by Lou Cameron
Gaston nodded and said, “But of course. That is one of the main reasons I regard her scheme as too dangerous. The princess, and anyone she hires to invade whatever species of islet her people are being held on, has no idea what may be waiting for them there. The so-called blackbirders could be on any of a dozen keys with any sort of defensive setup, and worse yet, they already know she’s coming, avec what! She has not the chance of the snowball in hell, Dick!”
Captain Gringo nodded grimly and said, “I just said you were right. I just wish I knew some way to make her see it. She seems like a good kid, in a sort of weird way. But every time I try to tell her the idea doesn’t sound so hot, she just starts to take her clothes off.”
Gaston brightened and said, “Oh? You left the good parts out, I see! Is that why you hesitate to escape with me, my horny child? Having enjoyed the gigantic favors of the maiden in distress, you feel some trés grotesque obligation to die for her?”
“Don’t talk like an asshole, you asshole. I turned that proposition down too, and it wasn’t easy. It’s just that … Aw shit, let’s get out of here before I have to face her again. It’s just a no-win situation no matter what I tell her.”
“Eh bien, let us be on our cowardly way then. This posada I mentioned earlier, I neglected to say, comes with hot and cold running women even if the plumbing leaves something to be desired. The best cure I can think of for a six-foot-six vahine would be a Spanish redhead in the neighborhood of five-foot-two with eyes of blue, non?”
Captain Gringo laughed, agreed, and since they’d checked in with no luggage in the first place, they went down the back stairs to check out the least complicated way. They’d paid for their rooms in advance, been overcharged, so who cared about the busted doors, right?
That would have been the end of it. Princess Manukai might or might not have found someone else, and either succeeded or failed on her own. But since the night was still young—for a Latin American night—and on sober reflection Gaston couldn’t swear for certain about there being all that many dames at the other posada across town, the two soldiers of fortune stopped at the main plaza near the cathedral to drink some cerveza and reconsider their options.
The early unexpected rain naturally had put a damper on the sunset paseo. So, as naturally, once things had dried out before midnight, the plaza was once more filled with strolling players of opposing sexes looking for sex, although nobody was about to admit it.
The way the Latin American paseo was supposed to work was that the girls circled the plaza one way and the boys circled it the other, so everyone got to pass everyone of the other gender over and over as one and all pretended they weren’t interested. Older and wiser hands like Captain Gringo and Gaston had learned it made as much sense conquest-wise, and even more, exercise-wise, to just stay put at a sidewalk cantina table under a hanging lantern and let the passing muchachas see for themselves how pretty you were and, more important, that you had drinking money and weren’t desperate. El Paseo was always run lady’s choice. A guy who smiled at a woman first was considered an uncouth sex maniac and, worse yet, a country boy or a married john without time to spend on a real romance.
If a muchacha was looking to get picked up, and there’d be little point in all that walking if she weren’t, she’d let you know, the fifth or sixth time your eyes met in passing, that she was aware of your existence. If she didn’t fancy you, she wouldn’t notice you on the last night of her life. But, on the other hand, since she’d never noticed you in the first place, she’d never actually snub you. So there was a lot to be said for El Paseo, in contrast with the crueler way the game was played up north.
Back in the States, a Victorian Maiden Fair expected the poor slob to approach her; and so a lot of awkward, homely guys left every dance feeling even more awkward and ugly while a lot of she-male wallflowers got to go home feeling like losers as well. At El Paseo even the Hunchback of Notre Dame, male or female, was left with their dignity, at least, intact. One could always assume the “stroller” one admired was simply too shy to make eye contact; and so, while just as many ugly boys and girls struck out, they never felt humiliated.
Neither Captain Gringo nor Gaston struck out too often. The big blond American was attractive at a glance to most women. Gaston, though older, smaller, and grayer, could be considered nice-looking on second glance; and all clean-looking foreigners intrigued the older and more ad: venturous women of any nationality. So the two of them were just sitting there, idly watching the proceedings, when a couple of burly blancos in linen suits that could have used some laundry soap sat down at their tin table with them, uninvited.
