There’s fun and there’s dangerous fun. Mick and his best buds typically played precariously and hence injuries were pretty much the norm. Clinic and hospital visits, too. When guns and alcohol were involved, death was ever imminent, but by sheer grace nobody had ever died.
Mick hammered the accelerator on his 1965 Pontiac GTO. The lurching car caught Danny off guard and momentarily glued him to the black bucket seat. When Mick shifted into second gear Danny had been wise enough and quick enough to anticipate it and grabbed ahold of the dashboard. “Dude! This thing’s a rocket!”
“She does 11 seconds flat in the quarter mile,” Mick boasted. “I came in second place at National Trails Raceway last year. Made a few bucks and snagged a trophy. Lost to some nimrod from Philadelphia driving a T-bucket roadster.
“Cool beans, bro. I was still in Afghanistan and missed out on everything.” Danny sighed, peered out the window, and shook his head free of the memories of war. “Beer?”
“Do politicians lie?”
Danny smirked and handed him a cold beer as the GTO motored along. “Hey, I heard a good joke when I landed in the states last week.” Danny sipped the foam from the top of his beer.”
“If it’s corny, I’ll pop a slug in your neck.” Mick grinned as he patted his side holster sporting a Glock 19. It was loaded.
“Hold up, bro and don’t play stupid. By the way, Yo mama's so stupid, when they said, ‘Order in the court,’ she asked for fries and a shake.”
“Hadn’t heard that one, Mick said, then retorted, “Yo mama's so stupid, she went to the dentist to get a Bluetooth.”
Danny spit beer on his lap. “Yeah? Well, yo mama's so poor, she chases the garbage truck with a grocery list!”
They both laughed. Beer and jokes went as well together as peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Danny spoke up. “So when do we meet up with Gonzalo, Terrence and Jamal at Borrego Springs?”
“Jamal’s driving his truck and picking up some beer and grub at the market first. Their probably a half hour behind us, but we’ll meet up at the huge no trespassing sign.”
“Gonzalo calls it, what was it?
“El Supermercado. Spanish for the supermarket. Mick slowed the GTO down to avoid a tumbleweed blowing across the highway.
I’d have never guessed, Einstein. “Another beer, Mick?”
“My limit is 20 and this makes two.”
The part of Borrego Springs desert they were headed to was off limits because it had previously been used as a live fire site for one of the US Army’s artillery units. Live rounds were scattered here and there. You would not want to walk around at dark.
“Been a while since I’ve been. How many bullet holes does that sign have now?”
“Last I saw a month back there were probably 200 plus. Someone blasted it with a shotgun and blew the top left corner off.” Mick braked, downshifted and wheeled the GTO into a gas station to top of the gas tank.
You did not want to be stranded in the California desert. Blazing hot days turned into frigid nights. More deaths occurred from the intense heat, however.
Tank full and fresh ice on the beer, they reached Borrego Springs an hour later. Mick dragged the cooler into the shaded area by a large boulder. Danny found an Indian arrowhead.
A cloud of dust and a thundering Ford truck with a hole in the muffler signaled Gonzalo’s arrival 20 minutes later. While Gonzalo did a donut in the loose sand, Jamal leaped from the bed of the truck and almost rolled into a cactus. “Holy guacamole! Arriba!”
Six beers each, they arose from a rock formation and looked around for arrowheads, rifles slung over their shoulders. “Who wants to climb that hill with me?” Gonzalo asked, pointing. It was perhaps 1,000 feet tall and jagged. Someone had placed a Canadian flag atop, now ragged from the desert winds.
“I’m down,” Jamal chimed in.
Terrence also volunteered, but Mick and Daddy stayed back to “guard the food and beer.” Danny cranked up the BBQ and used some dry mesquite wood for fuel. An hour later Mick saw the trio through his binoculars. They were half way up the hill and a good 600 meters away from him.
“Careful of the scorpion over there,” Danny warned.
Mick handed the binoculars to Danny. “They’re at the top waving.”
As he looked, Danny let out a yelp and dropped the equipment like a hot charcoal brick. “Flipping rattlesnake bite!”
The diamond back rattler skittered away. Mick fired three shots before killing it. “Bro, we need to get you to the hospital ASAP.”
“Call the guys back and let’s beat feet to the emergency room,” Danny said calmly. It would be an hour before the poison would kill him, dependent on how much venom entered his bloodstream.
Cell phones were useless as was Danny’s shouts. He picked up the binoculars to see where the three men were. They sat drinking a beer, a Mexican flag above their heads where the Canadian flag had been. Mick had an idea. Turns out it wasn’t so great after the fact.
He shouldered his Ruger model 10/22 rifle and placed a shot two feet away from Terrence. All three hit the dirt and then returned fire. A half dozen rounds spanked the sand by Mick and Danny. Danny fired his rifle and a round hit at the feet of Jamal. The trio unleashed a hail of bullets. The shootout at Borrego Springs was on like Donkey Kong!
“We need to get out of dodge, man!” Mick hollered to a crouching Danny, still shooting but intentionally missing the men on the hill.
“Let’s ride!” Danny shouted. Just then Mick went down, writhing in pain.
“I’m hit!” A bullet had hit Mick in the lower leg. Blood seeped from the wound. Danny’s war training kicked into high gear and he had the bleeding slowed to a trickle in under two minutes. They hid behind the GTO to avoid any more stray bullets. “Listen," Mick began, “you drive and I’ll ride. Now give me beer for the pain.”
“Here. Whiskey might be faster.” Danny handed him a silver flask from his backpack.
“Holding out on us, eh?” Mick maintained his sense of humor.
“Nope. I was saving it for later. Let’s go!”
“Wait. I have one thing to do before we split. Hand me my rifle.” Danny obliged. Mick lifted it and fired. The right front tire on the truck went flat with lightning quickness. “Let them figure it out from there,” Mick said in a huff.
With that, Danny drove the Pontiac off towards the highway, headed for the hospital. The shootout at Borrego Springs was another dangerous game for the record books among friends.
