Page 4 of SEAL the Deal
“So, what’s the deal?” asked Carl.
“Travis reckons he’s been stealing dope and selling it on the side.”
“Shit, that’s low. Real low.” Carl took out his Glock pistol, cracked the slide and eyeballed the brass cartridge in the chamber. “He want him dead or fucked up?”
“Smith’s got kids. So, just a few broken bones to get the point across.”
Carl smirked, holstering his pistol as he pulled an extendable baton from the pocket of his combat pants. “Been waiting to try this sucker out.”
Hank frowned as he started the truck. “Where the hell did you get that?”
“I bought it online. Got me a sweet deal on a whole bunch of stuff.”
“More useless military junk.” He dropped the pickup into gear, turned on the headlights and planted his foot on the accelerator.
The truck bounced along the rutted track its lights illuminating thick woods on either side. After half a mile they passed a fence, turned right and stopped in front of a rundown farmhouse.
“I’ll handle this. You back me up,” said Hank as he killed the engine and donned a pair of thick leather gloves.
“Why am I always the backup?” whined Carl.
He turned with a frown. “Because you’re a goddamn fuck up.” Climbing from the truck he strode toward the house. As he approached the door opened and a figure clutching a shotgun appeared in the porch light, Andrew Smith.
“Who’s out there?”
“Hey, it’s Hank and Carl,” Hank said as he climbed the steps to the porch, fists clenched by his side.
Smith relaxed and lowered the shotgun. “Oh, hi guys. Thought you might be rustlers. Someone tried to steal some gear outta my barn the other night.”
Hank nodded. “Seems to be a lot of that going around.” He swung a savage right hook as he reached out and ripped the shotgun from Smith’s hands. His fist caught the man on the jaw and he went down like a sack of potatoes.
“Nice punch,” said Carl as he joined him.
“Help get him around behind the barn.” He lifted the unconscious man by one arm.
Carl took the other and they dragged him past the truck out of the light cast by the porch and behind a dilapidated barn.
They sat him against a wall and Hank slapped him. “Wake the fuck up.”
It took a moment for the man to come to. When he did, he tried to climb to his feet. Hank jammed the revolver under his chin. “Sit tight, boy.”
“What’s this all about?” the man stammered.
“Why don’t you tell me?”
Smith stared across at Carl with pleading eyes. “Look, I haven’t done anything wrong, I promise.”
“That’s not what Travis is saying.”
The fear dropped from his face, replaced with a look of contempt. “That fat fuck’s a liar. What the hell has he told you?”
“Said you’ve been stealing dope,” added Carl.
Hank turned and silenced his partner with a glare. Then he turned his attention back to Smith. “Leg or arm?”
“What?”
He clenched his jaw and hissed through his teeth. “Leg or fucking arm.”
