Renegade 35

by Lou Cameron

  Captain Gringo didn’t say he’d heard that the nuns seemed to have something unusual on their minds these days. Had they wanted this peon to even wonder what it might be, they’d have let him in. He shrugged the comment off, finished his coffee, and as Gaston followed his lead to do the same, made a point of thanking the woman as well as the man before he rose to add, “We’d better be on our way, then. It would be rude to arrive late at night at a convent.”

  The peones were in no position to argue, so they didn’t. As the two soldiers of fortune walked away, the woman at last screwed her courage up to call after them, “Via con Dios.”

  Captain Gringo smiled softly and muttered, “Poor thing, we must have scared them shitless. I wonder how those nuns ahead will take our sudden arrival.”

  Gaston leered and replied, “It depends on how often they entertain, one imagines. Did you hear the one about the convent regulations calling for lights out by nine, candles out by midnight?”

  Captain Gringo chuckled but said. “I thought you were a good Catholic, Gaston.”

  The little Frenchman replied, “Mais non, but I am at least a death-bed Catholic, so that gives me the right to tell such jokes. Who did you assume makes up all the jokes about priests and nuns, Jews and Protestants? One must understand the jargon to work out the line of punch. I have difficulty getting the point of jokes about ministers and rabbinical species because, in such cases, the line of punch is très obscure to a once depraved altar boy.”

  “No doubt. But let’s not make any dumb cracks where we’re going. Spanish Catholics take themselves a bit more seriously than you wise-ass Frogs.”

  “True, only we French and perhaps the Italians know how to keep Mother Church in her proper place. As long as one goes to confession every now and then, what does it matter what we do in our free time?”

  Captain Gringo snorted and said, “You old hypocrite, you haven’t been to church since I’ve known you.”

  “That is not just, Dick. Do you not recall the time we hid out from the police in the Limon Cathedral, or the time we ducked into that chapel in—”

  “That doesn’t count and you know it,” Captain Gringo cut in, and continued, “I was right beside you, sweating my Protestant hide, and I don’t remember you praying.”

  Gaston laughed and said, “It would be très disrespectful to pray and shit one’s pants at the same time, non? I promise not to get fresh with any nuns tonight, provided they are ugly and you ever get us there. How far could this species of convent be?”

  It turned out to be about five miles. The moon was up, and that helped a lot, for it not only made it easier to follow the wagon trace but, as they topped a rise, illuminated the white stucco walls of what had to be the place, off the road and farther up the slope.

  They were spotted in the same moonlight long before they made it to the massive oak-and-wrought-iron entrance. A tiny door in the substantial barrier popped open, and an eyeball told them to go away, adding that strangers in pants had no reason even being this close to Brides of Christ at this ungodly hour.

  Captain Gringo didn’t think he ought to mention just who’d told him, since he wasn’t sure, now, what sort of a neighborhood rep old Rosa might have. But he said, “We were told that your Mother Superior needs our help. We got here after dark because we couldn’t get here earlier. If she doesn’t wish to see us, we’ll be on our way. But don’t you think she ought to know we’re here before she turns us away?”

  The nun behind the door told them to wait and shut the tiny door. They waited—and waited some more. Captain Gringo had just muttered, “Fuck ’em, let’s go,” when the whole door opened and the same voice, now attached to a whole Amazonian nun, told them to come in, follow her, and behave themselves.

  They did. They didn’t even stop to listen as they passed an open chapel door to hear sweet-singing voices and smell burning incense. Their guide led them along an L-shaped arcade to another big door on the far side of the cloister. She knocked, opened it for them, and ushered them into the presence of an even tougher-looking old dame. Madre Ana was seated behind a severe oaken table. She was pure Spanish, so her face was skull-white and about as soft. She tried a refined smile of welcome, but the effort must have hurt her prim, wrinkled lips too much to hold it long. She waved them both to heavy straight-backed oaken seats. The big, tough nun who’d brought them this far stood behind them, glowering. One got the distinct impression that boys were not allowed here as a rule.

