Wilson's War

By Robert Hatting

Cowboy turned to investigate a murder, cover up maneuvers of the political elite, a modern western thriller with a gust of politics.

Several months ago, after I completed my novel, Trust Me, featuring the characters of RC Bellars and Curtis Dawson, (aka Glenn Wilson), I made a promise to myself that that trilogy (Untamed, Partners, & Trust Me )would be the last of those characters and would not take on the 'look' of a series.

Since I made that promise, my old riding partner, Rick Dailey, passed away. Most of the adventures we had experienced and lived through were the inspirations and underpinning of the wild and reckless characters I had created. As a testament to our lives together for the better part of five decades, I've decided to write one more story.

Glenn Wilson investigates the murder of his longtime riding partner, RC Bellars, and discovers a sinister plot to insulate the elite from disasters. Discovery of these facts puts Wilson and his wife in Jeopardy.  Hunted by the power players who control many facets of law enforcement, Wilson takes the war to the establishment.

There are not many ride—rope—shoot scenes in this novel. The locale is the West, specifically southern Arizona, and Idaho, but the events are a long way from the riding into the fray with guns blazing as so often depicts the cowboy from every era.

Nope, this has the protagonist morphing from his assumed role as a cowboy into of an educated investigative journalist on a quest to discover how and why his friend died.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blair Pacific Publishing
• Release date: Nov 13, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386669548

Robert Hatting

Born in Seattle, raised in numerous locales during his youth; including many years in the Panama Canal Zone, and on his grandfather’s ranch in eastern Oregon, Hatting was worldly and rural, bilingual, and developed the ability to observe and record at an early age. He also developed a strong work ethic and bravery beyond his years. He was a gifted athlete and an above average student. Moving often because of his father’s profession, he had to adapt quickly and positively. Plus he was often called upon to defend himself, so his martial arts skills were honed in reality — not in some gym (Being a new kid in school was a constant and often bloody challenge). Rob Hatting’s novels have been read by thousands around the world.  Rob writes from experience — his locales are actual places — described true-to-form; his characters are depictions or amalgamations of real people and his stories are grounded in reality. The underpinning of each novel is the base character of the writer. An adventurer by nature, his experiences range from that of a cowboy, rancher, deep-water sailor, professional diver, rodeo performer, businessman, auctioneer, pilot, trucker, knife maker, horse-trader, commercial fisherman, beach bum, and inventor. Each craft and adventure has given him a myriad of experience from which to write.  He can pilot a plane, drive most anything with wheels, and captain/pilot a ship. He boxed, rodeoed, and competed in numerous team and individual sports. Hatting spent two tours in Vietnam as a brown shoe, (civilian contractor) ten years as a computer salesman with NCR, and has bought and sold over forty businesses throughout the world (eight were weekly newspapers, four were knife manufacturers,...). Rob attended Western College of auctioneers in 1977 to augment his business and journalism degrees from OSU; using his creativity as a ‘turn-around’ specialist. His personal adventures morphed into novel writing while working on the Alaska Pipeline in 1975. His first novel was published in 1978; his second in 1981. He wrote and published several each decade and currently has twenty-one fiction, three non-fiction, and six screenplays available to his credit.  Rob became a full-time expatriate in 2003; Mexico, Costa Rica, and finally Panama for over a decade. He moved to the Philippines in 2015 where he currently resides.

Book preview

Preface

Wanda delivered change to her customer and then handed the book to her husband, Glenn, who was posing as his alter ego, author Curtis Dawson. He tipped his cowboy hat back on his head, stuck out his hand and shook the hand of the young rodeo rider. Good choice, cowboy. I hope you enjoy the read, he said just before he signed the inside cover of his latest western novel.

Thanks, Mr. Dawson. I seen you ride in Prineville when I was jest a little shaver. My dad says you shoulda gone pro, the young man replied.

Glenn shifted in his chair and handed the novel to his fan. Thanks man. That was a long time ago — a different life fer me, Glenn said with a bit of emotion.

The cowboy walked away just as the cell phone buzzed. Wanda looked at the number and handed the phone to Glenn. It was RC.

Hey lizard breath, what’s happenin’? Glenn hollered into the cell.

