Page 29 of Battle Mountain

“Nate Romanowski,” Nate said. “And this is Geronimo Jones.”

Reese’s mouth dropped open and his eyes got wide.

“Seriously?” he asked.

“We’re not armed at the moment,” Nate said. “We left our weapons in the car. So, if you don’t holster that handgun, I’ll take it off you and pound your head with it.”

“Do what he says,” Geronimo said to Reese. “If you’ve heard of Nate Romanowski, you know what he’s capable of.”

Reese slowly opened his army jacket with his left hand and slid the .50 Desert Eagle into a long black holster. “I like powerful handguns, too,” he said to Nate. To Geronimo, Reese said, “Welcome to my humble home.”

“Can we sit down inside?” Geronimo asked him.

“Absolutely,” Reese said. His demeanor had completely changed. “Let me kennel my dogs and then you can come on in. I can make another pot of coffee.”

“That would be nice,” Geronimo said.

Reese paused at the back door before going in. “I never thought Geronimo Jones and Nate Romanowski would show up here.”

After Reese went inside, Geronimo leaned into Nate and said, “You’re quite the celebrity, it seems.”

“You too.”

“Did you really leave your weapon inside the truck?”

“Of course not,” Nate said.

—

Reese’s kitchen wasunkempt, with dishes piled high in the sink and unopened mail and flyers covering the countertops. While a pot of coffee brewed, Reese opened his refrigerator door and showed them a display of two dozen handguns and compact submachine pistols sitting next to each other on the racks. The only non-gun item inside was a six-pack of Moose Drool beer. He explained that his basement had recently flooded, so he had to relocate his inventory to the top floor.

“I don’t have a proper gun safe,” Reese said. “But if you’re interested in any of these pieces, I’ll make you a hell of a deal.”

“We’re not here to buy guns,” Nate said.

“What’s in the freezer?” Geronimo asked.

Reese opened the door and stepped aside to reveal hundreds of small paper bags crammed into it that fit into the space like a puzzle. Both Nate and Geronimo knew instantly that the bags were filled with frozen roadkill, pigeons, and rodents to feed his falcons.

“Pickings are slim here in the winter,” Reese said. “Sometimes we can grab up a few ducks on the river, but I have to stockpile falcon food.”

“Understood,” Geronimo said.

The place reminded Nate of a half dozen homes of falconers that he’d either lived in or visited over the years. Serious falconers didn’t care about entertaining guests or the overall decor. Houses were simply places to store gear, food, and weapons between trips out into the field with their birds.

“So tell me about Axel Soledad and the Giantess,” Geronimo said.

—

An hour later,after recounting the approach by Axel Soledad and the follow-up from the woman Reese referred to as the Giantess, he said, “I’d like to come with you guys if you’re going after him. That guy not only stiffed me on twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of rifles and shotguns, he’s a dangerous liar who is misrepresenting the cause. He needs to be dealt with.”

Nate and Geronimo exchanged a glance. “What guns?” Geronimo asked.

“Oh—I didn’t tell you how I met Soledad in the first place.”

“No, you didn’t,” Geronimo said with a scowl. “You seemed to have left that part out.”

Reese ignored the dig. “He showed up here last October driving a 2012 Honda Civic with Colorado plates. He parked right out front on the street and came to the front door on crutches. He said he’d heard about me through some friends and he wanted to do business. Did you know Soledad has to use crutches to get around?”

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