Over the Andes to Hell (A Captain Gringo Western Book 8)

by Lou Cameron

  “Will you just shut up and listen, Lieutenant? The waitress did not notice anyone following the gringo. She wasn’t supposed to notice anyone on his tail. She just reported an odd incident and the rest falls into place as soon as one thinks about it. The two security men must have spotted Captain Gringo and, unaware they were to completely ignore him, trailed him to find out what he was up to. The rest you know. The Americano spotted them and killed them, as I’d assumed he would.”

  El Arano turned and stabbed his map viciously with a blue pin before he added, “So, we know he was here long enough to kill two incompetents. And now … Now we don’t know where the big bastard is!”

  The aide cleared his throat with a smug expression and said, “Forgive me, my Colonel, but they did not leave the scene completely unobserved.”

  “They? What is this they? Do you mean Captain Gringo was not alone?”

  It felt so good to be one-up on El Arano that the aide almost hugged himself as he explained. “An elderly woman from the Calle de Mariposas was seated at her window grill when they went by. I don’t know why old women sit at window grills all day, but you know how they are and—”

  “I had a grandmother, goddamn your eyes, get to the point!”

  “She saw two men on a bicycle.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “It is true, my Colonel. She thought it most curious, too. That is why she came forward, even though she did not see the killing. She says she heard distant shots at a time the street was deserted. She watched. It must be boring to stare out at nothing during la siesta. But this time she was not disappointed in her vigil. Two grown men tore past her, riding double on a bicycle. She says a very large man was perched on the handlebars while a very small man pedaled. They were both wearing suits and had Nordic features. When she said the little one was wearing a derby, one of my men says he thinks he knows who it is. There’s this little runt from the German legation, a military attaché or something and …”

  But Maldonado had turned his back and was sticking another pin in his map. The aide looked hopeful and asked, “Ah, you know him, my Colonel?”

  El Arano chuckled and said, “Yes, I have been keeping an eye on her for some time.”

  “Her, my Colonel? The description I was about to finish includes a wax mustache.”

  Maldonado nodded and said, “I know. It makes her look like a little fairy. But that is not our problem. Make a note of this latest location on Captain Gringo, it’s the house of the British agent. I don’t want any of our men within two blocks of it.”

  The aide took out his notebook and took the liberty of stepping around his superior’s desk to write down the street intersection nearest the latest pin as he muttered, “Forgive me, my Colonel, but someone is mistaken. My people say this little, ah, whatever in the derby is working out of the German legation.”

  Maldonado said, “She is. The British planted her there some time ago. You know how the Queen and the Kaiser have been fighting over the last scraps on the map lately. One of these days they’re going to have a lovely war. But that is not Colombia’s problem. We’ll let El Tio Sam do any fighting for this hemisphere, since he thinks he owns it in any case.”

  Maldonado turned back from his map with a pleased look as he added, “You did well, Lieutenant. I confess there are advantages to nepotismo. Your father had a brain when we served together. It is nice to see the condition seems to run in your family.”

  The aide smiled back uncertainly. The same father who’d gotten him the job had warned him about El Arano’s sardonic sense of humor. He said, “My Colonel is too kind. I really have no idea what on earth is going on! First you tell me a little German on a bike is a woman, and then you tell me she is a British spy. Now she and Captain Gringo are … what?”

  “Probably screwing each other to death,” said Maldonado. “The woman is a notorious sex maniac in addition to her other talents. She’s almost as dangerous as the Americano. So make sure nobody disturbs them in their love nest.”

  The aide knew better than to ask El Arano directly what in the hell he was up to. But he couldn’t help asking, “Does my Colonel think British Intelligence is working with Captain Gringo in this… whatever?”

  Maldonado shook his head and replied, “No. The girl who calls herself Max knows that he pulled some chestnuts out of the fire for the Kaiser during our recent, ah, reorganization of the government. Her mission is probably to find out why he came back to Bogotá and if the Germans are involved in it.”

  “Are the Germans involved in whatever he is up to, my Colonel?”

