He’d actually been thinking about going to Juan Wang’s to eat, but he wasn’t about to let that be known, and he nodded. “Just give me a few minutes, and then we’ll head out.”

Melvin saluted. “Yes, sir!”

Chet closed the door behind him. He opened the entryway closet and put a Levi jacket over the Jose Cuervo t-shirt he’d pulled on. He went back into the bedroom and shoved his keys in his right front pocket, his wallet in the left rear. He considered bringing along a weapon, but immediately decided against it. He had no faith in his “army” out there, and if things went sideways, he needed to stay above the fray, claim plausible deniability.

Although if one of them took out Sheriff Neth, he wouldn’t be shedding any tears.

He grabbed a can of Mountain Dew from the fridge and went back outside.

“Let’s roll,” he said.

****

There was no one at Juan Wang’s when they arrived save a skittish elderly couple who quickly left, but they came across two tree-trimmers further down the street who were sitting on the ground in the shade of their panel truck, eating lunch.

The army pulled in back of the truck.

They were traveling in three vehicles: two pickups and Melvin’s Cherokee. Chet was riding at the front of the caravan with Melvin, and they were the first out. Melvin’s gun was holstered, but he knew it was there if he needed it, and that confidence showed in his demeanor. He walked right up to the tree trimmers, his boots touching the closer one’s jeans. “Taking a siesta, eh, muchachos?”

They ignored him, kept eating their sandwiches.

Melvin kicked the man. “I’m talking to you, beaner!”

Both men stood. They were clearly able to take care of themselves, but when they saw how many people they were up against, they began backing away. The one who’d been kicked held up his hands to show he was no threat. “We don’t want no trouble.”

“Then why’re you in our town?” someone demanded.

The man gestured toward a sign on the side of the panel truck. “We work for Mr. Armstrong.”

“That don’t mean shit to me,” Melvin said.

The tree trimmers looked at each other, not sure where to go from here.

Melvin leaned forward. “We want you out of this town.” He glanced over at Chet, flashed him a quick grin. “By sundown.” He patted the weapon at his side.

Shouts of support and encouragement greeted his threat. “Yeah!” “Get out of our town!” “Go back to Mexico!”

Melvin pointed. “Sundown.”