Renegade 32

by Lou Cameron

  ‘Now he tells me,’ grunted Captain Gringo as he watched Maria and Conchita swimming pretty good for whatever reason. He resisted the impulse to yell to them. He doubted they’d listen, and the guys out there aboard that other vessel might. He started back down the shrouds. By the time he was halfway down, he lost sight of the swimming girls. He was either too low or they’d already made the swampy shore. He wondered how they’d known just where it might be. People hardly ever swam for anything unless they knew it was there.

  As he rejoined Gaston in the cockpit, the Frenchman sighed and said, ‘How fickle is the heart of woman. There is no point in our trying to recapture them at this late date, one would assume?’

  Captain Gringo grimaced and said, ‘One assumes right. That steamer’s anchored less than two miles out, so this is no time to go yodeling through the woods after dames. Besides, I doubt like hell they’d answer!’

  Gaston nodded and said, ‘Oui, I hope a hammerhead eats that ungrateful Conchita less gently than I did. But they no doubt know what they are doing, since they are natives of that deplorable species of real estate, hein?’

  Captain Gringo snapped his fingers and said, ‘Son of a bitch! That’s it! We’ve been had!’

  ‘Merde alors, I could have told you the treacherous native girls planned their escape right under our cocks, Dick. Maria told us from the beginning she was not on our side, as I recall.’

  ‘It was all a ruse. She couldn’t tell us the way to New Dunmore because she and the people who hired her don’t know the way to New Dunmore. She and Conchita grabbed the first chance we gave them to ditch us – before we carried them too far from their own stretch of shoreline, see?’

  ‘Sacre bleu, are you suggesting they were from some species of local tribe? Forget that last question. It seems obvious even to my senile brain that to leap gaily into coastal shallows at night one must know where one is! Mais what were they doing here on the adorable Scotch redhead’s pearler, Dick?’

  Captain Gringo sat down and sighed, ‘That was a ruse, too. The whole stupid charade was orchestrated by that sneaky Greystoke! Don’t you see what he was trying to pull from the beginning?’

  ‘Mais non. I told you I was senile. Perhaps if you began from the beginning …’

  Captain Gringo reached absently for a smoke, gave it up as a dumb idea, and began, ‘That’s right. You were off getting train tickets when British Intelligence first approached me in that gin mill. They tried the easy way first. They offered cash, a lot of cash, for the information they wanted. Somehow I don’t think Greystoke believed we really didn’t know the way to New Dunmore.’

  ‘The English are a suspicious race. It comes no doubt from plotting to screw others with a smile. Get to the interesting parts.’

  ‘Okay, the guy you stabbed off my back in that alley was probably just a local thug who wanted new boots. Greystoke, wouldn’t have a guy killed while he was getting set to sucker him. They got the redhead, Flora, to the hotel just ahead of us.’

  ‘If her name was really Flora, you mean.’

  ‘Her real name doesn’t matter. She asked for me at the desk and gave that name because they hoped I’d make the mistake I did. She bullshitted me about electric lights as an excuse to meet me in the dark and make it even easier to confuse her with the real Flora MacTavish.’

  ‘Ah-ha, and after she seduced you in hopes of pumping you for navigational hints ...’

  ‘Don’t get ahead of me, damnit. She was too old a pro to make that mistake. How the hell was a lady from New Dunmore to ask directions there? She just told me I had to get there, poco tiempo, and kept me in bed until Greystoke could finish setting the stage.’

  ‘Oui, but in that case why did they go through the charade of kidnapping their attractive confederate and robbing her of her pearls, Dick?’

  ‘Two reasons. The fake Flora couldn’t sail with us for the Gulf of Darien for the same reason those fake Ciboney couldn’t. We’d have wondered a lot if, as we got closer, they didn’t seem to know the way. The second reason, of course, was to make me mad as hell. Greystoke knew I’d work harder to screw up his plans if he made me think what I thunk until just now. The pearls in the safe were just cover, in case, as I did, I asked to see the pearls a pearler was supposed to be pearling. They might have been fake, too. They might have been real. The Pacific pearls in the poke were meant to get a rise out of me if I knew a sea-level route near New Darien, or, on the other hand, I could be playing chess when the name of the game is checkers. Maybe pearls are just pearls to Greystoke.’

