by Lou Cameron
He chuckled and said, “At least I don’t have to worry about concealed weapons.” As he moved to mount her, he wedged one knee between her soft pale thighs, but she held them close together, insisting, “Wait, I have to know if we have a bargain!”
“Sure, Doll,” he said, “anything you say.” As she opened her body in welcome he almost meant it. He hadn’t had sex since he’d been in Cayenne and as he entered her it seemed to be true what they said about Cayenne pepper no matter where it came from!
She gasped, “Oh, my God, it’s so big!” And he said, “You can call me Dick, under the circumstances.”
She got it, and laughed, “That’s funny. The joke, I mean. I’m not sure about that rather alarming thing you’re trying to shove in me.”
She did seem sort of tight for such an adventurous lady. So he moved gently at first, letting her get used to his thrusts until she suddenly laughed, wildly, and purred, “Faster! I didn’t think I could take anything that deep, but I see I can, and I want it all!”
So he hooked his toes under the brass rails at the foot of the bed for purchase and proceeded to do it right as Claudette wrapped her legs around him and proceeded to ruin his back and behind with her nails and high heels. She was a biter, too, and it was a good thing he wasn’t a poor married John who’d have to explain those bruises on his collarbone to anyone important. He came fast, surprised at how much he’d needed it. Then he withdrew, rolled her over, and draped her over a pillow to pound her into the mattress some more: facedown. She was rolling her head from side-to-side as she clawed at the sheets, arching her spine to rub her firm buttocks against his belly as he bounced his gonads against her aroused clit with every long stroke of his shaft. She clamped down hard and sent a muffled scream into the bedding she seemed to be chewing to death. As he felt her go limp, .totally dominated, he joined her in a long, lingering orgasm. He threw his head back, looked up at the dark ceiling, and muttered, “Thank you, Lord. You’ve been swell today.”
Face down, Claudette giggled and said, in a rather surprised tone, considering, “I really came. You’re as amazing as they say you are. But why did you throw me on my face like this, you brute?”
He thrust teasingly and said, “I don’t want to be clawed to death. If I turn you over and do it right, can you go easy with those teeth and nails?”
“My God, are you still able to?”
“You said I wouldn’t be able to resist you, didn’t you?”
They were both grinning roguishly as he rolled her on her back, hooked one of her knees over one of his elbows, and re-entered her in a semi-reclining position with his weight on the other arm. Claudette sighed and said, “Oh, it feels even wilder this way. But I don’t remember getting to say much of anything just now. You were on me and in me before I could settle anything with you, you naughty boy.”
He kept on screwing her, conversationally, as he said, “Honey, all we’ve settled is that I’m a human male who leaps on a naked woman when he’s invited to. Don’t spoil a budding friendship by more garbage about being some sort of Jewish secret agent.”
“Damn it, I told you I was assimilated. I don’t know why I make the sign of the cross when I’m upset. I just do. What do you want from a nice Jewish girl raised in a Catholic country?”
He noticed she wasn’t trying to remove any more of his hide, now that she’d settled down, so he rolled more atop her, got the other leg up, and said, “Look, I don’t care if you’re an Eskimo nun, right now.”
She laughed and asked, “What’s wrong with Eskimo nuns? Have you ever done this to an Eskimo nun?”
He didn’t answer as he started to pound her, tonguing her right ear. She hissed in pleasure and sighed, “Oh, I’ll bet you have had an Eskimo nun, if there’s any such thing. Where did you learn to do this so well, Dick?”
He still didn’t answer. He could tell from the way she was moving that she’d learned a lot somewhere. And there went those damned nails again! He couldn’t fault Claudette on technique and he knew some men liked to think they were in bed with a tigress, but despite her remarks about him being a brute, Captain Gringo considered himself a gentle lover. The difference between their styles was that he genuinely liked women and got almost as much out of giving sexual pleasure as receiving it. Claudette was the brute if anyone here was. He knew she’d started this to twist him around her finger. But she’d lost sight of this in enjoying her own sensuous little body’s needs. He knew she wasn’t a whore. No whore with any brains ever sent a customer home covered with marks. So what the hell was she, aside from a hell of a lay?