  “Of course not. He thinks he’s here to rescue his comrade Verrier. The German government couldn’t care less. They have more serious matters to worry about.”

  “I know about the vital minerals they’ve been mining at a good profit to us, my Colonel. But why should British Intelligence concern itself in the affairs of those two soldiers of fortune?”

  Maldonado said, “What indeed, once La Señorita Max establishes that Germany is not involved? As I see her plan, Max will offer German help to Captain Gringo and go along with him until it’s clear that her superiors have nothing to worry about and then…”

  Maldonado’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Then he smiled thinly and said, “It pays to chat with junior officers after all. But we’d better get back to work. Carry on, Lieutenant. I fear I have some serious planning to do.”

  The aide left and El Arano sat down at his desk. He picked up a pencil and began to doodle as he considered the ramifications of this latest development in an already complicated plan. Then he picked up the desk phone and called up a field agent on the other side of town.

  He said, “Numero Cinco, we have a problem. Our pawn is in danger.” He explained the situation and added, “That British nymphomaniac has a short attention span as well as a most unprofessional itchy trigger finger. We have to get him out of there, muy pronto!”

  The field agent replied, “I know the house and the woman’s evil reputation, my Colonel. But why would British Intelligence wish for to harm him once they find out he is not of any interest to them?”

  Maldonado said, “British Intelligence wouldn’t hurt him. Max will kill him when she’s through with him. I don’t know if she’s worried about her reputation in England or just vicious, but she’s done it before. She uses men like toilet paper. We’ve got to get him out of there before she flushes him down the drain.”

  Chapter Five

  The siesta ended, as all good things must, so Captain Gringo rolled off Max and sat up when he heard the sound of an ox-drawn cart going by outside. Max smiled wistfully up at him, her hands clasped behind her short blond hair, and asked, “Are you already tired of me, mein tiger?”

  He tweaked a nipple playfully as he smiled down at her and said, “No. You’re a lot prettier without the mustache and I was just getting my second wind. But let’s save some for later. I’ve really got to find out where they have Gaston locked up.”

  “Ist still light outside. Wait until dark. Lie down and let me get on top this time.”

  He shook his head and got to his feet, muttering, “I used to have some clothes around here someplace. I’ve been thinking about the timing. They know we know they’ve found the bodies and so forth. They’ll expect me to come pussyfooting around after dark. That’s why I feel it’s safer now, with the streets crowded. Everyone is out and the shops will be open. The best time for me to circle the presidio again will be during the paseo time, just before and after sundown. I’ll look like just another stud trying to pick up a muchacha and …”

  Then Max was up on her feet, too, and plastered against him in the nude as she warned, “You pick up any muchachas and I will your heart cut out!”

  He held her against his own naked flesh, and they sure fit nicely, considering how short she stood in her bare feet.

  He slid his hands down to cup her little buttocks as he laughed and said, “I wouldn’t be able to do much for another woman if I found one
right now. Damn, you’re pretty without that dumb mustache!”

  She stood on her tiptoes and teased with her blond pubic hair as she said, “I wish to come with you.”

  He said, “It’s too dangerous. For one thing, two, uh, guys draw twice as much attention as one. For another thing, a lot of people know you here in Bogotá. But, hopefully, I’m mostly a strange face.”

  She slid her hand down between them and purred, “Ach, I didn’t mean I wanted to come with you to the paseo. I meant I wanted to come with you here!”

  He started to protest, but what the hell, it was early yet, and she was sliding his semi-erection between her wet vaginal lips in a hell of an interesting way. He took a step back toward the sofa, but Max resisted, spreading her thighs a bit as she braced her feet on the rug. She said, “Stay here. Do it here. We have not done it standing up, yet.”

  He laughed and said, “Okay, but hadn’t we better find a wall to lean you against?”

  “Nein. That would be cheating.”

  He laughed again and braced his own legs apart to lower his center of gravity as she tried to work it in for him, standing tiptoe with her own knees between his now. He shook his head and said, “Honey, it won’t work. One of us is too short. Too tight, too. There’s just no way I can get inside you with your legs together like that.”

