The Death Hunter

by Lou Cameron

  Ching still thought it would be safer to scale the cliffs and leg it across to the village, but he knew that while one can always swim some more in rough water, it was impossible to swim in air. They had each other instead of breakfast and when Captain Gringo found the mast and sail awash just offshore, his mind was made up. He fitted the new wood to the tiller, piled Ching and all their clothes in the boat, and waded naked through the breakers, hauling the painter until it was safe to climb aboard. They stepped the mast and clawed well offshore before they dressed and headed back. Ching was worried about what her master would think, now that she’d had time to cool off.

  He said, “Look, kid, we’ll be moving on in a little while. Why don’t you come with us?”

  “Do you mean you wish to marry me, darling?”

  “Well, not exactly. I’d marry you as soon as I’d marry anyone, but—”

  “I understand.” She cut in, wistfully. “Meanwhile, Wo Fang is not a husband, but I have a home and know where my next meal is coming from.”

  Captain Gringo felt a little wistful, too, as he said, “Yeah, you gals don’t take to the life of the open road much. Can’t you get the old goat to marry you?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t say such nasty things about Wo Fang, Dick. At least he treats me according to the customs of our people.”

  He didn’t answer. He was starting to get the picture. The Chinese and his woman had been having a lover’s spat when he and the Armenian dropped by to hire this boat. She’d felt used and abused and she’d gotten back at Wo Fang the way pissed-off women usually do. Only now she was feeling guilty, in the cold gray light of reality. He’d played this scene before and there were no new lines to offer, so he didn’t try. He wondered what they’d been fighting about, but didn’t ask. If all couples got along, all the time, guys like him and Gaston would probably wind up playing with themselves more often.

  By the time they sailed into the village the girl was positively formal. He was just relieved. Naked in a cave a million miles away he’d completely forgotten Ernestine and pretty little Helena, still waiting for him up in San Jose. As Ching steered the boat in, he leaped ashore with the painter and hauled it in. Gaston had obviously been waiting and was running along the quay to meet him. Gaston said, “Where have you been? I was sure you were not in your room, but there was so much wreckage—”

  “Wreckage? What are you talking about? Who wrecked my room?”

  “Who indeed? They must have used more than one stick of dynamite. Your bed was blown through the roof tiles. Fortunately, without you in it, hein?”

  Before the American could answer, old Wo Fang was running toward them, too, eyes streaming tears and yelling in Cantonese at Ching.

  As the girl joined him on the quay, Wo Fang took her in his arms and started smothering her with kisses as he half led and half dragged her away. Gaston smiled sardonically and said, “There was some discussion about the - bombing of your room. Apparently, it was considered possible that you and that pretty Chinese girl – Damn it, Dick, where did you take her?”

  Captain Gringo said, “I’ll tell you about it along the way. I want to see what they did to my room. Was anyone hurt?”

  “Mais non, the walls are thick and you were the only intended victim. The Armenian thinks Wo Fang did it. It would seem his Ching tends to stray when she is cross with him.”

  “What do yon think, Gaston?”

  “It could have been a Dutchman as easily as a Chinaman, if one is speaking of crimes of passion. Then, again, you have a most distressing habit of making enemies. I mean, serious ones. Men who kill over women are children. How do you feel about German agents?”

  Captain Gringo frowned and said, “I’m sore as hell, if that’s who it was. But I don’t see a motive. A pro might kill to stop a guy who’s getting warm, but, so far, I’ve drawn a blank, out here.”

  “You found out nothing, from your nautical adventures?”

  “I found out there’s no deep draft landing off the sulfur mine and the south coast is murder.”

  Gaston sighed and said, “I have wasted much conversation on these backward fishermen. They are hardly naval experts, but one gathers they would have noticed if German submarines or supply vessels made a regular practice of stopping here. Wouldn’t you say it was time to consider moving on?”

  By this time they’d reached the Armenian’s. He met them with a very annoyed expression until Captain Gringo assured him they’d pay for some more adobe and tiles. They stepped inside and stared up together at the patch of blue where once two stories had been. Most of the wreckage had fallen to the ground floor in a big dusty pile. There was little point in going upstairs. Everything interesting was down here.

  The Armenian’s young dark daughter, wife, mistress – or whatever – was sweeping scattered debris into the main pile with a twig broom. As they joined her, she shyly held out what looked like a copper bracelet and asked if it was Captain Gringo’s. He shook his head and told her it was hers, if she wanted it. She dimpled and slipped it on her brown wrist. Gaston frowned and said, “A most novel type of jewelry, non?”

  “Yeah, and I’ve seen it before, if only I can remember where. When did that sailor say the U.S.S. Denver is due back?”

  “Any minute. Another reason to be on our way, tout de suite, non?”

  “I think we’d better hang around and see if they found anything down the coast.”

  Gaston blinked in surprise and said, “A most practique way to save needless steps, perhaps. But I was unaware that you had come to such friendly terms with the armed forces of the United States.”

  The American shot a warning look at the Armenian and the girl and said, “Let’s take it outside. It’s dusty in here.”

