by J. T. Edson
‘That was the assurance I gave to you and sent with the ransom note to your husband, señora,’ Peraro pointed out, halting so that the trio could complete the descent and stop before him on the floor of the bar-room. ‘Your coach is ready and waiting with a driver and some of my most trusted men who will act as an escort until you are safely in the hands of the vaqueros that Señor Castrillo will have sent to the rendezvous. But, if you so wish, you may remain here until tomorrow morning.’
‘Here? the woman repeated, looking about her with a mixture of revulsion and horror. ‘No. We’ll go now?
The decision would have struck most people as being understandable and wise!
Sitting at tables around the bar-room, standing at its counter, or gathered in other places throughout the small Mexican town of Escopeta, were assembled as ruthless, bloodthirsty and murderous a bunch of criminals as could have been found in one spot anywhere in the world. There was no major or minor infraction of the law which had not been committed by at least one of them in his time. Nor was there any kind of outrage too evil and atrocious for somebody present to have carried out. Even the female occupants were far from fit company for any decent and respectable woman.
Only a man of exceptional courage and with powers of leadership and a great force of personality, backed by a complete disregard for the sanctity of human life, could control and command such a band of brutal ruffians.
Don Ramon Manuel Jose Peraro was such a man!
The fact that he was still alive and in good health was testimony to his capability and competence!
There was, in fact, no bandido surviving in Escopeta who would consider opposing the will of their leader!
All those who had been sufficiently ill advised to do so in the past had met with sudden and painfully inflicted death within seconds of their incautious behavior becoming apparent!
Tall and slender, the bandido chief moved with an easy grace indicative of considerable power enhanced by the agility of a bull fighter, despite having attained forty years of strenuous life. Although the passage of time and a penchant for the good things in life had given a slight puffiness to his still handsome Latin features, at which one needed to look closely before discerning the real cruelty lurking beneath the veneer of charm, he was too wise to have allowed either time or indulgence to spoil his excellent physical condition to any noticeable degree. His attire was invariably that of an extremely wealthy haciendero and, when things were going well, he employed the manners and deportment of the kind of Old World Spanish grandee from which he claimed his stock had sprung. However, should things not be going well, his true nature came to the fore and everybody in his immediate vicinity knew it was time to step warily in his presence.
Courtly manners notwithstanding, Peraro was a very bad man to cross. It was a quality he needed to dominate the rapacious and cruel people who served as members of his band. The nickel plated Colt Civilian Model Peacemaker with its fancy silver Tiffany grips in the cross draw holster on the left side of his well polished black gunbelt and the ivory handled, finely chased ten inch long, spear pointed fighting knife sheathed at the right were far from being mere affectations intended to impress. When the situation demanded, he would use one or the other without the slightest hesitation and very effectively.
‘The choice is entirely your own, my dear señora,’ the bandido chief claimed, his air magnanimous. ‘I trust you will apologize to your husband on my behalf for the deaths of your driver and guard and you will also see the wife of each receives the bag of money I’m sending them?’
‘I will,’ Señora Castrillo promised before she could stop herself. Then, wondering what kind of man would make such a gesture after having shot down the driver of the coach before her eyes to emphasize his determination to have the ransom paid, she continued, ‘Can we go now, please?’
‘As soon as you wish and with my assurance of your complete safety on the journey,’ Peraro declared, giving a bow as courtly as might have been made when Cristobal Colon was granted permission and the means to set out upon the epic voyage which had resulted in the discovery of the “New World”. 11 Looking past his ransomed captives briefly, he went on, ‘By the way, ladies, I trust you have both been treated with politeness, respect and consideration all the time you have been my guests?’
If any of the watching and listening crowd—which included some of the worst and most vicious villains to be found in Mexico—considered the Old World courtesy displayed by their leader a source of levity, they were too wise to allow their sentiments to become obvious. Even those who had the inclination remembered the fate of predecessors who had been sufficiently imprudent to let their derision or amusement show. As he took himself and his behavior very seriously, the recollection was not one which would encourage repetition.
