Renegade 33

by Lou Cameron

  The kidnap victim was his twenty-four-year-old granddaughter, the widow Lopez, who naturally was still under the protection of her clan, the high-country Montalbans of some cattle-raising fame. The name was familiar to Captain Gringo. He asked if he was correct in assuming that the stem family patriarch was a Spanish Basque. The old man looked at him as if he were stupid. So he said, ‘Right, I knew it was a Basque name. Some of my best friends are Basques. I don’t like guys who break their word, either.’

  Grudgingly Don Alberto muttered, ‘We Basques know how to deal with dishonest people. Kidnappers are not even people to us. Such animals are to be put out of their misery, like the mad dogs they are. Do not try to flatter me, muchacho. If you have been telling me the truth, you have nothing to fear. If you have been lying ... I am still working on it.’

  ‘Do you mind telling me just when, where, and how your grandchild was abducted, Don Alberto?’

  ‘I do. If you had nothing to do with it, the matter does not concern you. If you did, you know, and I do not wish to be taunted about our family honor in even a veiled manner.’

  ‘Hey, what taunts? I’m as pissed as you are that someone suckered us into this dumb mess, Don Alberto! I’d like to help get the girl back if you’ll let me!’

  The old man looked away and murmured, ‘Nobody could be as pissed, as you put it, as myself. I have already given you the word of a Basque that you will live if it turns out you have, as you say, been sucked on. Beyond that, don’t seek to gain my admiration. I know all too well about the notorious Captain Gringo. I know you are my guest at the moment. But beyond that, I do not associate with such people.’

  Captain Gringo chuckled and asked if it was all right to reach in his jacket for his own smoke. Don Alberto shook his head and told the guard to give him a cigar. That might have worked out better had José handed him one of the old hidalgo’s perfectos. But the bastard reached in his own jacket for a cheaper brand. It could have been worse. At least José was polite enough to light it for him.

  Captain Gringo didn’t ask Don Alberto what he might have heard about him and Gaston. He knew. Some of the little people in Central America might approve of soldiers of fortune, but they tended to make the ruling class nervous as hell, with good reason. Costa Rica was run more fairly than most banana republics, but even here a little land reform couldn’t really hurt. Unless you were one of the land hogs.

  Another million years went by. It was getting hot now, even under the pepper tree’s fluttering jade-green canopy. Captain Gringo got up to stretch. José followed his every movement with the muzzle of his revolver. So naturally José was at a tactical disadvantage when Gaston suddenly popped out of the wall shrubbery to shove his own gun muzzle into the small of José’s back as he announced boyishly, ‘Eh bien, I’ve been looking all over town for you, Dick.’

  Captain Gringo disarmed José in one catlike move before he answered. Then, as he helped himself to his own gun as well, he asked Gaston, ‘What kept you?’

  The old man started to rise. Gaston told him, ‘Don’t!’ before he told Captain Gringo, ‘I had a little trouble finding this place, even with the return address to go by.’

  Then he reached inside his own jacket to produce a bright red package, adding, ‘There must be over ten thousand U.S. dollars in this package addressed to you, Dick. You never told me you had a très riche uncle.’

  Captain Gringo laughed and pointed at Don Alberto to say, ‘That’s him. Give the man his money, Gaston. We’re dealing with some kind of old switcheroo. Some dame’s been kidnapped and … how the hell did you wind up with it, Gaston?’

  Don Alberto snapped, ‘That was my first question, if you don’t mind! How did this fellow ruffian of yours sneak that package from the post office without my men spotting him?’

  Gaston shrugged, handed the even older man the red package, and asked, ‘Oh, were those unfortunate youths working for you? I assumed they were simply thieves when they attempted to take it from me, so ...’