  Gaston shook his head and said, ‘I doubt that. The British spy master never plays checkers when there is a sneakier way to move. Perhaps those lost colonists really have been placing Oriental pearls on the market, which would account for the sudden interest the widow of Windsor has in her lost colonies. I see how we were duped at the hotel. Get to this species of sailboat avec red sails. Obviously Greystoke expected us to make for poor lost Flora’s sweet little ketch after they’d staged the kidnapping?’

  Captain Gringo smiled ruefully and said, ‘Of course. The red sails were to make it easy for them to follow us down the coast. The Indian girls were just stage props. We were supposed to leave them in Leon and sail for New Dunmore on our own, since we knew the way ourselves. It must have annoyed the hell out of them to find themselves coming along, with no idea where they were going.’

  Gaston chuckled fondly and said, ‘True, but Conchita didn’t seem to mind coming avec moi, at least until she could desert the ship. The shore they swam for can’t be far, since they failed to swim the other way to their true loves. Mais we, alas, will still be très visible out here on the open water as soon as the sun comes back up. May I suggest we explore for a cove or two?’

  Captain Gringo shook his head and asked, ‘Why would we want to do a dumb thing like that? Greystoke’s anchored just out to sea. He knows damn well that no matter how well we hide against the shoreline, we have to come back out again, with fire-engine red sails.’

  ‘Perhaps there is some way to change the coloring, perhaps with some crude jungle dye?’

  ‘Are you nuts? That would take days, and a ketch is still a ketch when you know where to look for it. No. He’s given us just two choices, he thinks. We can lay here overnight to be spotted again at dawn, or we can make a run for it in the dark, to be picked up again at his pleasure by a much faster vessel.’

  ‘Then what do you suggest, a pistol shot across his bows?’

  ‘I’ve a better idea. The one thing Greystoke’s counting on is that we have to get to our pals in New Dunmore, some damn way, to warn them someone wants to put ’em on the maps and tax rolls.’

  ‘And don’t we?’

  ‘No. The Brits wouldn’t be going to so much trouble to dupe us into showing them the way if they had any idea where the lost colony was. If Greystoke can’t find the real Flora and her people, they’re in no need of our feeble-at-best help. So what say we just up anchor and sail back up the coast to Limón?’

  ‘I would kiss you if you might not take it the wrong way! Mais starting now, we can’t make it halfway by dawn, Dick.’

  ‘So what? At dawn they’ll be watching for us down here. When that doesn’t work, they’ll assume we did some night sailing along the coastal shallows and start searching for us that way, farther south. Who’s going to look for our pretty red sails if they’re sailing the wrong way?’

  Gaston laughed boyishly and said, ‘It is such a refreshing change to be crossing Greystoke double. We shall beat the chess master at his own game simply by changing the game to bye-bye! Mais I think we should put into Correta, just this side of Limón, lest sneaky Brits in the larger seaport wonder why their boat was returned to them so soon, hein?’

  ‘Who cares where we jump ship in Costa Rica? Let’s just weigh anchor and get the fuck out of here!’

  They were talking about a railroad from Puerto Carreta to the more imposing Limón, someday. Meanwhile, it was less than a full day’s ride o
r a good hard hike along a not-too-bad coast road paved with crushed shell. There was no formal customs service in the glorified fishing village and nobody seemed to care when the soldiers of fortune tied up to a dock, cased the red sails to make things a little tougher, and simply strode ashore.

  Gaston was for checking into a posada or at least finding a cantina as they planned their next move.

  But Captain Gringo said, ‘I already know where we’re going. We’re getting out of town before some nosy bastard asks questions. We’ll take that shell road you talked about out of town, the hard way, and pick up some mules at the first less public stop between here and Limón. Come on, it’s still cool and I want us mounted up before it gets too hot to trudge.’