It didn’t seem too important until he’d come again, stayed in politely long enough to rouse her to another earthy orgasm, and rolled off for a breather with her head on his shoulder as he groped for a smoke in the shirt he’d dropped by the bed. He couldn’t reach it without shoving her away, so he gave up on the idea. They said it was dangerous to smoke in bed, anyway.
Claudette began to purr and run her nails over his sweat soaked chest until he said, “Hey, sheathe your claws, kitten.” Then she laughed and ran her free hand down to fondle his sated shaft, fortunately not with her nails. She began to stroke it gently and teasingly as she asked, “My, did I do that to the poor thing? It feels like I broke it.”
He patted her and said, “What you’re doing down there sure beats pissing, but it’s an exercise in futility until I get my second wind. Should I still call you Claudette, or do you want to tell me who you really are, now?”
She hesitated, began to stoke some more, and said, “I thought we had all that settled, Dick.”
“No,” he said, “We’ve settled that you’re a woman and I’m a poor weak-willed man. But I had that part figured out pretty early. All bullshit aside, why did you really come here this evening, aside from wanting to come, I mean.”
“My,” she laughed. “I did come a lot, didn’t I? Would you be angry if I confessed I didn’t expect to enjoy it?”
“No, I’d be flattered. I enjoyed it, too. But I warned you up front that this was only for fun. What the hell do you really want with me, Claudette?”
She moved his foreskin experimentally and mused, “Right now I just want to get this damned thing up again. You’re a devastating lover, as you must have been informed by that Eskimo nun in the past. But, screw me all night and I won’t change my story. I can’t. It’s the truth.”
“Well,” he chuckled, “I like the part about all night. But, I’m not sure about that, either. I promised Gaston I’d meet him later and if he’s got our money ... well, it’s been swell.”
“Don’t you want to see poor Captain Dreyfus free, Dick?”
“Hell, if it were up to me, everybody would be free. But you said yourself he’s on Devil’s Island. That’s a rock in the ocean, Kiddo. You’d need a battlewagon to take out the garrison and even then they’d probably kill the important prisoners before they surrendered. If the people you work for are as powerful as you say, they should be hiring newspapermen, not soldiers of fortune. His only chance would be a new trial with the press covering it in open court.”
She was still jerking him off, as he added, “Let’s not worry about the impossible. Let’s see if it’s possible to get it in again at half-mast.”
She giggled and rolled on her back to go along with his suggestion. But as he started to remount her they both stiffened to the sound of discreet tapping on the door.
Captain Gringo rolled off Claudette and snagged his .38 on the fly as he moved barefoot to the door to growl, “Is that you, Gaston?”
“Mais non,” a voice on the other side of the panel replied. “It is your trés fatigue Santa Claus from the North Pole. Open this species of door, you shrinking violet! I may have someone on my derrière!”
Captain Gringo threw the bolt as his smaller and older sidekick slipped into the dark room. Gringo muttered, “Careful, I have company.”
Gaston sniffed and said, “Congratulations. Your quarters reek of l’amour and trés expensiv
e perfume. One assumes this is a private affair, or can any number play?”
“Don’t talk dirty. The lady speaks English, you old goat. Claudette, may I present Gaston Verrier, late of the French Foreign Legion and not as uncouth as he might seem?”
The girl in the bed gave a strangled gasp of embarrassment. Gaston said, “Enchanted, M’selle” and then shot a burst of rapid fire French at her that Captain Gringo couldn’t follow. Claudette replied in return, sounding a lot more refined, and then said, “I think we should speak English, M’sieur Verrier.”
“Oui,” Gaston said. “My friend, Dick, speaks at best the grotesque French of the Yankee high school and M’selle no doubt finds my Left Bank argot distressing to her ears.”
“Never mind all that, Gaston. Did you get our money from the Dutchman?” Captain Gringo asked.
Gaston groped for a chair in the gloom and as he sat down he replied, “No. It was trés distressing to be treated that way by an old legion comrade, too.”
