The Death Hunter

by Lou Cameron

  Captain Gringo said, “They couldn’t. They’d have to store it aboard a surface vessel and leave it close to where they wanted to use it.”

  “Listen to me, my friend. Even if Germany was making such crazy plans for the future, why would she do it even before the Panama Canal was built?”

  “People might be expecting it, after—”

  “Ach, Gott! Go and flounder through the coastal swamps all they want. I can see the stupid British have you half convinced. Go and look and, for God’s sake, make it back alive!”

  He got to his feet, clicked his heels again, and said, “I will not try to stop you. If you need any further help from me or my government, we are at your service. It has a most interesting conversation been. But, if you will forgive me, I have more important matters to attend to. So, good hunting and good night.”

  Kruger marched himself grandly out as Captain Gringo closed the gate behind him with a bemused expression. He went back to the table and took the envelope inside for safekeeping. Then he moved back to the patio, wondering where the hell Gaston was.

  It was almost dark, now. But the night was young, so what the hell. Gaston could have had trouble making contacts, or, knowing Gaston, he might have met a woman. He hoped it wasn’t the latter. The Frenchman could vanish for a week with anything that wasn’t obviously deformed.

  He wondered how long it would take Greystoke to learn about the Germans approaching him, and what he’d say if Greystoke asked about it. He lit another smoke and decided to try the truth. The truth seemed to throw everyone into shock, lately. The German officer had been bullshitting, at least about not wanting the U.S. Government in the act. If Kruger knew who he was, and he did, he’d know Uncle Sam couldn’t care less about him and Gaston. Were the new maps designed to lead them on a false trail? Were they supposed to march up to some outfit loyal to Germany and get their heads blown off when they asked for directions? That offer of a steam launch was pretty obvious, if you wanted all your targets in one little boat that could sink without a trace. He blew a smoke ring and said, “That’s pretty crude. But they play for keeps down here!”

  He heard another noise at the gate. This time it sounded like a cat scratching to be let in. He went over and had a look. A female outline stood there in the gloom and when he opened the gate she slid in with a shudder and said, in Spanish, “I have been waiting for that man to leave. Gaston sent me to get you, Captain Gringo.”

  “He did, huh? Turn around and put both hands against the garden wall.”

  The girl did as she was told, but asked, “For why, señor?”

  He said, “Just hold still while I pat you down.”

  She winced as one of his hands slid over a nicely formed breast without feeling any weapons. As he ran a hand between her thighs she protested, “Señor! I did not come here to be molested!”

  He said, “You’re clean. You can turn around and fib some more, now.”

  The girl did so, keeping her eyes downcast as she murmured, “Gaston told me you were a ruffian.”

  “Sure he did. Let’s move over to the light so I can have a look at you. Where is Gaston supposed to be, right now?”

  She followed him toward the door, saying, “He is at my place. I am called Helena Mahonney.”

  “A fine old Spanish name if ever I heard one, bejesus. Why is Gaston at your place? He’s supposed to be here, damn it!”

  She said, “I know. He told me. Some men have been following him and he said something about being hit on the head again. He asked me to slip out the back way and get you. He said something about you bringing some people named Grey Rocks.”

  Captain Gringo opened the door and led the girl inside before he turned to study her by lamplight. Helena Mahonney was a perky little blonde with big blue eyes. He already knew she was built right. He nodded and said, “Mahonney it must be. You’re Irish or I’m a Greek. Don’t you speak English?”

  “No, señor. My father, it is true, was an Irish soldier of fortune. My mother was Costa Rican. Since you and Gaston follow my father’s trade, you will understand I saw very little of him, growing

  “Your father’s dead?”

  “Si, he was killed in Mexico a year ago by the Rurales. Gaston did not know this when he came to my place, looking for him. He said I was to mention Delores and Angelita to you. I do not know who they are or what this might mean.”

  Captain Gringo nodded and said, “That sounds like Gaston, all right. How many hombres have him pinned down at your place, and have you any idea who they might be?”

  “No to both questions, señor. I did not see them. Gaston burst in on me without knocking. Fortunately, I was dressed. He asked for my father and when I told him he was dead, Gaston cursed as if it was my fault. Then he said he had been trying to shake some strange men off his trail, but that he suspected they might have followed him to my place and—”

  “Right,” Captain Gringo cut in, adding, “Do you know how to use a gun, Helena?”

  “I used to shoot my father’s pistol. Why?”

  Captain Gringo said, “Guns we have. People on our side are harder to come by. We’d better load up and get going. Is this place of yours very far. Helena?”

  “A ten-minute walk, perhaps. Don’t you intend to ask this Grey Rock person to help us rescue Gaston?”

  “No. Not until I find out if the guys after Gaston are working for him.”

  Chapter Five

  The late Brian Mahonney might have been a soldier of fortune worthy of Gaston s respect, but he sure hadn’t been a good provider. The house Helena led Captain Gringo to was little more than a two-room hovel. He’d learned along the way that the girl lived alone since her mother had died a few months back. After scouting the surrounding rooftops and alleyways, he’d learned nobody was covering the place from close enough to matter. When they ducked inside, the house was dark and apparently empty. Helena lit a candle and stared in confusion at the bleak stucco walls around them. She said, “Gaston is not here.”