This alone was a serious insult in Hispanic circles. But since neither they nor the two soldiers of fortune seemed to be Hispanic, Captain Gringo just smiled thinly and asked them what they wanted.
The bigger of the pair, who also could have used a shave, said flatly, “We want you guys to butt out, see?” Captain Gringo just stared coldly at them. Gaston said, “You must have us confused with someone else, mon ami. We just got here. We have yet to be smiled at by even one of the passing throng. So if you wish to be inside the track with any particular species of femme in the vicinity, just point her, or them, out and—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it, Frog Face,” cut in the bully with a knowing sneer.
His pal nodded and said, “Yeah, who’re you trying to shit? Do we look stupid or sumpin’?”
Gaston smiled fondly and said, “You would know better than I how stupid you look, since it is your face, not mine, you see in the mirror on the rare occasions you may choose to shave, hein?”
Captain Gringo said, “Cut the comedy, Gaston. You guys may as well cut it too. Is there any point to all this bullshit, or are you two just looking for a fight?”
“Whaddaya, some kind of tough guy, Walker?”
“If you know my name, you know better than to start up with me like a pair of peon punks baiting a tourist. You both look like Yanks. So let’s all talk plain English. What do you want, if it’s not our boots?”
The smaller of the two, which wasn’t saying tiny, nudged his even burlier companion and growled, “Jeez, don’t he talk brave, Spike?” And Spike growled back, “Yeah, they tol’ us he was brave. They tol’ us to watch out for the shiv the little frog carries sneaky under the back of his shirt collar, too.”
Captain Gringo turned to Gaston to say in a conversational tone, “I’ll take the big one, okay?”
Gaston shrugged and said, “Spoilsport. My little sister could kick the merde out of either, in her ballet slippers. But go ahead and amuse yourself with M’sieu Spike if you wish. I’ll just watch. The other one is all mouth.”
Captain Gringo took off his wide-brimmed Panama and placed it on the table. But before he could rise, the one called Spike said, “Hey, wait, don’t you want to hear the message we brung you?”
“You brought us a message? I thought you just enjoyed living dangerously, Spike?”
“Jeez, ain’t you got no sense of humor? The guys that sent us tol’ us to tell you to stay the hell away from that big Hawaiian dame, see?”
“I’m beginning to. Who sent you, Spike?”
The professional tough grinned knowingly and replied, “Wouldn’t you like to find out?”
“I sure would, Spike. So now you’re going to tell me, aren’t you?”
Spike shook his head and said, “Naw, they tol’ us not to, uh, go inta details. They tol’ us to just tell you to stay away from the dame and out of the game if you know what’s good for you.”
As they both rose, the smaller one said, “You know what’s good for you, don’t you, Walker?”
Captain Gringo glanced at Gaston and raised an eyebrow. The Frenchman nodded and said, “Oui, let’s get it out of them.” So Captain Gringo put his hat back on, both soldiers of fortune rose, and the two tough-looking thugs started running as if their lives depended on it.
It did. None of the Costa Ricans all aroun
d saw fit to interfere as, for some strange blanco reason, two gringo lunatics seemed to be chasing two other gringo lunatics down one side of the plaza. Spike and his pal knew their way around San José, too. So, long before they got near the police post down at the southwest corner, they cut into a westbound alley to really start picking them up and laying them down as Spike panted, “Jeez, Pud, did you have to dare them like that? We was only paid to lay the word on ’em, you asshole!”
Pud panted back, “Keep running, dammit! Walker’s gaining on us!”
Actually, Captain Gringo wasn’t running as fast as he could as he paced the frightened toughs the length of the block-long alley. For guys who talked so rugged, it was obvious neither was in real shape. So he chased them just hard enough to keep them looking back as, meanwhile, Gaston did some more serious running via another-route and, just as Spike and Pud thought they’d made the end of the alley and were wondering where to run next, Gaston made their minds up for them by materializing in front of them to shout, “Boo!”
