Page 75 of Battle Mountain

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The guards atthe gate didn’t wait patiently for the Suburban to arrive. As Nate turned off the highway onto the gravel road that led to the facility, a pair of headlights came on and the occupants drove a shiny black Ford Expedition up the road to meet them. The SUV used the middle of the road and filled it, and it stopped so Nate couldn’t go around it. The driver didn’t kill the bright headlights, even when he and another man got out.

“Stay cool,” Geronimo said. But his voice was tense.

Nate raised his arm to shade his eyes from the high beams. Hecould make out the forms of the two men as they approached. They wore jackets and cargo pants, and holsters with the handgun grips jutting out. The men split up near the grille of the Suburban, one going to Geronimo’s side and the other to Nate’s.

There was a tap on Nate’s window, and Nate lowered it.

The man was in his twenties with tight military-style white sidewalls and a three-day growth of beard. He had a squared-off face and a thick neck, and he spoke in an East Texas twang.

“Are you boys lost?”

“No, sir,” Nate said. “This is the B-Lazy-U, isn’t it?”

“That’s what the sign says,” the man said. “The other sign right next to it saysPrivate Property.”

“I can’t see either one right now,” Nate responded. “Your headlights are in my eyes.”

East Texas didn’t apologize, and he didn’t head back to his vehicle to turn off the lights, either.

Nate glanced across the seat as Geronimo whirred down his passenger window. A similar-sized man, maybe a few years older, leaned forward and eyed Geronimo. He was dark-eyed, with a lightning bolt–shaped scar on his right cheek and a neatly trimmed handlebar mustache. When he raised his hand he had a flashlight in it.

The beam flashed on and moved from Geronimo’s face to Nate’s, and then to the console between them. Looking for weapons.

“Keep your hands where we can see them,” East Texas said.

Nate placed his hands on the top of the steering wheel and Geronimo complied by reaching out and resting his on the dashboard.

“We aren’t looking for trouble,” Geronimo said.

“Then what are y’all doing out here so late?” East Texas asked.

Before Nate could respond, Handlebar moved the beam from the front seat to the back and said, “Well, look at this.”

Without turning his head, Nate knew Handlebar had found the hooded falcons perched in the back.

“We’re in the bird abatement business,” Nate said to East Texas. “The B-Lazy-U hired my company to get rid of problem starlings in their barns by flying our birds around. We’re both master falconers. That’s what we do.”

“I’ve never heard of the bird abatement business,” East Texas said. “Do you have any ID?”

Nate said, “I’m now taking my hand off the wheel to get something out of my pocket. Okay?”

East Texas stepped back from the window and turned slightly so Nate could see that he was gripping the gun on his hip. “Sure. Do it slowly.”

Nate did, then handed a business card out the window. East Texas used the light from his vehicle to read it.

“Nate Romanowski, CEO,” he read. “Yarak, Inc.” He mispronounced it “Yar-ACK,” not “Yar-ock.” Then:

“ ‘We Make Your Problems Go Away.’ That’s quite the jingle.”

“Actually,” Nate said, “it’s our motto and itshouldread ‘We Make Your ProblemBirdsGo Away.’ I plan to add the word ‘birds’ when we reprint the cards.”

East Texas narrowed his eyes and squinted at Geronimo. “What’s your name?”

“Steve Richards,” Geronimo said.

“Again, I ask, what are y’all doing here this time of night?” East Texas said, pocketing the card.

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