Dark Sky (Joe Pickett #21)(65)

One thing Wagy had learned about Soledad was the falconer’s utter disregard toward life and death. The man was totally amoral. Wagy had witnessed Soledad kill living things like pigeons and prairie dogs to feed to his captured raptors. There wasn’t even a flinch. There was no difference between Soledad twisting the cap off a beer bottle or the head off a pigeon. He’d seen Soledad hold a bunny up by the neck and punch it so hard in the face it died instantly. He’d also observed as Soledad “culled” weak or injured falcons by lopping their heads off with a scythe he’d found in the barn.

Soledad had the same attitude when it came to human life, which was disconcerting. Wagy didn’t think much about the welfare of other people either, especially the one percent. But Soledad was in an entirely different category.

Although Wagy had heard stories, he hadn’t been sure he believed them until that driver in the luxury car shot by them on Interstate 25 on their way up from Colorado to Wyoming. The Mercedes SUV was a mile ahead of them when it swerved suddenly to avoid a herd of pronghorn antelope and it rolled two and a half times into the sagebrush on the right side of the highway and finally came to a stop upside down on its roof in a cloud of dust.

Soledad was driving, and he stopped at the scene of the crash. There was no other traffic on the road at the time. The middle-aged woman behind the wheel was injured but alive, and she hung suspended upside down by the seat belt she wore. Her arms were pinned tight to her sides beneath the belt. Wagy saw her turn her head and watch them climb out of their Suburban and walk toward her.

“Help me,” she begged. “Cut me down. Please help me.”

Soledad said, “Who have you ever helped, rich lady?”

Then he bent down and reached through the smashed-out driver’s-side window with both hands. He told her, “I could cover your mouth and nose so you can’t breathe and no one would ever be the wiser.”

Her eyes got wide and she struggled, but she couldn’t wriggle free from the strap.

Soledad chuckled and left her hanging there.



* * *



—

It wasn’t a successful day on the cliff when the snow rolled in,” Soledad said. “I had to pack it in early, and then I went to a little town called Winchester to drown my sorrows. That’s where I met Cyndy and Zenda and we got to know each other. Time got away from me until they kicked us out when the bar closed.

“So,” Soledad said, “tell me how he got the jump on you.”

Wagy sighed. “He snuck up on me from behind and pinned my foot to the floor with a pitchfork.”

“Were you fried?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Describe him.”

Wagy grimaced as he recalled what had happened. “Big guy, blond ponytail. He seemed to know all about us and what we’ve been doing. He said you violated the falconer’s creed.”

Soledad took that in and a small smile crept across his face. “Did he carry a big revolver?”

“Yes. He shot it and nearly killed me.”

“I know him,” Soledad said. “Or I should say, I know of him. His name is Nate Romanowski. He was a special operator in the same unit I was in before they kicked me out. Five years ahead of me, in fact. The officers who knew him talked about him like he was some kind of phantom, and the falconers in these parts talk about him like he’s some kind of god. I think it’s all bullshit. I’m not afraid of him.”

“You didn’t meet him,” Wagy said. “He twisted my ear half off. In fact, I can barely hear through it now.”

“I did notice it was a bit crooked.” Soledad placed the bottle down on the coffee table and sat back. The grin grew wider. “That’s him, all right.

“He used to be somebody to fear,” Soledad said. “He was a legendary badass. He did a bunch of covert crap for Uncle Sam, and when he got out, he did his own thing. But I hear he’s gotten old and soft. He’s a corporate sellout now. A ‘bird abatement’ guy trying to make it rich so he can look down on people like me, even though I’m the kind of rebel he used to be.”

Soledad drained the rest of his beer and signaled for a fresh one. Both Cyndy and Zenda looked at each other to see who would obey. Finally, Cyndy rolled her eyes and tossed one to him. Soledad opened it and turned back to Wagy.

“Romanowski is like one of those old-school mafia guys you’ve heard of. He’s got a code,” Soledad said with derision. “You know, like don’t hurt the families of your targets or run narcotics in your own neighborhood, or make sure to take care of your brothers when they’re in the can—shit like that. He’s from another time.

“You and me,” Soledad said, nodding to Wagy, “we’re the new breed. We’re the Sinaloa cartel, the Zetas, the Jalisco New Generation. We’re the fuckin’ MS-13 of outlaw falconers. That old shit doesn’t apply. There are no rules for us, dude. Romanowski’s exactly the kind of guy we hate. So he thinks I’m in his territory, does he?”

Wagy nodded his head. He didn’t like how this was shaping up. He wanted a doctor.

“Did he find the birds?” Soledad asked.

“He must have,” Wagy said. “He seemed to know all about them.”

“Did he take them?”

“I don’t know. He had to leave here real fast, like it was an emergency. I’ve been here bleeding out and getting ready to die alone.”