  Gaston called him a spoilsport but guided him along the waterfront in the direction of the post road north. As they passed an open shop, he suggested, ‘You had better pick up another hat, Dick. Aside from the dangers of sunstroke, that très blond hair of yours is already attracting attention. Did you notice the look that mujer we just passed just gave you?’

  ‘You mean she didn’t just admire my build? Hers was awful! But when you’re right, you’re right.’

  They stepped under the awning and it only took a moment to purchase a pretty good Panama and, as long as they were at it, some decent cigars. Captain Gringo asked for Havana claros but accepted a well-known local brand when the shopkeeper explained Cuban smokes were becoming hard to get. They got out of there poco tiempo when he added something about the ongoing Cuba Libre movement. Soldiers of fortune who didn’t want to look like soldiers of fortune had no business dwelling on revolutions.

  They made it to the north end of the bay and were about to swing into the bananas when Captain Gringo spotted an iron-hulled pearl schooner tied up to the last dock in town and stopped in his tracks to mutter, ‘Son of a bitch! That looks like the Thistlegorm, the pearler Flora MacTavish skippers!’

  Gaston grabbed his arm and said, ‘Oui, let us flee before someone aboard sees us! Have not you had your fill of très spooky redheads looking you up with maddening regularity?’

  ‘Yeah, but old Mac’s on our side, Gaston.’

  ‘You mean she was, before she started throwing crockery at you because you would not settle down and raise wee bairns or some such disgusting crop with her. Will you listen to your elders and use your head for a change? It’s just too pat, Dick. Why would a real Flora be looking for you in a port you never told anyone we might be in, hein?’

  ‘They say she’s been looking for us all up and down this coast, and she’d know as well as we that this one is safer to put into than Limón. Maybe we’d better study on this.’

  ‘Merde alors, I have, and it is, as they say, too big a boo! Who was it told you that an old flame was searching for you – said flame in the flesh? Mais non, you got it right from the mouth of British Intelligence! How many times do you intend to let them set you up the same way, you species of oversexed idiot?’

  ‘Yeah, but I’m sure that’s the Thistlegorm, and how in the hell could even Greystoke expect us to put in here? He’s supposed to be chasing our red sails way south of here, remember?’

  ‘Unless, of course, he has covered all bets. Greystoke heads an organization larger than some armies we have fought, damnit.’

  Captain Gringo stared wistfully at the distant schooner for a time. Then he shrugged and said, ‘When in doubt, don’t. Even if that is the real thing, they don’t really need our help, and her aim was getting pretty good toward the end. Let’s go.’

  They did. Gaston led the way through some banana groves to the shell road, where the shade gave out a lot even at this hour of the day. Captain Gringo was glad he’d bought the broad-brimmed hat as they moved up the road, enveloped to their knees in clouds of white lime dust. They were outside the city limits in no time, since the whole town consisted of nothing much, surrounded by modest plantations. The planters lived in town, so it was easy enough to snag a papaya to quench their thirst from time to time, but this sure was a boring way to get to the railroad station in Limón.

  As they rounded a bend and spotted a cluster of roadside shacks ahead, Gaston said, ‘Merci, mon Dieu. I, for one, have had enough of the pedestrian life. Let us see if they have mules or at least goats to ride, hein?’

  As they got closer, they saw the bigger stucco building of the complex was a roadside cantina. A nice looking if somewhat dusty bay Spanish barb was tied up to the hitching post out front. Gaston suggested they steal it, of course.

  But Captain Gringo said, ‘Don’t be silly. How would the two of us ride that side-saddle? Can’t you see it’s some dame’s mount? Let’s wet our whistles as we look her over.’

  ‘Eh bien, if she is not too ugly, you can ride the horse!’

  As they approached the open entrance, a faded sign beside the doorway informed them the northbound mail stage stopped there every other day and that today wasn’t one of them. So it didn’t matter that they’d missed it by less than an hour.

  Captain Gringo had to duck his head under the low door lintel and the contrast from the dazzling sunlight outside made the interior look darker than it probably was. A dim figure dressed in what could have been a riding habit and picture hat was seated in a far corner. A ragged kid was playing with a puppy on the dirt floor. He yelled when he saw two more customers. So mamacita came out from the back via a beaded curtain behind the bar.