No time to joke, pard. Bad news. Is Wanda there? Her brother died a few hours ago. Miguel just called me with the news, RC reported. Lemme talk to Wanda.

Glenn motioned to Wanda as he put his hand over the receiver. Roberto died this morning. Here, talk to RC for the details, Glenn said sympathetically.

Glenn held up a hand at a couple approaching his table as he stood and held Wanda close. Sorry folks, I don’t mean to be rude. We just learned of a death in our family, Glenn said over his shoulder.

The older couple took a respectful step back but didn’t leave. Wanda finally noticed the customers waiting and disengaged from Glenn’s embrace.

I have his number on my phone. I’ll call him in a few minutes, she said as she handed Glenn the cell phone. Talk to RC. I’ll be fine. We’ve been expecting this, she said as she approached the table with the book display.

Glenn took the phone and watched his wife interact with the older couple. They purchased a book with their credit card. Thanks for lettin’ us know, Glenn said to his ex-partner. I’ll send Wanda down straightaway. I’ll be there with our RV in a few days. Any problem with me setting up at my old house?

Hell no. It’s yore place. I ain’t been there in over a month. I leased the old Mingus place. Missus Mingus is a spry eighty-two-year-old but she can’t cope with the ranch. I stay at her place most of the time. Got me a herd again, RC explained. I went to the Wilcox auction and bought back twelve head of the cows we sold with the ranch. They all had calves and were bred back.

Glenn smiled to himself. His ex-partner just couldn’t retire. He had to be out riding the range. How do you like ranchin’ the other side of the mountains? Glenn asked in the vernacular.

This one is bigger — like twice the range but won’t carry but half the stock ‘cause of water. The fences are junk. That’s where I spend most of my time, RC explained. All the gates are good to go, now.

Glenn recalled the ranch that RC had leased. The headquarters was rundown back in the day and was definitely a hardscrabble outfit. He assumed it was worse years later. The conversation waned and a lot of dead air ensued. Glenn knew his ex-partner had talked himself out.

Gotta go, pard. This was our final day here in Ellensburg. You’ll see us soon, Glenn signed off as he broke the connection and faced the people who’d just bought his book.

Chapter 1

Glenn pulled his truck and fifth wheel travel trailer into his old adobe ranchero near Vail off Spanish Trail. He backed into the space he’d created for their RV and soon had the travel trailer hooked to water and the septic tank. He disconnected his old truck and then placed the stability jacks under the trailer. Glenn took a moment and sat on the deck and read the message he’d received from his wife, Wanda.

The funeral service had been arranged and plans would commence upon his arrival. Wanda’s family was in attendance and most of Roberto’s friends. She noted that RC had not arrived nor had he answered his phone.

Glenn tried RC’s cell number before he started up his truck for the drive to Arivaca. It rang four times and then went to voice mail. Glenn supposed his ex-partner had either turned the cell off or was in a dead zone. He shrugged as he began his hour and a half trip south to Arivaca.

Glenn hit redial three additional times trying to reach RC before he crested the ridge that overlooked the valley containing the small village of Arivaca. Wanda had received permission to bury her brother in the family plot on their Alvarez homestead. Five generations were planted in that headquarters grave-site, dating back to the Mexican-American war. But, under Arizona law, they had to purchase a permit and an employee of the county had to be present to make sure all protocols were followed. Glenn shook off his angst at bureaucratic nonsense and pointed his truck toward the Alvarez ranch.

>>*<<

You missed our exit, Wanda advised.

Glenn nodded and kept driving east in the direction of Benson and didn’t answer right away.

We’re headed for the Mingus Ranch. Something is not right, Glenn finally stated. RC loved Roberto like a brother. You know that! He said he’d be there and he didn’t ever call to say he wouldn’t.

Wanda slid across the seat and patted Glenn on his thigh. He’s okay. I only know one guy tougher than RC and that’s you, she semi-whispered.

Glenn began watching for the exit he needed to take in order to travel to the backside of the Rincon Mountains. Once spotted, he verbalized a thought he’d had for some time. Since we broke our partnership, RC has had a run of bad luck. First, he lost you. Then lost an eye, he lost a hundred grand on the sale of the ranch, and I guess he’s lost two loves after that. Plus he lost his old horse Guthrie.

