you."

One held up a leather case with an ID of some kind in it. Luther didn't bother to look at it, just staring at the man in silence.

"Senior Special Agent Michaelson. FBI." He gestured at the other man. "This is Agent Richards, Internal Revenue Service. Internal Affairs."

Luther waited.

"We have some questions concerning your confrontation with Agent Cooper."

"You should probably ask him about it then."

The FBI agent frowned slightly. "We want your side of things."

"The man's got no sense of humor. Just one of those guys that's angry all the time."

"So maybe you can tell us about his issue with you in the parking lot."

"Man thought I was carryin' moonshine, but I just had me a skunk I'd trapped. He pretty much lost his ever-lovin' mind."

"Can you tell us about it?"

"He got sprayed, lost his temper, and shot up my car. It's a miracle nobody got hit."

"That's all?"

"You should ask him about it."

Sheriff Posey gave a snort. "Seems they're having trouble finding him...and there are some irregularities in his behavior."

The FBI agent suppressed a grimace. "We're just trying to clear up some details."

"Like bank records, daily reports..."--the sheriff rolled his eyes--"and associations with members of criminal organizations. Maybe even some physical evidence linking him to the bomb that killed Robert Parker."

Luther stretched lazily. "Y'all thinkin' he was bent? Maybe ran off to Mexico when he found out you was lookin'?"

A look of frank irritation flashed across the agent's face. "Do you have any idea where Agent Cooper might be?"

"I can't rightly say. Seems like the kinda guy who'd maybe get himself into some deep shit."

Mae stepped out onto the porch behind Luther and gave a thin half-smile to the agents. "I'd invite y'all in. Try to be polite and all, but I don't want no revenuers in my house. Takes forever to get the smell out, ya know?"

"Matilda Mae Parker?"

"Green. I was married to Custis Green for a few hours. I'm guessin' you know who that is."

The FBI agent's eyes narrowed. "Custis Green? Agent Cooper reported rumors that a man named McCabe may have been involved in his death."

Mae's lips tightened, whitening. "If you're thinking I'd be keeping company with my husband's murderer, you're a goddamn fool. I was born a Parker. Feuds and fighting are in our blood." She touched her stomach. "Custis fathered this baby. I wouldn't ever let him be dishonored like that."

She gripped Luther's hand tightly with her own and fell silent.

Luther shook his head. "Y'all are upsettin' my girl here, and she's expectin' so I'm gonna have to ask all y'all to leave, lessen' you got some charges or something." He looked up the road for a moment. "Besides, Flora and Irene are comin' over for dinner and we only have enough four of us..." He glanced down at Mae's stomach. "Five of us."

Sheriff Posey turned to the two agents. "I'm thinking y'all can let me know if you need to talk with Luther or Mae in the future."

Luther and Mae were still holding hands as they watched the cars pull away.

*****

Outside the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. Waikiki Beach, O'ahu

*****

Mae leaned back and stretched a bit. The sun felt amazing on her bare stomach.

Luther gave her a half smile from his beach chair. "You want another drink?"

She eyed her empty pineapple. "I could use another a' these. What'd they call it?"

"A piña colada."

Five minutes later, she took a long slow draw of the cold rum, pineapple and coconut mixture through the bamboo straw. "Good Lord in Heaven, that is good."

Luther nodded.

She raised her left hand and looked at the wedding ring set on it. "You know, nobody'll believe a rock this size is real. I thought that jewelry store man was gonna faint when you gave him that bundle of cash."

She trailed off in a soft giggle.

"What else we gonna do with all that money? It's more than twenty years' worth of workin'."

Mae frowned sourly. "We got a house, we gotta car and a truck and set up for a big ol' garden. Don't want much else."

"We just live our life. Throw a few extra dollars in the bank every month; go on vacations once in a while. You sure you're okay with that?"

Mae eyed him, a sharp glint of humor in her eyes. "You an' I? We're gonna have a bunch a kids. Like a dozen. Be too busy with them to act all rich and crazy."

"That sounds sensible."

Mae leaned back and closed her eyes for a moment. "You think Big Bill will stop?"

"I think Big Bill knows this has cost him too much money already. May have to deal with him someday, but not anytime soon. Them revenuers will keep sniffin' around, though. They seemed a might put out that their man went missin' like that."

Mae shrugged. "Revenuers are always sniffin' around. That ain't ever changed." She gave a slight, thoughtful frown. "Maybe we oughta get a dog."

"What kind of dog?'

"Something big." She touched her stomach. "Something good with kids. But for sure, a really big dog."

Luther reached over and took her hand, then put his sunglasses on and leaned back, closing his eyes.

*****

Ban Me Thuot East Airfield, Republic of Vietnam

Captain Ireland shook his head and looked over at Staff Sergeant Estrada. "Doesn't look very fucking promising. Most of these replacements are green as shit. I don't have anyone you can use; the heads aren't worth a shit in Indian Country, but I don't need you trying to babysit some cherry FNG either."

Staff Sergeant Estrada gave a single nod.

"I have to find somebody. If we're getting dragged into SOG's shit..." He shook his head and sighed. "I really need a damn good scout."

The Captain studied the chaotic mass of green soldiers. "Maybe we can get the colonel to help us find someone."

Staff Sergeant Estrada gave a thoughtful frown. "What about that skinny kid way over to the left?"

The Captain watched the private standing off a bit by himself, away from the cluster of replacements. "I don't know...why him?"

"He's Airborne... He stays off from the group. He hasn't stopped watching the treeline. And he isn't scared. He's just trying to get a feel for everything."

The 'kid' caught their motion as soon as they headed for him, watchful and wary as a wild animal.

Ireland hung back a pace and let Estrada walk up to the lanky soldier. "Where are you from, Private?"

The Private straightened up, just enough to be respectful, but not a hair more. "Saint Clair, Missouri. Sarn't."

"Where the hell is that?"

"It's 'bout a hundred miles from anywhere, Sarn't. Kinda the middle of the Ozarks."

"You a fuckin' hillbilly?"

"Born an' bred, Sarn't."

"You hunt?"

"All my life. You don't hunt; ya don't eat."

"You do all that Hatfield and McCoy feud shit?"

Shrugging, the private looked him right in the eye. "Don't know anybody that don't have a grudge or two. We just settle 'em hard sometimes."

Estrada looked him over for a moment, reading his nametape. "This'll be same shit, different day for you, Private McCabe. You're coming with us."

"Yes, Sarn't. Who the hell is 'us?'"

"LRRP. Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol. We've been seconded to the spooky bastards at MACV-SOG. Sneak around where we aren't supposed to be. It's an all-volunteer unit."

The hillbilly looked around. "Will it get me away from the chickenshit and all these damn idiots who can't see past their noses?"

"Wish it could, but it'll keep most of the bullshit down. Most of the idiots don't live very long."

The private eyed the milling mass of the new soldiers and the crisply uniformed NCOs closing in on them. "Reckon I'm a volunteer then. Got a question, though."

"What is that, Private?"

"What's that girl over there in the white shirt and black skirt do?"

"Somebody's hooch maid. Does laundry, cleans quarters, that sort of shit."