  ‘Jesus, Gaston!’ Captain Gringo sighed. But the deadly little Frenchman said soothingly, ‘Do not be alarmed. I did not have to kill any of them when they were kind enough to follow me into an alley of my own choosing. You say they were in the employ of this rather surly-looking gentleman? How curious that none of them could fight for merde. I left the four of them to sleep the effects of my feet off and hurried here to see where my long-lost child might be. As to why I picked it up at the post office, the answer is simple. I knew you had gone there to pick something up. When you failed to return, I was faced with the choice of servicing three raving sex maniacs or going out to find you. At the post office the clerk said you had in fact picked one package up but that now there was another for you in the mail just delivered. After some discussion and the exchange of a modest bribe, he graciously allowed me to sign for it. So the rest you know, hein?’

  By this time old Don Alberto had the second package open and was counting his money with a glazed expression. As he was digesting that, the gate burst open, and four battered and no longer armed thugs came in all excited, then froze as they saw two gun muzzles covering them.

  Don Alberto sighed wearily up at them and said, ‘I know. You were about to tell me that at least a hundred cutthroats jumped you and that you did not recover my money after all. May Hernando wash that ugly cut on his face in the fountain, Captain Gringo?’

  The tall American nodded and politely lowered his gun to his side as he asked, ‘Is it over, Don Alberto?’ You have your money back. So you have to be able to see that we weren’t after it, at least.’

  ‘What about the real criminal who meant to pick up the second package in your name?’

  ‘You’ll play hell spotting him now. If it’s not there to claim, he won’t be coming out of the post office with it.’

  ‘But they say they mean to kill my grandchild unless they receive this very ransom, damn it!’

  ‘What can I tell you? You didn’t fuck it up. They did by trying to be too cute. They’ll probably contact you again. I doubt that they’ll suggest the same means of delivery next time. You said you wanted to handle it your own way. So good hunting. Let’s go, Gaston.’

  The old hidalgo bleated like a sheep and said, ‘Wait! I am beginning to see that I may have misjudged you, young man!’

  ‘You mean, you’ve noticed that the two of us are smarter and tougher than anyone you have working for you, don’t you?’

  ‘That too. How much would I have to pay you for to help me recover my poor little Teresa alive, señors?’

  Before Gaston could get greedy, Captain Gringo said, ‘A handshake and such expense money as we might need to do it right.’

  Gaston wailed, ‘Dick, the man just mentioned money!’

  But Captain Gringo shook his head and said, ‘Some cocksucker just tried to get me killed and, worse yet, ruin my reputation. You don’t have to help if you don’t want to, Gaston. It’s not your beef. But if sure is mine. So I’m with these guys.’

  Gaston sighed, took out a clean pocket kerchief, and handed it to the cowboy bleeding on the goldfish as he said, ‘Eh bien, finding one no-doubt innocent maiden can’t be as much work as trying to satisfy what’s waiting to abuse me back at the posada. I’d better come along to keep you out of trouble, my impetuous youth.’

  Captain Gringo looked to see how Don Alberto was taking all this. The old man had risen soberly to hold out his hand. As Captain Gringo took it he said softly, ‘I see I did misjudge you, Captain Gringo. Tell me and my followers what must be done, and you have the word of a Basque that it shall be done, to the letter and to the death!’

  The best-laid plans of mice and men gang aft aglae. Captain Gringo’s first mistake was to say he was as hungry as a bitch wolf when their now much friendlier host suggested that they all go inside and have some breakfast while they discussed strategy. All Iberians tended to overdo feeding a guest, when they could afford it, and Basques seemed to think that they had a contest to win against mere Castil
ians. So Captain Gringo wound up talking with his mouth full most of the time, and toward the end, his tired brain was feeling bloated as well. Slabs of beef smothered in eggs and beans was not exactly what the doctor ordered to wake someone up who hadn’t had any sleep the night before.

  Captain Gringo said that he and Gaston should go back to the posada, get rid of the girls, and catch a few winks before they checked out. It hardly seemed likely that the kidnappers would try for another contact before they’d had time to figure out their own next moves. Don Alberto begged them not to leave, pointing out that he had oodles of guest rooms in his town house and demanding to know what he should do if the kidnappers contacted him before his newfound friends returned.

  Captain Gringo belched and said, ‘If you hear from them this side of La Siesta, you’ll know where to find us. I don’t think they will. They couldn’t know this soon that Gaston here fucked up the ransom delivery. When their man tried, or tries, at the post office, they’re sure to wonder if the pretty red package may come in later in the day, after La Siesta. By then I may be making more sense, and we can see if any new instructions suggest a way to nail at least one of the bastards.’