C’mon, Curtis. Guthrie was over twenty years old, Wanda countered. But, I agree with you. He’s had a run of bad luck. It began when he felt justified to cheat you and Laura out of the ranch.

Glenn was about to respond when he noticed a police car with his gumballs flashing. The cop car was a sedan traveling in excess of sixty miles per hour on the washboard gravel road. Glenn’s truck was only traveling twenty. The police car passed him in a cloud of dust. He spotted a second car approaching through the rooster tail of dust. Glenn pulled to the side as the second Cochise County squad car passed. Sumpthin’ bad is goin’ on, Glenn said as he slipped back into his cowboy jargon.

Yes, I have a bad feeling, too, Wanda said with a quiver in her voice.

Glenn let the dust settle and then pulled back on to the county road. He watched the lights through the caliche haze.

The police turned into Mingus Lane, Glenn reported as he glanced into his rear view mirror and could see two more emergency vehicles closing fast.

Two more coming from behind, he added.

Glenn pulled to the side of the road just before the other two emergency vehicles passed. He wasn’t anxious to impede their progress by turning up the single lane to the old Mingus homestead.

Two squad cars, an SUV which is probably the crime lab guys or search and rescue, and an ambulance. I’m guessing RC either found a body dumped like we used to get over on the X-9 or maybe he shot a rustler, Glenn speculated.

Wanda patted his thigh as he turned up the single lane. He may have had an accident, Wanda said just over a whisper."

Glenn had thought the same thought but hadn’t voiced his opinion. He steeled himself for the worst.

As the truck broke over a small ridge, Glenn and Wanda saw a peculiar sight. Seven men, all in uniform, had formed a circle around a body and a saddled horse. Whenever a policeman approached the body, the horse reared and tried to strike the approaching officer.

Glenn parked the truck amidst the circle of police vehicles. He walked to the officer who had drawn his weapon and was about to shoot the horse.

Holster your weapon, officer, Glenn commanded in a stern voice. I know that horse and I believe I know who is lying on the ground, he said as he walked toward the gelding guarding the body of RC Bellars.

The gelding approached and reared to strike. Glenn continued forward. Breeze! he hollered. Settle down, boy.

The horse reared again as Glenn circled so he was upwind. He then approached and spoke to the horse in a low tone. Its okay, Breeze. You know me. Settle down, he said in a reassuring voice. Glenn looked at RC. He had been dead a long time. The gelding stood as he approached and touched his muzzle. His nostrils flared and he laid his ears back but didn’t attempt to strike again. Glenn began stroking the side of his head and then reached for the one rein that was dragging. He looked at the saddle and noticed the other rein wrapped with a half hitch around the saddle horn.

Once the gelding settled down, Glenn focused on RC’s body. An officer approached and leaned over the body. He didn’t touch RC and then turned back and faced Glenn. I know him and I know you, the officer stated.

His name is RC Bellars and I’m Glenn Wilson, known in these parts as Curtis Dawson, Glenn offered as he began running his hands over the terrified horse.

I’m Sheriff Ernie Parks. I was the city cop who gave your rig a ticket when you parked illegally during that Malvado Rojo incident years ago.

Glenn recalled the time — twenty-five years prior.

You guys were range detectives after that, right?

Glenn didn’t want to rehash the past. He wanted answers. Why was RC killed? Why was he shot in the back?

Breeze calmed down after a few more strokes of Glenn’s hands. This horse was traumatized, Glenn offered. See the burn marks on his rump? Looks like he was tasered.

The sheriff walked to the rear of the horse and craned his neck. It was obvious he wasn’t comfortable around horses.

‘Yeah, I have to admit that looks like a taser burn."

I can see my ex-partner was shot in the back. Any idea who did it or what happened? Glenn asked as he began to walk away with the gelding.

Hey, that horse is evidence, the sheriff complained.

Then I’d better keep him alive. I’m taking him to the lots so he can drink and be fed, Glenn answered as he waved for Wanda to join him. The sheriff waved at one of his men and then walked along.

Dawson, we arrived just before you.

Wanda this is Sheriff Parks. My wife Wanda, sheriff.

The sheriff tipped his hat. A pleasure, ma'am

Wanda shot Glenn a look and then bit her tongue. Wilson could see she’d been