  She said, “Hold on mein fanny good,” as she wrapped her free arm around his neck and suddenly hopped up to fork a thigh around his waist from either side, guiding his shaft with the other hand. He staggered a step, recovered his balance, and marveled, “Kee-rist!” as Max slid on like a soft, tight boot filled with whipped cream.

  He had a hell of a time staying on his feet as Max started bouncing with enthusiasm. He knew that if he let her rollicking rump slip from his grasp it would ruin them both. It was fun for the first few moments, but as he felt his own orgasm threatening, he tottered over to a big overstuffed chair to brace her tail bone against the leather back. It gave him the leverage to lean into her with his own harder thrusts and Max sobbed, “Ach, ja, even better!”

  Then she let go without warning and fell backward to hang head down with her head and shoulders on the seat cushion and her spine hooked over the chair back, presenting him with an astounding view as well as a fantastic angle of attack. He had to stand on his own toes and grab the chair back on either side of her pale hips to keep it in and, even so, it was bent the wrong way as he fired off his cannon,

  He knew she was almost there and that he couldn’t keep it in that way. So he grabbed one of her thighs and rolled her hips, still up on the chair back, until she was face down, laughing, with her breasts on the seat cushion and her sassy rump aimed at the ceiling, legs hanging down on either side of his thighs. She gasped, “Ach, such ingenuity, und even deeper!” and then she moaned and started chewing the edge of the leather seat as he shoved her over the peak with his semi-sated but polite tool.

  By the time she came, he was naturally aroused again, but his legs were killing him. He grabbed her by either hip bone and, still inside her, lifted her off the chair and lowered her to the rug, face down, to finish with some push-ups. She liked it that way, too. In fact, he couldn’t think of a position she didn’t like it in, and some they’d tried that afternoon had been pretty strange. She didn’t resist when he rolled her on her back to finish more romantically, albeit on the hard floor. He asked if he was hurting her as his heavy weight slammed down against her upthrust pubic bones. The floor under her tail bone offered no cushioning to them as they slammed each other passionately. She said she loved it. So he let himself go until, again, all good things had to come to an end.

  The next time he tried to put his clothes on, Max let him. Even she had had enough, for now. But she promised, or warned him, that she expected more of the same as soon as he came back.

  As he sat on the sofa, getting his breath back and checking the chambers of his .38, Max cuddled naked beside him and asked how he thought he’d ever get inside the presidio, even if he found out where they were holding his friend Gaston.

  He grimaced and said, “That’s going to be a bitch, all right. I was wondering if somebody from your legation has a friendly contact with the French Consulate here in Bogotá.”

  Max wrinkled her nose and said, “Since the French und British ganged up on Der Kaiser over Suez, we stiffly speak to one another at formal dinners only. But why do you want the French in this, mein lieber? What could they do about your friend Gaston?”

  “Gaston’s wanted by a dozen governments. If any banana republic gets him, he’s dead. But the French may have a seniority situation, since he started his business in these parts by deserting the Legion in Mexico when Juarez started winning. If we could get an understanding Frenchman to put in a claim for him, get him out of the effing presidio …”

  Max shrugged and said, “You have nothing to offer France, do you?”

  “No. I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that. But look, the French wouldn’t just shoot Gaston. They’d want to take him alive to Devil’s Island, and a lot of things can happen between here and Devil’s Island. Do you think you could work something out with the French agents you know in town?”

  Max looked dubious and then she said, “Any French secret agents who know me at all know me as a German agent. They would suspect a crossed double, nicht wahr? But I am not the only friend you have in German Intelligence, Dick. Who was that officer who helped you during the revolution? The one who got you the guns and ammunition in exchange for certain favors to that German mining company?”

  Captain Gringo started to answer. Then he said, “Gee, it’s right on the tip of my tongue, but I forget the bastard’s name. It was one of those unpronounceable Von things.”

  “Von Dreihausen, Von Stettin, Von Rodenau?”