That naturally froze them, as planned. So as Gaston gaily kicked Spike in the balls and then kicked him in the face when he doubled over, Captain Gringo pounced on Pud like a cat, picked him up by the scruff of the neck and the seat of the pants, and tried to see if Pud’s head were harder than the stucco-covered bricks of the nearest wall.
It wasn’t. Captain Gringo dropped the limp, unconscious Pud at his feet, stepped over him, and said, “Gaston, don’t kick old Spike any more. He’s going to tell us a story, ain’t that right, Spike?”
Spike just lay on his side, groaning as he clutched his groin with both hands. So Captain Gringo kicked him in the ribs. Gaston muttered, “That is not fair, Dick. You had your own dolly to play with. Must you take mine as well?”
Captain Gringo said, “I think I broke my dolly. This one can still talk, if it knows what’s good for it. Do you know what’s good for you, Dolly?”
Spike moaned, “Jeez! Don’t kick me no more! Jus’ gimme a sec to get my fuckin’ breath back, okay?” Captain Gringo kicked him in the shins this time and said, “You can breathe all you want after you tell us who sent you. Talk, you shit-heel!”
“Hey, what can I tell you? It was just a guy, a knockaround guy we met in a cantina near the depot earlier tonight. He tol’ us your names and tol’ us what to tell you. He might have warned us you was so tough, the motherfucker!”
Captain Gringo kicked him again and growled, “Flattery will get you nowhere, you lying bastard. If you’re knockaround guys from San Jose, you already heard about Gaston and me. You want to try again, or do you think the girls would admire you more with your face kicked in?”
“Okay! Okay! We heard your reps around town, but nobody tol’ us how short-tempered you guys was, for Chrissake! We was just supposed to warn you away from that hula-hula dancer. Nobody said nothing about starting up with you and getting ourselves half-killed!”
“I’m waiting to hear the name of the guy who sent you, Spike.”
“What can I tell you? He was just a guy-type guy, and—don’t kick me again, damn it! He never laid his name on us. He just laid twenty bucks each on us and tol’ us to make sure you got his message loud and clear!”
“We got his message. I’m still waiting to hear more about him, Spike.”
Before Spike could answer, Gaston hissed, “Regard!” and pushed Captain Gringo to one side as, drawing his own .38, he put a bullet in Pud as the dazed but armed and dangerous thug rose to his feet and, naturally, went right back down again.
As Pud’s own revolver clattered to the cobbles, Captain Gringo said, “Thanks,” drew his own revolver, and said, “That shot’s sure to draw the law, so we haven’t time for more games, Spike. The name—now. I won’t ask again!”
Spike pleaded, “Don’t! I swear I don’t know the guy’s name. He was just a … Wait, he had an accent, like he was a Swede or maybe a Dutchman, and …”
In the distance, a police whistle was blowing. So Captain Gringo nodded and said, “Let’s get out of here, Gaston.”
Gaston said, “Oui, lead on, MacDuff,” as he aimed the .38 in his hand and cold-bloodedly blew off the side of Spike’s head.
As the two of them ran out of the alley, slowed down near the corner, and strolled around it together innocently, Captain Gringo asked, “Why did you have to do that? I think the poor slob was telling the truth.”
Gaston nodded and said, “So do I. But I remember my dear old Aunt Mimi telling me one time, as she was going sixty-nine with me, never to leave a witness to a killing behind.”
Captain Gringo sighed and said, “She had a point. Sorry. Wasn’t thinking. We’d better get off the street poco tiempo. Spike wasn’t the only witness who can place us near the first slob you had to shoot. A whole plaza full of people saw us chase them down that alley!”
“True, but what can they say, save that two men dressed less like natives were chasing two others? Fortunately, all four of us left the paseo before anyone who knows us well here in San José stopped to have a drink with us. So who can connect us with two tramps we never met before, hein?”
“The guy who sicced them onto us, for one. We still don’t know who he might have been, and he knew who we were and where to find us, before we even got there!”
“Merde alors, do you have to be so cheerful as midnight approaches, Dick? We’d better swing right at the next corner if we intend to make that posada I told you about before the usual tedious police dragnet begins.”
Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “No. We’re going back to the hotel. It’s closer, we never checked out in the first place, officially, and the cops never bother people in the classier parts of town.”
“True, my bright pupil on the run. But have you considered that the species of insect that wishes us to stay away from Princess Manukai knows we’ve been staying at that hotel?”
“I have. By morning he’ll have gotten the message we left for him in that alley back there, too. So we’d better cut out early for Puntarenas with old Manukai.”
“Merde alors! You intend to help her after all? I thought we agreed her scheme was sheer lunacy, Dick!”
“It probably is. On the other hand, some prick I don’t even know just told me to butt out, and I’ve always hated to take orders.”
Gaston nodded soberly and said, “Eh bien, count me in too.”
*
Since they hadn’t checked out, they didn’t have to check back in. But since the hall door of Captain Gringo’s suite had naturally not been repaired, they slipped into Gaston’s digs next door to fort up for the moment as they considered their options.
The second floor of the first-class hotel was laid out in a big H. So there was no way to cover the stairwell and all the corridor ends from Gaston’s doorway. Captain Gringo was trying to, holding the door ajar as Gaston started to “unpack” by emptying the bulging pockets of his linen jacket atop the bed table. Captain Gringo said, “Hold it. We may have to leave again in a hurry. I’d better run a quick patrol of all the broom closets and, once it looks safe, have a word with the princess.”
Gaston took out his pocketknife as he said, “Eh bien, kiss her once for me. Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can fix the locks she broke with her trés dainty bare hands. I still don’t see how she could have done it.”
Captain Gringo said, “You still haven’t seen the dame.”
But Gaston insisted, “I still don’t believe any human being could be that strong. Most hotel locks are cheap, as any good jewel thief can tell you. Mais the cheapest lock is still made of metal and, eh bien, I’ll have a look at your abused hotel hardware with my sweet little screwdriver blade. She probably just took advantage of a loose screw, hein?”
Captain Gringo drew his .38 from its shoulder rig, held it in the right side pocket of his jacket, and tossed his hat on Gaston’s bed before stepping innocently out into the hall.
He moved to the stairwell and went up to the top. The hotel was four stories tall. A chump might hav
e started his sweep with the fourth floor. But Captain Gringo had hidden out on rooftops himself in the past. So he unscrewed the Edison bulb near the roof exit, popped open the sheet-metal door, and crabbed quickly to one side in case anyone was covering the far side.
Nobody was. The flat roofing all around was dimly illuminated by the sky glow of San José. He only had to circle the stairwell shed and water tower once to make sure there were no Apache encampments to worry about up there.
He moved back down the stairs faster than he’d come up them. A house-to-house fighting trick they’d never taught him at West Point regarding stairs was “Up slow, down fast!” Like a lot of military skills, it made little sense until one thought about it. Then one wondered why one had never thought of that before. A guy moving up popped his eyes over an edge while the rest of him was still covered and so might manage to catch someone on a floor above by surprise. But a guy sneaking down had his entire body in full view before his eyes could see what the hell he was sneaking down at. Ergo, his chances were better, lousy as they still were, if he simply popped into view all at once.
Nobody was waiting in ambush for him on the fourth floor landing or around any corners. It occurred to him as he was checking out the third floor that he was probably wasting his time. But he had plenty of time, and while there was no way to make sure some sneak hadn’t simply checked into one of the other rooms of the big hotel, at least he made sure nobody was forted up in a broom closet or the bathrooms shared by the guests in the cheaper rooms.
There were no guest facilities below the second floor. The main floor below was taken up by the lobby, bar, dining room, kitchen, stable, storage, quarters for the hotel help, etc. There was no way to check down there without answering a lot of questions he didn’t want anyone even asking. There was no way to check the hotel register. Even if he got the room clerk to show him the book, the names on it would mean nothing to him, while at the same time, his curiosity could alert a sneak checked in as “John Smith” to the fact that someone was curious about his signature. A night clerk who’d talk to one guest for a modest bribe would talk to any other for the-same. He might even volunteer the information, in hopes of a tip.