Captain Gringo took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and said, “Damn it, Gaston. I told you I didn’t trust the son-of-a-bitch. What happened?”
Gaston shrugged and said, “The details are a bit blurred. As we were discussing the bill for our arms delivery the conversation became heated and when I slapped the Dutchman gently to remind him of the small print, the insect pulled a knife on me. Naturally I kicked him in the head and so the two thugs with him became trés unpleasant, too; so by the time I had them all calmed down the three of them were unconscious and—”
“I’ve seen you fighting a la savate, you crazy bastard,” Captain Gringo interrupted. “Where’s the Dutchman right now, in case he recovers?”
“I left them in an alley behind a waterfront bistro. As I made a rather hasty departure the rest of the gang was pouring into the alley, shouting abuse at my poor mother, so I did not have time to inquire as to the health of the gentleman I kicked and perhaps, how you say, stomped a few times. I, ah, got the distinct impression I may have overdone it with the Dutchman, alas. How was I to know his skull wasn’t as thick as it looked, hein?”
Captain Gringo muttered, “Oboy. That’s swell. I send you out to collect a debt and you knock the guy off! Damn it, Gaston, we needed that money!”
During the conversation Claudette had slipped her clothing on with smooth motions that hinted at practice in this sort of situation. As she swung her feet to the floor she said, “Dick, if you need money, that’s what I came here to discuss with you, remember?”
Captain Gringo didn’t answer as he went to put his pants on, now that the party seemed to be getting formal. Gaston chuckled and asked, “M’selle wishes to pay my athletic young friend for his, ah, services?”
“Knock it off, Gaston,” Captain Gringo growled. “Claudette’s in some wild bunch that wants us to rescue Captain Dreyfus from Devil’s Island. I was just telling her what a lousy idea it was.”
“Ah,” Gaston said, “that accounts for the heat of your discussion. I agree the idea seems wild. On the other hand, sometimes you seem rather wild to me, too, Dick. How much money was M’selle talking about?”
Claudette answered, “A hundred thousand, U.S. I brought one thousand with me as earnest money. I’ve been trying to convince Dick, here, to take it.”
Gaston whistled softly and said, “Perhaps I spoke in haste about poor Captain Dreyfus, hein? After all, Devil’s Island is only an island, for all its dramatic reputation. How about it, Dick?”
Captain Gringo had moved automatically to the window in his pants and mosquito boots despite Gaston’s casual attitude on alley homicide. He raised a slat to peer out as he growled, “You’re right about it being a lot of money and I’m right about it being too risky for a hundred. Come over here and tell me who that guy down there might be.”
Gaston and Claudette joined him at the shuttered window. A man in a white panama hat was lounging against a lamppost, like he was waiting for someone. Gaston asked, “Ever see him before, M’selle?”
Claudette shook her head and replied, “I have no idea who he might be. Couldn’t he just be waiting for a friend?”
Captain Gringo frowned and said, thoughtfully, “He smells like a cop. Are you sure you weren’t tailed here, Gaston?”
Gaston snorted in disgust and replied, “It has been a long time since anyone has been able to follow me through dark side streets without my being aware of it, my old and rare. If the local authorities were after us we would have heard them knocking by this time, hein?”
“Maybe. He still smells cop and he’s covering the front entrance.”
“Oui, but alone. If he’s at all aware of our existence he knows a full platoon would be indicated if he wishes to take the two of us! I think M’selle is right. I think he is waiting for someone down there. You’re just becoming suspicious in your old age, Dick.”
“Yeah, I got this old by being suspicious a lot, too. We’ve got to get out of here, Gaston. If that guy in the white hat’s not interested in us, the Dutchman’s friends are, and how many hotels are there to check out in a town this size?”
“Oui,” signed Gaston, adding, “We shall of course use the other way out when we evacuate these premises, non?”
“Right. So where do we go from here?”
Gaston didn’t answer. Claudette said, “Dick, you’ll be safe with the people I work for. Our headquarters are in a private home not far from here. I’ll just duck out the back way and let them know you’re coming, all right?”
Captain Gringo didn’t answer. He didn’t like her suggestion. But he didn’t like the idea of staying here, either. Gaston said, “Leave us the advance payment as well as the address and we shall join you in half an hour, hein?”