  “Could have been any of ’em. It’ll come back to me in a while. I’ve got too much on my mind to remember dumb names. I’d rather work through you, anyhow. I don’t think the officer over there that I dealt with liked me very much. It was one of those revolutions making strange bedfellows things.”

  Then he kissed her and added, “Speaking of strange bedfellows, leave a light in the window for me, doll. I’ve got to go, but when I come back I’m going to show you a couple of positions I just remembered.”

  He got to his feet and the naked girl walked to the door with him. He kissed her again and she giggled when he fingered her. But as he turned away, Max raised the little whore pistol she’d been holding palmed since she’d slipped it out of its hiding place while he dressed. As the tall American crossed the patio, Max raised the muzzle and trained the sights on his broad back.

  Then she lowered it with a puzzled frown. She was almost sure she could safely report that the notorious Captain Gringo was simply a gun thug operating on his own and that none of the major powers was involved in whatever he was up to. But what on earth was he up to? He said he was only here to rescue his friend. But Max was good, too. She’d spotted it when he’d gone suddenly vague about his German contacts here in Bogotá. Was it possible he suspected her of not being a true German? Her superior, Greystoke of British Intelligence, had often warned her about laying on too thick an accent. He’d warned her about Captain Gringo, too. The big American had worked with and against Great Britain in the past and Greystoke respected him as more than a drifting soldier of fortune.

  As her afternoon lover vanished from sight, Max smiled to herself and murmured, “He does have a lovely cock, and it’s my duty to the Queen to get all I can out of him before he’s eliminated from the Great Game. We’ll just wait and see. He has to come back, and it’s not like he’ll ever leave again, alive.”

  Chapter Six

  Captain Gringo went to a barbershop on a busy street near the presidio. He didn’t need a haircut that badly, but he asked for a trim. A guy could hear a lot in a neighborhood barbershop. He could hold his gun cocked and ready in his lap under the barber cloth, too, as he watched the doorway in the mirror.

  There we
re plenty of Europeans in the capital in the first place and a lot of the natives were pure Castilian in the second, so he didn’t get the usual double-take from the Colombians lounging in the shop. His own Spanish was pretty good by now. So, while he was ready to tell them he was a Swede if anyone commented on his accent, nobody did.

  The barber was pretty good and the others seemed relaxed and friendly as they gossiped back and forth. Nobody said anything about dead guys on the pavement a few blocks away. So he and Max had been right. The men they’d shot had been secret agents. That El Arano guy he kept hearing about was pretty good. No obvious dragnet. No noisy house-to-house rough stuff. Just bag the stiffs and lay low for a break, eh?

  That meant there’d be other plainclothesmen strolling the paseo in a little while, pretending to ogle the girls as they kept an eye peeled for anything unusual. So how the fuck was he going to seem usual? His biggest problem since he’d become a soldier of fortune in the Bananalands was that he didn’t look usual to a Latin American. He’d have never become Captain Gringo if some mestizo wasn’t always coming up to him and saying something dumb like, “Hey, Gringo, why are you looking at my sister?”

  The guys in the shop were talking about the paseo. The barber must have had him down as a foreigner after all, because he asked him if he knew the custom. Captain Gringo nodded and said he did. He didn’t elaborate. He thought himself that El Paseo was an idea they could use in the States. It sure beat the Victorian games people played back home.

  In almost every Hispanic community the paseo was run along the same lines. Along about sundown, all the young guys and gals put on their best duds and told their mammas they were going for a stroll. Then the guys circled the square one way and the gals circled the other way, so that they kept sort of bumping into one another, face-to-face. A guy got to size a dame up a few times as they circled in opposite directions. After you met the same pair of eyes a couple of times it seemed only natural to smile on the next passing and, what the hell, after you’d smiled at a gal a few times it seemed only natural to say hello and so forth until you both noticed it was getting sort of late and wouldn’t it be a good idea if you walked her home, and, as long as you’re walking her home, why not stop for a drink along the way, and if you weren’t going to make it that way you weren’t going to make it at all.