Border War by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

A VERY DANGEROUS LOOKING MAN sat at the bar. His black hair was pulled back into an inconclusive ponytail that left dark locks falling across his face. His faded jeans had holes in the knees. His cheap Hawaiian shirt looked as if he'd bought it the day before and slept in it. He was in desperate need of a shave. His pale skin was burned red by the Mexican sun except for the pink patches where it had peeled. He'd been holding down the corner stool of the Perro Bar for the past three days, refusing the advances of the girls and had beaten the holy hell out of three of the local street toughs who'd tried to shake him down. His scary blue eyes seemed to burn holes into the mirror behind the bar. But he was polite and tipped for every drink. He seemed bored, desperate and beyond caring all at the same time.

He said he was looking for work.

The bartender had a pretty good idea of what kind of work he might be looking for. There was a lot of call for that kind of work in Mexico. He'd seen the type before, but things had been very hectic in Nuevo Laredo lately and no one was cozy-log up to strange white men these days. Fifteen minutes ago, he man had sighed, dug into his pockets and paid for his last beer in quarters. At that point, the bartender had poured him a beer for free and made a phone call.

Bolan had seen the bartender make the call and noticed the sidelong glance he'd been shot. He wasn't surprised at all when a big white man who looked like a hard case walked into the Dog Bar. He was tall, running around six-two, and probably ten pounds heavier than Bolan. The man wore jeans, cowboy boots and a black leather vest. He was accompanied by the biggest Mexican Bolan had ever seen, and he'd been seeing some big ones lately. The man wasn't a bodybuilder, or a wrestler. He topped six foot nine, was muscular but stripped lean. Massive cheekbones and a jaw like a steam shovel were crowned by the flat features of a Mayan. His black hair fell to his shoulders. He'd paid someone a fair piece of change to tailor gray tropical silk into a suit to fit his frame. He looked as l' he should be playing in the NBA except that he walked with the loose-boned saunter and assurance that screamed special forces. The white guy had it, too, and he was clearly in command. He walked up and sat down next to Bolan. The giant loomed over Bolan's shoulder.

Bolan smiled, his blue eyes watching the mirror over the bar. "You'd better get your geek the hell away from behind me."

"Oh, I'm sorry." The white man smiled. "How rude of me. Chavo? Why don't you take a seat?'

The bar stool on the other side of Bolan creaked ominously beneath the big man's weight as he sat down and stared at Bolan, looking for any sign of weakness or fear.

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