Claudette. asked, “Dick?” and Gaston said, “He’s thinking. A trés fatigue habit he has. Do as I say, M’selle. Sooner or later even he will see he has no choice in the matter.”
So Claudette switched on the overhead light to write the address of her outfit as Captain Gringo flinched away from the window and snapped, “For God’s sake, you just outlined me against the window for that guy in the white hat!”
Gaston asked, “Did he look up?” and the tall American replied, “How the hell should I know? He’s wearing a broad-brimmed hat that shades his damn face!”
Claudette had taken a pencil and note pad from her purse to scribble the address she said was safe. She handed it to Gaston, The dapper little Frenchman nodded but said, “The, ah, vile details, M’selle?” and she took an envelope from her purse to hand over as well. Gaston unbolted the door for her and said, “Expect us within the hour, M’selle.”
She looked uncertainly at Captain Gringo. The tall American nodded, grudgingly, and said, “We’ll talk to your people about it, since we sure as hell can’t stay here tonight. But I’m not promising anything until we see what we have to work with.”
“Dick, I just gave you the earnest money.”
“Yeah, I’ll give it back if I decide it’s too big a boo. You can take it back now and just forget the deal if you don’t trust us.”
“I trust you, darling,” she said, and ducked out into the dark hallway. As he closed the door after her, Gaston took out the envelope to count the down payment while Captain Gringo muttered, “She can trust us. But can we trust her?”
Gaston looked up and said, “It’s all here. What are you stewing about now? A thousand dollars is trés expensive bait for a trap, non?”
Captain Gringo shrugged and said, “Oh, I don’t know. When you consider the rewards out on the two of us, a thousand is just pin money. But we know we’re in the frying pan, so we’ll just have to take a chance on the fire.”
~*~
It was a little after sunset when the two soldiers-of- fortune slipped out of the hotel, hopefully unobserved. The light was tricky as they threaded dark narrow streets under a lavender sky. They knew better than to make for the address Claudette had given them until they were sure they weren’t being followed. They circled a whi
le and let it get a bit darker before they approached their goal. It turned out to be a big oak gate set in an otherwise blank stucco wall on a side street in a residential neighborhood. You could never tell how fancy homes were in this part of the world. For despite being a French colony, Cayenne was built Spanish. Each family lived in its own private world, wrapped around a private patio. There were both advantages and disadvantages to this old Iberian custom. You didn’t have to worry about what the neighbors might think if you didn’t wash the windows or mow the lawn. You didn’t know what your neighbors were up to, either.
Gaston squinted at the number chalked on the door and said, “This is it.” But as he started to knock, Captain Gringo grabbed his arm and said, “Hold it. Since when has anyone posted their house number in chalk?”
Gaston said, “Hmm. That does seem odd. But perhaps Claudette did it to make sure we’d see it, non? Many of these old houses have no permanent numbers facing the street. One is supposed to know one’s way to grandmother’s house in close knit communities.”
Captain Gringo put an eye to the crack between the gate and door jam. He saw and heard nothing from the other side.
Gaston kept his voice low but impatient as he asked, “Merde alors, are we going in or do you intend to stay out here on the street all night?”
It was a good question. Captain Gringo pointed out a drainpipe running down the wall a few yards from the doorway. “Come on,” he said, “I’ll boost you up for a peek over the top before we knock, okay?”
“Merde alors! Not in these pants! You climb like a monkey if you wish. The number matches and the street sign back there said—”
“I know we’re on the right street,” Captain Gringo cut in, reaching for the drainpipe as he added, “Stay out of line with the doorway. I haven’t been able to make out any numbers on any other houses we’ve passed and anybody can use a chunk of chalk.”
The tall American hauled himself hand over hand up the pipe as Gaston snorted in disgust and lit a smoke. Captain Gringo disappeared from view against the sky and a million years went by as Gaston puffed impatiently at street level. Then Gaston stiffened as he heard a scrape of metal and the big oaken portal slowly began to swing inward with a low groan of its massive hinges.