  ‘Wait, the first ransom note warned me that any attempt on my part to rescue my grandchild would result in her most horrible death!’

  ‘Sure it did. What would you tell a guy if you were holding his granddaughter for ransom? But saying and doing aren’t always the same. If we have our own prisoner to act horrible with, they may have to revise their plans in a hurry. Whether we can force the info out of a gang member or not, the gang has to assume we might. So they’ll have only two choices. They can swap their prisoner for ours, or they can kill her before they scatter. Either way they’ll want to scatter, poco tiempo. You’re a big man in this country. So they’ll know that once the egg hits the fan, they’d better get out of it, right?’

  The old man blanched and asked, ‘Are you suggesting that they might kill my poor little Teresa, Captain Gringo?’

  ‘Hell, no, it was their idea in that first ransom demand, remember? Kidnappers come in two varieties. Ones who let their victims go unharmed and ones who don’t. If we’re dealing with old pros, they’ll let your granddaughter live, not because they’re nice guys but because it’s smart. Costa Rica doesn’t hang you for kidnapping. It does for murder, and if we have one of them, they can’t be certain that they won’t be caught in the end.’

  ‘Tell me about the other kind.’

  Captain Gringo had been afraid he was going to ask a question like that. He didn’t know how to put it gently. So he shrugged and said, ‘If we’re dealing with killers, we’re dealing with killers. A killer doesn’t need much excuse to kill. So, if they’re planning on killing the girl, it hardly matters whether they get the ransom or not. Frankly, they may have already killed her. Some bastards would rather not be saddled with a possible screamer when they don’t mean to leave a witness against them alive. But at least we can hope to bring them to justice if we can only capture one of them alive.’

  Don Alberto missed that last part. He’d leapt up to lean against the stucco wall and puke his breakfast all over it.

  Captain Gringo got to his feet, walked over to him, and put a gentle hand on the old man’s quivering shoulder. He said, ‘I’m sorry. That’s the way life is. We’ll be back around one. I know the siesta will have started by then. That’s the point. If anyone’s watching, they’ll see Gaston and me return to our posada, and let’s hope they’ll assume we sorted our misunderstanding out and that’s it. It’s a bitch to watch or tail people during the siesta, when the streets are well lit and deserted. So we’ll sneak back then, and we shall see what we shall see.’

  He nodded to Gaston, and the two soldiers of fortune left by the back exit. It wasn’t anywhere near siesta time yet, but the alleyways they followed back to the posada seemed deserted and the sun so bright, they were starting to sweat by the time they got there.

  As they entered the cooler darkness of the downstairs cantina, Gaston suggested, ‘Wait, let us enjoy a bracing drink before we march upstairs to meet our makers, non?’

  Captain Gringo chuckled and said, ‘Good thinking. But where the hell is everyone? This place has to be open for business by now, right?’

  A totally strange voice said, ‘Wrong.’ Behind him, and before the sleepy Captain Gringo could come unstuck, someone dropped at least a steam locomotive on him!

  As he hit the tile floor with his knees, hard, he heard Gaston shouting something from far, far away. Then, as he tried to remember where the hell he kept his damned .38, that steam locomotive ran over him again and, what the fuck, he’d been planning on catching forty winks in any case, right?

  When Captain Gringo woke up again, after some dreams that had been real pissers, he had no idea how long he’d been out, but he knew he hadn’t had a good night’s rest. For one thing it was broad-ass daylight, as far as he could judge from this position, and his head was hurting like hell. He shook his head, anyway, to clear it and finally figured out that he was belly-down across a pack mule with his wrists and ankles tied together by a horsehair riata running under the beast’s belly. His own belly had to be draped over a hardwood pack saddle. No mule had two hard spines to dig into one’s guts like that. He couldn’t look up. But from the dappled sunlight on the red clay trail his face was dangling over, he could tell that they were out in the lowland jungle. Just where, of course, was up for grabs. There was jungle in every direction from the swampy coastline. If they’d still been at all near Limón, they’d still be in the more cultivated green belt around the seaport. He couldn’t be sure, but they seemed to be going up a gentle grade. That figured. Who but an idiot would make camp on low ground in gator country?