‘We ha—!’ Señora Castrillo began.
‘I haven’t been!’ asserted Señorita Castrillo heatedly, before her mother could finish, having drawn the correct deduction from the look which had accompanied the question. Turning and pointing at their escort, who was standing behind them at the foot of the stairs, she elaborated with an equal passion and annoyance, ‘This person has stolen my watch and the bracelet my fiancé gave me!’
Which was not, as any of the crowd in the bar-room could have warned, the most politic way a pampered and well raised girl should lodge a complaint about the activities of Florencia Cazador!
The woman against whom the accusation was leveled had only just passed her twentieth birthday and, despite the fact that she should have held an exalted position in the society of the town, there was more than a suggestion of gypsy-like wildness about her. Shoulder long, straight black hair framed a beautiful olive brown face with the somewhat slanted eyes and Mongoloid features characteristic of many races of Indians in North America. 12 Five foot seven in height, she had a richly endowed, curvaceous and voluptuous figure which was emphasized rather than concealed by her attire. Regardless of her personal desires, which would have selected elegant silken raiment and copious amounts of expensive jewelry—the largest and most ostentatious available—she was not permitted to acquire such things. For some reason known only to himself, having selected her as his latest mistress, Peraro insisted she should remain clad in little more than a simple multi-colored blouse, a plain black skirt and that she should go barefoot after the fashion of the maternal side of her bi-racial family.
‘You lousy, “mother-something” little liar!’ 13 Florencia yelled furiously and with what sounded like genuinely righteous indignation, lunging at the girl behind outstretched hands which reached talon-like for her hair.
The intended attack was not brought to fruition!
As the pair withdrew in alarm before her obvious anger, Peraro stepped between his captives even more quickly than his mistress and placed the palm of his left hand against her face. Thrusting sharply, he sent her backwards until her feet struck the bottom step and she sat with a thump on the wooden stairs.
‘Give them to me!’ the bandido chief ordered, holding forward his upturned and open right hand.
‘I—I don’t ha—!’ Florencia began.
‘Give them to me, damn you!’ Peraro repeated savagely.
‘I haven’t got them with me!’ the young woman answered sullenly.
‘Then go and get them,’ Peraro thundered. ‘Now!’
Thrusting herself erect, Florencia fled up the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her. Nothing was said by the bandido chief or his victims while she was away. Silence also fell all around the bar-room as, knowing how he expected those who were taken for ransom to be treated while awaiting the result of his demand for payment, the rest of the men and women present interrupted their various activities in order to see what would happen. Returning just as hurriedly, the young woman held out a small, jeweled gold watch of the kind which could be attached by a pin to the dress, and a wide bracelet made from the same precious material.
‘H—Here they are, Ramon!’ Florencia stated
unnecessarily, thrusting the two items into the extended palm of the bandido chief. ‘I—I only took them as a joke!’
‘Most amusing, but one of these days the lady you try to take them from might not just hand them over meekly,’ Peraro replied in a purring tone, accepting the watch and bracelet. ‘And this could happen!’
With the second part of his comment, the bandido chief swung his other arm to deliver a backhand slap to the face of his mistress which knocked her from her feet. Then, showing no greater concern than if he had swatted a bothersome fly, he returned the items to their owner.
‘My apologies, ladies,’ Peraro went on, in a tone no different to that which had preceded the blow, bowing to each victim in turn. ‘No one who is a guest under my roof can be stolen from.’
‘So it seems,’ Señora Castrillo admitted, looking at Florencia with something close to pity. ‘May we go now?’
‘Certainly,’ Peraro authorized. ‘I trust you will tell your husband and ail his friends that you were treated properly while here. Please allow me to escort you to your coach.’