  Captain Gringo wondered what else was new. There was a sleeping mat in an arched alcove. The only other furnishings were a crude table and chairs in the main room, and a beehive hearth and some pottery cookware in the smaller kitchen. Helena put the candle on the table and asked if he wanted some coffee before he left.

  He said, “Coffee sounds fine and I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Oh, don’t you intend to look for Gaston?”

  He shook his head and sat down at the table, saying, “No. Gaston could be anywhere. But if he shakes those shadows, hell wind up back here. He won’t go back to our place until he’s sure he’s not being followed. If and when he gets there, I left the one word, Helena, scratched on our own kitchen table.”

  The girl smiled and said, “How clever of you. Anyone but Gaston will think some vandal carved his girl’s name in the wood, if they notice it at all. Gaston, of course, will know I brought you here!”

  “Right. Didn’t you say something about coffee? We might have a long wait.”

  Helena flushed and stepped into the kitchen to light a little fire on her hearth and put a pot of water on to boil. Captain Gringo could watch her without moving from his seat. The girl’s peasant dress was clean but shabby. Her parents hadn’t lived too high on the hog while they were alive. He wondered what she was living on, now. They were in a slummy neighborhood and she certainly couldn’t be growing crops in her postage-stamp dooryard.

  She joined him at the table, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her forehead as she said, “The water will be boiling in a few minutes. I would offer you something for to eat, but there isn’t anything.”

  He said, “I noticed. When’s the last time you’ve eaten, Helena?”

  She shrugged and said, “The woman I work for feeds me once a day.”

  “She sounds neat. What do you do at your job, Helena?”

  “Oh, I am a chica.”

  “A housemaid ?”

  “Si, I was fortunate enough to get a job when my m
other became ill. La señora is rather demanding, but she never hits me, and, as I said, I am allowed to eat there once a day.”

  “It sounds like fun. How much do they pay you, kid?”

  The Hispano-Irish girl looked confused and asked, “Pay? Are you speaking of money, señor?”

  “Call me Dick, Helena. I did mean money. That’s what they usually pay people with, isn’t it?”

  Helena shook her head and said, “That is not the custom, here. La señora is my patrona. She has never spoken to me about money.”

  He nodded, with a frown. He’d been south of the border long enough to understand the “patrocinio” racket. It accounted for a lot of the revolutions.

  As if to defend her employers, Helena said, “La señora looks after me. She pays the rent on this house and allows for me to charge my firewood to her account. As I said, she feeds me and, from time to time, she gives me clothes to wear.”

  “Are those rags you have on one of la señora’s cast-off dresses?”

  “Oh, no, she wears fine silk and linen. I think she picked this dress up from the rag picker’s counter in the flea market. I know it is not pretty, but there are no holes in it and it covers me modestly enough.”

  She stopped and stared at him uncertainly. Then she asked, “What is the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  He didn’t think it would be polite to tell a lady he thought she was stupid, so he shrugged and said, “I was wondering about your late father. Didn’t he leave his family anything?”

  Helena sighed and said, “My father was a good man, I think, but he was, like yourself, an adventurer. Sometimes we had money. More often, we did not. My mother loved him, but I remember them discussing his ways with some heat, at times. My mother burned a candle for him when we heard he’d been shot by that Mexican firing squad, but, later, she told me she’d always known it would end that way. I think the water is boiling, now.”

  She got up, dabbing at her eye as she dashed into the kitchen. When she came back with the coffeepot and some cups she’d recovered. That is, she’d recovered her poise, but her memories were still bitter. As they sat together, sipping weak and unsweetened brew, she suddenly blurted, “What makes men like my father and yourself the way they are?”

  He grimaced and said, “I can’t speak for your father. I don’t seem to have much choice.”

  “That can’t be true. You are obviously an educated person. For why do you wish to go around fighting people for pay? We both know that half the time you don’t get paid at all, and, very often, you get killed.”

  He smiled sheepishly and said, ‘‘You’re right about the money, but we only get killed once.”

  “Once is more than enough! Why can’t you get a decent job?”

  He raised an eyebrow and asked, “I was too polite to ask you that same question, Helena. What the hell is a girl like you doing, scrubbing floors and washing dishes for handouts?”

  “That’s not the same. I have no other skills. I know how to read and write, but my parents could not afford to educate me.”

  He nodded and said, “I went to a school called West Point, once. They educated me to be a soldier. Like yourself, I only have one skill that seems to be in demand, down here.”

  “Why don’t you go back to North America and see if they need you there?”

  “I’d like to. I can’t. They want me, but I don’t think they need me. Let’s talk about something else. I wonder what’s keeping Gaston.”

  “I, too, have been wondering. As you see, I only have one bed.”

  That didn’t sound so bad, to him, but he decided to pass on the idea. She was only a green kid and anything that pretty wouldn’t be doing housework for table scraps if she hopped in bed easily. He could tell she was nervous about the subject of the mat in the alcove, so he smiled reassuringly and said, “I know I was a little fresh with you when I searched you, but I was really only worried about concealed weapons.”