  By twisting his head slightly he could make out the rope-soled sandals of the bozo leading his mule. The toes were aimed away from him, of course. So that looked good. But when he twisted his head the other way, toes were pointing toward him in the company of a lowered shotgun muzzle. Ten gauge. Captain Gringo didn’t know whether to feel flattered by all this attention or puke. From the taste in his mouth, he’d already puked a while back. So there was nothing to do right now but play possum until things got better.

  Things got duller and more uncomfortable before they got better. He heard a distant voice cussing monotonously in French, Spanish, Arabic, and a couple of other languages. But when Gaston called out to him, he didn’t answer. If Gaston was in shape to do anything about this ridiculous situation, he’d do it. Meanwhile, why tell their guards that both of them were now bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?

  A few miles and a million years later, Captain Gringo heard a guitar strumming a sad gitano tune in the distance. Naturally this seemed to cheer the damned mule up. So Captain Gringo got to ride into camp at a merry trot as he discovered how difficult it was for even an old cavalryman to post in the saddle on his gut.

  He didn’t get to see much of his new surroundings until they unlashed him from the mule, dumped him on his head, and kicked him when he tried to sit up. Then some jovial bully told the others to stop kicking him and haul him to his feet. So they did. He found himself staring into the face of what would have surely been a grinning Apache if they weren’t all so far south. The Indian wore rings in his ears as well as ammo belts across his bare brown chest and a straw sombrero big enough for the average-sized Apache family to live in. He said, ‘So this is the most famous Captain Gringo, eh? Funny, I do not see the horns and tail I was led to expect. How come I see no horns and tail, Yanqui? You do not look so tough to me.’

  Captain Gringo shrugged as best as he could with his hands tied and said, ‘Nobody’s tough when you have the drop on him. That’s why I never talk tough to a man who can’t fight back.’

  The Indian backhanded him across the face. He hadn’t struck Captain Gringo as a good sport, even before he belted him. The bully growled, ‘Put him and the other big mouth with the puta for now. Make sure they are well tied and do not kill them be
fore El Jefe returns for to have a last word with them.’

  The guards grabbed Captain Gringo, spun him around, and frog-marched him toward a hut so recently built, its palm thatch was still green. Captain Gringo tried to size up the layout of the camp along the way. He wasn’t able to see much that looked encouraging. He and Gaston met in the doorway. The Frenchman’s mouth was bleeding, and one eye was swollen almost shut.

  Captain Gringo said, ‘After you, Gaston,’ but their handlers tossed them both inside on their faces, together. Fortunately Gaston wound up on top. As he rolled off, cursing, they both heard a woman sobbing somewhere in the gloom of the windowless hut.

  Gaston said, ‘Eh bien, ma petite. Let us begin by getting these très fatigue ropes off my poor old wrists.’

  The girl stopped crying long enough to reply, ‘I can’t. I’m tied to this old post.’ Then she started crying some more.

  Captain Gringo told them both to shut up as he managed to sit up. He saw that the floor was red dirt, what else, and that the three of them seemed to be alone for the moment. But even thicker walls could have ears. So before Gaston could fuck up, he said, in English. ‘Eeway ontday owknay isthay ameday!’ Then he asked her, in Spanish, who the hell she might be.

  She sobbed, ‘I am Teresa Lopez. These terrible banditos kidnapped me, and they say if my family does not pay, they mean for to send me back to my grandfather one finger at a time!’

  ‘Ouch. That could smart. How are your fingers and, ah, other parts so far?’

  ‘If you are speaking of my honor, you do not know my people well. My maiden name is Montalban, and Basque women do not allow themselves to live, once they have been dishonored!’

  ‘Yeah, well, don’t commit suicide until they untie you at least. I’m Dick Walker, and this is Gaston Verrier. We don’t have a grandfather between us. So do you have any idea why they might have wanted to kidnap us!’