  The Mother Superior told her bodyguard to pour some refreshments, and as the Amazon moved to a sideboard where some dusty cut-glass decanters glimmered in the candlelight, Madre Ana questioned them as to how they’d come to know so much about her.

  Captain Gringo had long ago learned that sticking to the truth as much as possible saved a lot of backtracking. But he didn’t offer too much as he explained that they were headed for the sierra country and so forth. The old woman was a sharp cross-examiner, and when he was forced to allow that he knew perhaps a little about recent troubles in El Salvador, she suddenly laughed—it sounded spooky, coming from her—and said, “I know who you are. You could be no one but Captain Gringo, and this must be your famous companero, Gaston Verrier.”

  The American neither admitted nor denied it. He asked if that was good or bad, from her point of view.

  She actually managed to show some yellow teeth this time as she smiled more pleasantly and replied, “You are most wicked and no doubt shall answer for it in the hereafter, Americano. Yet it is said among the pobrecitos that you fight more often on the just side than the winning side and that you have a certain rough sense of honor.”

  He shrugged modestly. It was up to her to say who she wanted shot for missing mass or whatever. The other nun handed them each a cut-glass tumbler of wine. It was good, though not easy to identify. The peon who’d given them directions here had said they made their own stuff when nobody was bothering them. A barrel of this ruby red would no doubt pay for a lot of candles. The other furnishings, while on the Spartan side, were expensive-looking too. It was a rich convent. That was sort of interesting when one considered that they were off in the woods, surrounded by poverty-stricken squatters, and not too many of ’em at that.

  As if she’d read his mind, Madre Ana said, “In the past we have accepted donations from as far away as San Salvador. At the time I confess that I did not think to question the virtue of certain well-to-do Salvadorans who said they admired our wine, had heard of the good works we do up here among Los Indios, and wished for to aid us in our mission.”

  Captain Gringo didn’t answer. Gaston said, “Eh, bien, dinero is dinero, and who are we to question the motives of those donating to Mother Church, hein?”

  The old nun fixed him with a reproachful stare and snapped, “We are brides of Christ, not a house of ill-repute. Had I suspected for one moment that there could be, ah, strings attached to the donations, I assure you I would have refused—”

  Captain Gringo cut in, soothingly, “Anyone can see that, Madre Superiora. Why don’t you tell us about the bargain someone seems to be holding you to against you will?”

  She sighed and said, “My, you are as understanding as the little people say. As you know, since you were probably mixed up in it, El Salvador just suffered a recent attempt at revolution. It failed. So now the winning side is persecuting the losing side most severely. Some would-be rulers of El Salvador who are now no doubt dead, or most good at hiding, must have thought ahead before they planned their revolt. They sent some of their dependents up here to be safe no matter how the civil war turned out. I could not refuse, since their families had contributed handsomely to the running of this convent and, alas, I was in no position for to return their money once it had been spent.”

  “Ouch. You mean you’re stuck with wanted rebels, Madre Ana?”

  “Not exactly. They are, as I said, wives and daughters of men with more ambition than sense. Pero I am, as you say, stuck with them, indeed. This is a home for wom
en who have taken holy orders, not a posada for unpaying guests or, in some cases, a home for wayward girls. They are distracting my nuns, eating us out of house and home, and it is only a question of time before the junta in San Salvador discovers that they are here and seeks revenge.”

  “Wait, you’re miles inside Honduras, aren’t you?”

  “Does it matter to men seeking revenge? Did you two have any trouble getting here? Our own capital, Tegucigalpa, is farther from here than San Salvador, and on the far side of the Great Rift as well.”

  Captain Gringo sipped more wine and thought before he said, “You do have a sticky situation here. But what’s to prevent you from simply turning your unwelcome guests over to El Salvador in the first place?”

  She looked shocked and replied, “Two things. My religious vows forbid me to allow even sinners seeking sanctuary to be murdered or worse, as they surely will be if the present Salvadoran government catches up with them. As a woman born to an honorable Castilian name, I am just as bound by my having accepted money from the families of my unwelcome guests.”