  Mamacita had been moon-faced and pock marked even before she’d gotten fat, but Captain Gringo smiled at her anyway as they bellied up to her bar. She didn’t smile back. Some Indian peons didn’t seem to know how to.

  They ordered cerveza. She said they only had pulque and rum, so they ordered rum. It was lousy rum. But since lousy rum tasted way better than the best pulque, they were still ahead.

  After paying for the drinks to establish they weren’t bums and sipping a sip of her refreshments to establish they weren’t rude, Captain Gringo asked if she had any saddle brutes for sale. Trying to just hire a mount in a part of the world where stock stealing was a national pastime would have been a waste of breath. But what the hell. Prices were modest down here in any case.

  The female barkeep shrugged her massive shoulders and replied, ‘¿Quien sabe? Perhaps my hombre can find you something for to ride, when he returns.’

  ‘Will that be long, señora?’

  ‘Si, he has ridden into town on business. Perhaps he may be back to serve the regulars when our trade picks up after la siesta. In God’s truth, I do not know. I did not ask his business in town.’

  ‘You couldn’t ask around this settlement? We are willing to pay well for mules, or even horses, señora.’

  She sighed wistfully and replied, ‘That is not the problem. I am only a woman. That is the problem. The discussion of livestock larger than a chicken is not the concern of womankind among my people.’

  ‘Are we free to ask around your village?’

  ‘Why not? I just told you such matters were none of my business.’

  He nodded to her, turned to Gaston, and said, ‘Okay, finish your rum – if you’re man enough – and we shall see what we shall see.’

  Gaston shook his head and answered, ‘Sip your own slowly and soak up all the coolness of shade you can. Unless you mean to wait here until the local shot of bigness returns, we face trudging on afoot as the sun rises higher. The owner here is postmaster and no doubt alcalde. None of the smaller frogs in his puddle would do business with strangers while he was away. It could be très injurious to their health.’

  Captain Gringo took another experimental sip, tried not to grimace with the owner’s woman looking at him, and murmured, ‘Maybe that dame in the corner? Her fancy pony and European-style hat add up to a big hacienda that might have spare stock in its remuda.’

  Gaston warned, ‘Don’t even look at her, you species of dumb tourist! I was only half joking when I suggested stealing her barb. The rural aristocracy she obviously comes from would forgive a horse thief before a m
an who spoke to one of their women sans the approval of her menfolk!’

  ‘I guess you’re right. Even if you’re not, it’s not worth the chance we’d be taking without a couple of mounts under us muy pronto. I guess we get to walk a lot this morning.’

  He swallowed some more rum to fortify his nerves for the cruel sun outside. But as he glanced at the open doorway, it didn’t seem as bright as he’d remembered. He was about to comment on this when a withered old peon popped in at them from out there, hat in hands, to call out, ‘Another rain squall is coming for to torment us all! Whoever owns that fine caballo tied outside had best find shelter for him lest he drown standing up!’

  The little kid and the woman who’d been nursing a drink in the corner dashed outside to do something about her mount. Captain Gringo and Gaston stayed put. They were no fools. A few moments later, a lightning flash lit up the whole cantina and shook the dirt floor under them. As it began to rain fire and salt outside, Gaston sighed and said, ‘I told you to nurse that drink, Dick.’ Captain Gringo smiled crookedly and turned to the fat female behind the bar to ask, ‘Do you have rooms to let, señora? It seems God just told us we’d better wait here until this evening after all.’

  She grinned, poured them another round of drinks on the house, and said the chico would show them the way as soon as he finished taking care of La Señorita and her caballo. Then she asked pointedly if they had any luggage, perhaps outside.

  Captain Gringo said they’d naturally pay in advance. She looked relieved and told them she had fine private rooms with real beds for what amounted to ten cents a day, U.S. They knew she was trying to skin them. But they could afford her outrageous prices, so what the hell.

  As they worked on the tumblers she’d retopped for them, Captain Gringo asked her casually who their fellow stranded traveler might be.