  She lowered her eyelids and blushed as she murmured. “No man ever touched me, there, before. I was so afraid you were going to … you know.”

  “Come on, your father was a friend of Gaston’s and Gaston is a friend of mine.”

  “Oh, may I think of you as an uncle, then?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t. Let’s settle for big brother. What I’m trying to say is that you don’t have anything to worry about. If you’re tired, you just go to bed and I’ll be good.”

  She smiled and said, “I am very tired, but I shall wait up for Gaston with you. I think I like you, after all.”

  “Did you have to think about it this long, Helena?”

  “Of course. You are very big and rough looking. Gaston said you were crazy, too. But I think you are just hurt, inside, some way. Do you wish to tell me how they hurt you, Dick?”

  “No. You’re too big for bedtime stories. Let’s talk about the mess you’re in. Did Gaston have anything to say about finding his old comrade’s daughter living like this?”

  “He said I’d grown up most nicely. We did not discuss my poverty as much. He was more worried about the men who’d been following him.”

  The American grimaced and said, “He worries good. Did he give you any money?”

  “For why? I did not ask him for money. What do you take me for, a beggar?”

  He reached in his pocket and took out his wallet as he said, “I take you for a sweet kid who needs a keeper. Don’t you even have a boyfriend, Helena?”

  She shook her head and said, “No. Nobody wishes to marry a girl who’s poor, and my mother warned me about men who pinch one at the paseo or coming home from church.”

  As she spoke he counted out about fifty dollars’ worth of Costa Rican bills, knowing more would just get her in trouble, while less wouldn’t do her much good. He held the money out to her and said, “Here. Get yourself some decent clothes and stock up on groceries. Before we leave for the lowlands I’ll see if we can’t get you a decent job. There has to be someone in San Jose who’ll feed you better for busting your back.”

  Helena stared wistfully at the money in his fist, but didn’t reach for it as she said, “I can’t take your money. You are a soldier of fortune, like my father. You are the one who lets people take advantage of him! I have a job and nobody is trying to kill me. Only God knows where your next meal is coming from!”

  “Hey, come on. I just exchanged a fistful of Yanqui dollars at the bank this afternoon. The people we’re working for at the moment pay well.”

  Helena shook her head and said, “You forget I am a soldier of fortune’s daughter. They never pay you enough and, in the end, they always betray you. I remember how it was when my father was alive. Each time he left us for some grand adventure, he promised that this time it would be different. But it seldom was. There are three kinds of men who pay strangers to fight for them. They hire mercenaries because they don’t know how to fight. They hired mercenaries because they know how but don’t want to fight, or they hire mercenaries for a cause they do not wish their own people to die for. They never hire you because they wish for you to retire wealthy, and half the time, after they have used you, they see no need to pay you.”

  He started to argue, but his deal with British Intelligence was none of her business in the first place and might be dangerous knowledge for a peasant girl in the second. As he sat there, holding out the money, something clicked in his brain and he suddenly grinned and said, “Helena, I could kiss you!”

  She looked wary and replied, “I don’t think I want you to. I thought you promised to behave.”

  He put the money on the table and explained, “I did and I meant it. I think you just showed me the light. I could still be wrong, but it’s the first pattern I’ve come up with that makes a bit of sense.”

  Before she could answer, there was a dot dash knock on the door and Helena got to her feet, saying, “That’s my father’s knock. It must be Gaston!”

  He put a thoughtful hand on the gun butt under his jacket but didn
’t try to stop her as she stepped over to the barred door and opened it. Gaston stepped in, growling, “Sacre God damn! I am too old for these childish games of hide-and-go-seek!” He spotted Captain Gringo and added, with a nod, “I saw the message on the table. I suppose you know that our house has been ransacked?”

  The American shrugged and said, “It occurred to me that they might have that in mind. How come you didn’t wait here after you sent Helena for me?”

  Gaston looked embarrassed and answered, “It only occurred to me after she’d left that the men on my tail had been acting most strange if my demise was what they’d had in mind. Why let a man spot you trailing him if you do not intend to either move in or shadow him more sensibly, hein?”

  The American nodded and said, “Sure, they spooked you into ducking for cover, knowing you’d send for me, leaving the house unguarded.”

  “This does not worry you, my fellow sucker?”

  Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “No. They were probably German agents. Greystoke’s people know what we have in the house.”

  Gaston scowled and said, “Whoever they were, they robbed us. When I got to our place to find you gone, I found the machine gun and other supplies missing, too!”

  Captain Gringo chuckled and said, “The prowlers didn’t take anything important. I hid all our stuff as it started to get dark. Kruger’s boys were probably hoping for maps and written instructions. We’re okay.”

  “Who in the name of God is Kruger, and where did you cache our things? I looked all over before I dashed back here!”

  “Kruger’s a helpful guy from the German consulate. I put our stuff topside.”

  “Topside? It’s a one-story house with a basement but no attic! There is no topside, Dick.”

  “Sure there is. I put everything on the tile roof, near the chimney.”