Four – I Make an Example of the Captives
Getting to her feet slowly, Florencia Cazador felt with care at the cheek which had been struck by the bandido chief. After glancing at the blood which came from the corner of her mouth and was staining the back of her hand, she directed a glare at its cause. There was such concentrated hatred in the look that it was fortunate for her that he was walking away with the two ransomed captives and was unaware of her emotions. The expression came and went swiftly. She knew better than to offer any opportunity of being discredited in front of her rivals, any of whom would be pleased to take over the position of mistress to Don Ramon Manuel Jose Peraro. She composed her sullen beautiful features into an impassive mask and swung around to return upstairs where she could vent her anger in the privacy of her room.
‘May I ask you a question, señor?’ requested Señora Maria Castrillo, as she and her daughter were being escorted across the bar-room of Bernardo’s Cantina by the bandido chief.
‘Of course, señora,’ Peraro authorized politely.
‘You killed our driver and guard, then kidnapped us,’ the woman said, being genuinely puzzled by the apparently contradictory character of the man who had held her and her daughter to ransom. ‘Yet, not only have you treated Teresa-Maria and myself with courtesy and consideration while holding us, and accommodated us far more comfortably than has been the case at many posadas in much larger towns than this, but you have taken nothing from our belongings and you punished that girl for stealing from us.’
‘Of course,’ the bandido chief answered, having had similar remarks made about his activities in the past.
‘But why do you do it?’ Señora Castrillo asked, looking through the open main entrance to where her coach was standing with its team hitched and a driver on the box. ‘Treat us in such a fashion, I mean. I always thought bandi—men like yourself—well, I thought they were less than gentle with those who fell into their hands.’
‘If you had fallen into the hands of bandidos, señora, and not a man like myself, your treatment probably would have been less than gentle, as you put it,’ Peraro replied. ‘But I pride myself on being a good businessman and one lesson every businessman learns and needs to remember if he is to be successful is that damaged goods lose their marketable value and do his reputation no good.’
‘I still don’t understand,’ the woman claimed truthfully. ‘Then allow me to explain,’ the bandido chief offered. ‘First, though, I trust you and your charming daughter will excuse me for referring to two such charming ladies as yourselves as “goods”. You see, it is well known that everybody I kidnap is treated with kindness while waiting for the ransom money to be paid, and is returned promptly, with honor and all personal property intact, as soon as I receive the sum I have requested. Which, incidentally, is never excessive or beyond the means of the—customer, shall I say. Therefore, when I have a kidnapping carried out, the family of whoever I select knows there is nothing to fear—provided no attempt at a rescue is made and the money I ask for is forthcoming.’
‘What if a rescue is attempted?’ queried the elder of the ransomed captives.
‘That is most unfortunate for those who make the attempt, señora,’ Peraro answered, in a matter of fact tone. ‘But even more unfortunate for the one who they are misguidedly trying to rescue. Need I say more?’
‘No!’ the woman said, barely able to restrain a shudder as she thought of what was implied by the second part of the explanation. Although she had never doubted that the money would be paid in the case of her daughter and herself, she could not prevent the next words being uttered. ‘And if the money isn’t forthcoming?’
‘As I said, señora,’ the bandido chief replied, pleased with the way the conversation was going. It was one he always tried to have with departing captives and he usually sought a means to start such a talk if this was not forthcoming without his prompting. ‘I’m a businessman and to allow such a refusal to go unpunished would be bad for future transactions. So I make an example of the captives which serves to warn others how seriously my modest demands must be treated.’ He paused for a few seconds to allow both members of his audience to contemplate the implications of his words, then continued, ‘It’s so much better for all concerned if everybody knows exactly where they stand in such matters, don’t you think?’
‘Y—Yes!’ Señora Castrillo admitted pensively, trying to reconcile the polite speech and demeanor with the coldblooded way in which her captor described his illegal activities.
‘But why did you have to kill poor Raoul?’ Teresa-Maria demanded indignantly, being less perceptive than her mother and not so aware of the true nature of the man she was addressing. ‘He wasn’t armed and, unlike Pepe, didn’t offer any resistance when you stopped our coach.’
