20 – The hide out

 

 

The car pulled out into the desert air, starlight competing with its headlights as someone closed the garage door behind. Lance rested his head against the glass, trying to glimpse the sky. But he saw other shapes moving onto the road in front and behind them, the way the jeeps had earlier-- only these had the tell-tale light racks of police cars on their tops.

 "Hey!" Dan groaned, catching sight of the other cars as well, Chris' paranoia spreading through them in a single rush of alarm.

"What's going on here?"

 "Relax," the jovial driver said, easing their car into line with the others. "It's all part of the plan."

 "What plan?" Dan asked. "One cop car's a plan, this many is downright unlucky."

 "You miss the point," the driver insisted. "It's all arranged. We got clearance."

 "From who?" Mike asked, perched in the front seat as if ready to leap out.

 "From the very top," the driver said. "The other cars are insurance. Anyone seeing us'll think we're escorting the mayor."

 Mike sat back in the seat and shook his head. "It's crazy," he said.

 "It's bold," the driver argued. "Bold is the way Mister Gil does everything. He's one smart cookie, and he's got connections, too."

 "That much is obvious," Chris said. Lance detected something bitter in her voice, though her face seemed untouched. He turned back to the darkness and the string of cars headed for the flat heart of Phoenix proper, like a serpent of lights slithering in the sand and darkness. Silence reigned around them-- and so did Gil

apparently."

The other cars vanished one by one, turning off at various intersections along the northerly route. They had passed downtown and now signs for Glendale and Peoria leaped out into their headlights in bright green faces. Signs for schools and hospitals came and went as well. The desert had vanished, too, replaced by a suburban sprawl not so different from the out-skirts of L.A.

 Finally, the lone car turned into a street of single-story ranch-styled houses, lazy estates on half-acre lots outlined in fences and dying hedges. Beyond these, a modest wildness came, of pine trees and sand dunes and a single winding drive between them.

In the center of this, a larger building appeared, this one curved into the shape of a horseshoe with a gate at its open end.

 The driver beeped the horn; the gate swung outward, dark figures motioning them in and closing the gate behind. Inside, the building

proved a small fortress, cars parked along a covered wooden walkway. A full two dozen doorways and windows looked in on the court, men seated upon the walkway rails with rifles across their knees.

 "What the hell is this, some kind of commune?" Dan moaned.

 "We call it our fortress," the driver said, parking the car western style, nose towards the walkway. He hopped out and motioned for the others to do the same.

 Lance stumbled out; limbs stiff from the tight ride. He drew odd stares from some of the armed men, his clothing caked with dried blood. Gil stood among the men on the walkway, arms folded as he studied them

 "You live here?" Sarah asked, turning around as if visiting Disneyland.

 "All my life," Gil said. "My great grandfather built the place back when people thought there was gold north of here."

 Sarah's eyes sparked, her gaze poking into the shadowed crannies, looking every bit the little girl, her father used to take on tours of the country. Lance remembered her odd fantasy of maybe someday retiring to a log cabin somewhere in the woods, though he supposed that had vanished with her retreat from Denver, too. She couldn't stand the silence.

 "But I am forgetting my manners," Gil said. "Here I am, set to question you about your travels. You people must be exhausted."

 "And starved?" Dan asked. "Any restaurants near here?"

 "No," a laughing Gil said. "But we have refreshment." He motioned towards their red-headed driver. "Jimmy, take care of these people-- and make sure they get food. We can all talk better at a more reasonable hour. And someone take back the cop car before they miss it."

Jimmy led them to the "bunk house," a multi-room apartment occupying the inner southwest corner of the building. Its string of rooms all faced in on the courtyard. Lance felt safe here, though didn't know exactly why-- since the place also served the function of jail with no access to the street or any other part of the house without exiting to the yard.

 "Mister Gil calls this place Fort Apache," Jimmy said as he took them from room to room. The three bedrooms made arrangements slightly difficult, assuming three men and three women would break down into specific couples. Chris balked over sharing a room with

Dan.

 "I know him," she growled. "He's all hands."

 "All right, I'll sleep on the couch," Dan said with obvious disappointment.

 But Chris still grumbled. "All this looks as if Gil intends to keep us here a while."

 "Until things cool down," Jimmy said.

 "Then we're going to need our things from the van. Like extra clothing, towels and female stuff."

 Jimmy blushed. "I'm sure we can arrange something later," he said.

"Mister Gil was more concerned with getting you people out of sight. For the moment, we have towels and--" he looked at Lance.

"Some spare clothing. As for your female stuff, you might speak with Miss Grace in the morning."

 "Miss Grace?" Sarah asked from across the room.

 "Mister Gil's woman," Jimmy said.

 "Oh," Sarah mumbled, looking disappointed.

 

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