  Gaston said, “Mais non, Madame, that is not how I see it at all. You did not agree to such a droll idea when you accepted donations in good faith. How can you be held to a bargain you never really made?”

  She stared soberly at him and said, “One can see that you are not a Spaniard. I accepted handsome gifts. It is true I did not think to ask what they might desire in the future from myself. But that was my error, not theirs. They knew that I knew that when one accepts a favor, one owes a favor. I took their donations. They asked me for sanctuary. What else could I have done as either a good Catholic or a woman of gentle birth?”

  Captain Gringo shushed Gaston to ask her, “What can we do to help, Madre Ana?”

  She said, “I cannot send them back. I cannot keep them here. But if you could get them to a mission just over the Sierra Neblina, the monks there could send them down the Ulua to the east coast, and from there they could be put aboard a ship to Spain.”

  Gaston started to object. Before he could, Captain Gringo said, “We’re not going down the Ulua. Not for a while at least. But we might be able to get a small party to at least the right mountain pass and aim them the right way. How many people are we talking about, and do you have a map for us to find the right one?”

  She turned to open a drawer of the chest behind her as she said, “There are four married women—no doubt widows by now—and six grown daughters of rebel officers who failed to raise them properly. I must tell you frankly that they are all spoiled and soft. Pero they are all full grown and, if they know what’s good for them, able to walk as fast as they may have to.”

  She swung around with a neatly folded little map and handed it across to Captain Gringo as she added, “You will find this crude but accurate. It was drawn for me by a hopefully reformed smuggler. If you can guide the girls to El Paso Ruido, they simply have to follow the only trail down the far side to Mission de los Bravos on a headwater arm of the Ulua.”

  Captain Gringo put the map away to read later. If it was any good, so be it. If it was inaccurate, tough shit. She wouldn’t know. He had to look before he’d know. He asked how come the pass was so noisy, and she said, “I have never been there. I understand it is called El Paso Ruido because the trade winds blowing through it make the glassy rocks howl constantly like lost souls. My hopefully reformed smuggler tells me that can be an advantage, traveling with heavily laden mules. The constant howling wind makes it difficult for to hear hoof steps, and the constant mist makes everything more than a pistol shot away invisible, so—”

  “Is that why you picked El Paso Ruido for us?” he cut in, adding, “Forgive me for being abrupt, Madre Ana. I have reasons for asking.”

  She nodded and said, “My young smuggler said it was the best way, unless one wished for to swing far to the north and perhaps encounter the unpleasant guerrilla, El Condor. He haunts the sierra as far north as the Guatemalan line.”

  “We’ve heard about him, too. What about passes farther south than this one you picked for us?”

  She said, “There are no others practical for mules or wicked girls who know more of dancing than mountain climbing. If one wants to avoid the sierras completely, of course, one can simply swing southeast to the great rift itself. That way one meets no high country at all between our north and south coasts. Pero the great rift is most heavily settled, the girls are now wanted outlaws with prices on their vain heads, and—”

  “Yo sabe,” he cut in with a nod. Gaston said, “Oui, it may be best to take the high ground in any case. La policia can be so picky about the papers that passing strangers may or may not have on them.” But he turned to Captain Gringo to add, “You know, of course, that the odds on it being the right pass are still très lousy?”

  Captain Gringo nodded, said they had to choose some pass in any case, and that what one smuggler thought the best route could be what other smugglers would choose as the best route. Then he asked the old woman when they got to meet the unwanted female refugees.

  She looked shocked and said, “Not until morning, señor! What kind of a place do you think this is? By now the girls will all be in bed. That is where I mean to send you two naughty boys as well. At the other end of the compound, of course!”

  At about the same time the two soldiers of fortune were being shown to their cells for the night, Sir Basil Hakim was lounging in his San Salvador bedchamber, wearing red silk pajamas and reading the financial section of the London Times as a little naked girl far too young to be doing so sucked him off, or tried to. Sir Basil was finding it harder to get hard every passing night, but what was money for if a man didn’t mean to enjoy life?