‘True, young lady,’ Peraro conceded blandly. ‘While I regretted the need to do so, it was necessary and advantageous to you. I’ve always found the families of my “guests” are more receptive to my demands if they have evidence that I’m in deadly earnest. So I considered the death of your servant would be preferable to yourself and your parents than, as some of my less salubrious contemporaries in this field would have done, sending your father some portion of you such as a finger, or an ear—’
‘Madre de dios!’ the girl gasped, realizing at last the full extent of the peril in which she and her mother had been situated since falling into the hands of such a man.
‘I hope my frankness hasn’t caused you distress, my dear young señorita,’ Peraro said, with what passed as solicitude and gentleness, having no doubt that the conversation would be repeated to his advantage once the captives rejoined their own kind. ‘And now, ladies, it is time you were leaving. But, before you go, let me give you a word of advice to pass to Don Martin. Tell him it would be most unwise to attempt to take reprisals against me, either with his vaqueros or by reporting what has happened to the Guardia Rurales. Remind him that the only man foolish enough ever to do so would have come to regret his folly, had he and his family lived long enough. As it was, he died before he could see what happened to his wife and children. The men of my band, ladies, are less gentle and respectful than I when they are roused. You will remember to tell your husband this, señora?’
‘I will,’ the woman promised, knowing that beneath the veneer of politeness and softly spoken words was a man completely ruthless and uncaring about the lives of other human beings. ‘Don Martin will do as you say!’
‘Bueno,’ the bandido chief asserted and, having assisted first the daughter, then the mother—each of whom accepted his aid with reluctance and repugnance, but were too afraid of him to refuse it—into the coach, he concluded, ‘Vaya con dios. My men will ensure you arrive safely at the place I arranged for your husband to have his vaqueros come and meet you.’
Watching as the vehicle and its escort was disappearing, Peraro smiled with satisfaction. He felt sure the two wo
men would tell all their friends and relations of what had happened to them, including how well they had been treated and the warnings he had given about the alternatives if his demands were not met. The story, added to those spread by earlier kidnap victims, would have a salutary effect upon the families of those abducted in the future. What was more, being a good judge of human nature, he was equally certain Señora Castrillo would do everything in her power to dissuade her husband from putting any contemplated punitive action into effect.
Turning as the coach went out of sight beyond the buildings of the town which surrounded the cantina, the bandido chief strolled into the once more rowdy and festive bar-room. Glancing around, he noticed Florencia was missing. For a moment, being in the mood to celebrate, he thought of sending for her to join him. Then, having no doubt she was resentful of the blow and would make anything but pleasant company, he decided against doing so. Instead, he crossed to the table at which he had been playing Spanish monte with some of the leading members of his gang when the ransom money had arrived.
‘Well, that’s another one over, Ramon,’ Marcos Bordillo greeted, with a familiarity no other man or woman at present in the room would have dared to employ. ‘Were they as impressed as all the others by what you told them?’
‘They were, Marcos,’ Peraro affirmed, his habit of imparting the warning to departing victims being well known. He showed none of the irritation he always experienced when the other addressed him by his first name, but did not precede it with the honorific, “Don” which was used by everybody else—except for whoever was currently his mistress—in his hearing. ‘They did indeed.’
In his late forties, big, corpulent to the point of obesity, as might be expected from the sedentary and lascivious life he had always lived, Bordillo was dressed as expensively as the bandido chief without making any effort whatsoever to keep the attire clean. Going bald on top, his longish black hair was always impregnated by an aromatic lotion of a particularly sickly kind. To help disguise the fact that he rarely washed and still more infrequently bathed all over, he also anointed himself with an equally noticeable perfume. Dark jeweled and badly shaven, his face had a certain jollity—if being sufficiently porcine of features to have him known behind his back as ‘El Cerdo’, ‘the Pig’—but with a strong suggestion of his licentious and far from savory nature.