  There was a knock on the door. The ten-year-old stiffened and raised her head from the dirty old man’s groin. He told her not to be silly and forced her face down again as he called out, “Come in, Lopez.”

  His local top gun did so, repressed a gasp of surprise when he saw a little girl’s bare behind aimed at him, and said, “Ah, perhaps I should come back later.”

  Hakim said, “No, come on in and have a seat, or some ass if you’d prefer. I’m not using that end of her. Not getting much out of her little mouth, as a matter of fact, but I enjoy having children around me. What’s the latest on our wayward adventurers, old bean?”

  Lopez sat gingerly on the hassock near the bed, trying not to look down as he said, “The men we had trailing them lost contact. They’re still trying to explain how. One minute the gringo and the frog were on the road ahead, and the next minute they weren’t.”

  Hakim tossed his newspaper aside and grabbed the little girl by both ears as he sighed and said, “Captain Gringo does that a lot. No matter. If they take the trail to El Paso Ruido, they have to ride into the ambush we sent on ahead, eh what?”

  Lopez shrugged and said, “Si, pero I still do not understand what we are trying to do, Sir Basil. Forgive me, I mean no disrespect, but to me it makes no sense at all.”

  Hakim chuckled and said, “If you understood my methods, you’d be as rich as me instead of working for me. I had my reasons for hiring them to contact Crawford’s column. Just as I have my reasons for not wanting them to do any such thing.”

  He pulled the child’s head down harder. She gagged on his limp but massive virile member and wriggled in discomfort as he held her that way. Lopez grimaced and asked, “Do you have to do that?”

  Hakim laughed and said, “I don’t have to do anything. I’m too rich. But isn’t she moving in an interesting way now? Come join me. Let’s see what she’ll do if you shove it up her arse while I choke her with my dong.”

  Lopez looked disgusted and said, “I shoot men for hire. I do not abuse children for anyone at any price. Let her go. I mean it.”

  The tone of his voice startled Hakim. He let go the child’s ears. She rolled off the bed to run from the room bawling like a baby, which was only natural when one thought about it.

  Hakim stared soberly at his segundo
, reclining with his not-so-virile member exposed. He said, “I thought it was understood that I own the people working for me, old chap. I’ve a good mind to put you in your proper place by making you finish her job. Tell me something, Lopez, have you ever taken it in your head to make money?”

  Lopez smiled weakly and said, “As I was saying about those two soldiers of fortune, they may or may not be headed for El Paso Ruido and our ambush. What happens if they try farther north?”

  “They’ll no doubt run into El Condor, and it won’t cost me a red centavo. Let me worry about such minor details. Take off your clothes and get in bed with me. I mean it.”

  Lopez rose to his full height to demand, “Do I look like an hombre who sleeps with even handsome men?” So Hakim explained, “Fags are not as much fun. I’m not homosexual, either, as a rule. I simply enjoy the feeling of power it gives me to ravage others against their will. But rape is too much work at my age.”

  Lopez shook his head and opened his jacket to clear the grips of his sidearm. Hakim laughed and said, “Oh, I love it when a boy acts shy. I’ll tell you what. If you let me put it in your bum, I’ll tell you what’s really going on.”

  Lopez drew his .45 and pointed it at Hakim, cocked. The little degenerate chuckled and said, “No you won’t. Aside from the fact that I pay better than anyone else and you know it, you know your life would end, rather grimly, less than twenty-four hours after mine. So why don’t you put that silly toy away and let me show you how exciting it feels to be arse-fucked. Men who’ve never even considered such a thing seem to get unusual excitement out of it once they give in, you know.”

  Lopez said, “I know you are planning to murder two other men who went to work for you in good faith. That worries me a lot more than your sex habits. I wish for you to explain just why I should feel safe working for you if those others are about to be ambushed while on your payroll.”

  “Good heavens, are you actually threatening me?”