  He dragged the Frenchman out to the street and muttered, “Have you gone nuts? Enough people down here already know about the price on my head in the States!”

  Gaston said, “True, but I was afraid you had forgotten they want you dead or alive. You confuse me with this business about the U.S. Pacific fleet. Don’t you know they’ll arrest you, if they don’t shoot you on sight?”

  The tall American saw the Armenian coming out of the half wrecked cantina with El Tiberon, so he quickly explained, “I wasn’t planning to have myself piped aboard. They’ll probably give the crew shore leave and we can pump them over the drinks we’ll be buying them. Now, drop that shit about the wanted posters out on me.”

  The two village men joined them. El Tiberon said, “We do not have an alcalde, but if we had an alcalde, he would be me, no?”

  Captain Gringo nodded and said, “That sounds reasonable. You’re the biggest and toughest looking bastard in the bunch.”

  “I thank you, señor. The point I am trying to make is that I, in the absence of a formal civic government, shall investigate the blowing apart of buildings in these parts.”

  “That sounds reasonable, too. Have you come up with any suspects?”

  El Tiberon scratched his jaw with a horny thumbnail and said, “No. Everyone I talk to says he didn’t do it. Nuncio, the one who owns that red boat with the mermaids painted on the bows, says he was in the alley behind the cantina for to take a piss when the bomb went off.”

  The Armenian frowned and said, “God damn it, I’ve told people to stop pissing back there!” But El Tiberon held up an imperious hand and said, “No matter. The point is that Nuncio was there. The explosion startled him so that he shit his pants.”

  “I’m glad,” said the Armenian.

  Captain Gringo said, “What El Tiberon is trying to say is that this Nuncio was an eyewitness.”

  El Tiberon nodded and said, “Thank you. I was trying to remember the fancy words for someone who was there when something happened. Anyway, Nuncio was not hurt, he was not knocked out, and he was most furious. As the dust was still settling, Nuncio ran all around with his scaling knife, looking for someone to cut. It was very late and nobody was out on the streets. At least, not at first. As soon as we all got dressed
, we came out to see what had happened, of course.”

  Gaston sighed, “Merde alors, get to the point.” But Captain Gringo shushed him and said, “The point is that Nuncio would have seen the bomber if he or she had been there.”

  El Tiberon said, “Exactly. They must have used a delayed fuse. That is what one calls a clue, no?”

  Captain Gringo nodded and said, “This isn’t a very big town. How many people sell dynamite and fuses around here?”

  El Tiberon smiled and said, “You anticipate me. I have already questioned the chandler and Wo Fang. They are the only merchants with dynamite on hand. They both swear they have sold neither fuses, caps, nor dynamite to anyone for at least a week.”

  Gaston murmured, “The Chinaman has dynamite? Tres curieux, non?”

  But Captain Gringo shot him a warning look and asked El Tiberon why anyone ever bought dynamite around there. The big fisherman looked sheepish and said, “It is not supposed to be done, but sometimes a stick of dynamite in a lagoon improves one’s catch when the triple-titted fish refuse for to bite.”

  The tall American nodded and said, “Then almost any fisherman could have a few sticks of dynamite on hand and wouldn’t talk about it all that much.”

  El Tiberon said, “True, but I don’t see why any of the boys would want to blow you up, Captain Gringo. You are a generous drinking partner and discreet about other men’s women, no?”

  To change the subject, Captain Gringo stared out at the fishing craft to his right and said, “You mentioned fish biting. Don’t you hombres fish with trawls?”

  “For tuna?” Frowned El Tiberon, adding, “Some of the boys cast hand nets in the shallows for bait fish, but, at sea, we fish for money! No boat the size of those you see could carry the sort of nets you’d need for tuna. We catch them mostly on hand lines, baited with flying fish or, once the feeding frenzy starts, triple hooks with no bait at all. Tuna is an all-or-nothing catch. When she is there, she swims in great numbers. One can haul tuna as fast as one can get a hook over the side. I spit on steam trawlers. It is a most sissy way for to catch a fish!”

  Captain Gringo nodded and said, “In other words, none of you hombres trawl, so knowledge of the bottom off this point isn’t important to you. I heard some, uh, kids, dive for abalone, though. True?”

  El Tiberon shrugged and said, “It keeps them out of mischief, although they sometimes drown. There is no money in abalone, but it makes a welcome addition to a pot of estofar pescado.”

  “Abalone get around. Your local kids would know the offshore rocks and reefs pretty good. Have any of them noticed any changes on the bottom, lately?”

  El Tiberon shook his head and said, “I have not heard such talk, but I will ask. When one’s father and older brothers fish for a living, one tells them muy pronto about new channels or shifted rocks.”

  Captain Gringo told El Tiberon to keep up the good work. Then, with Gaston tagging along, he left to see about new quarters. As soon as they were out of earshot, Gaston asked why he hadn’t gotten the Armenian to suggest something. Captain Gringo said, “I don’t want anyone at the cantina to know where I’ll be holed up.”

  Gaston brightened and said, “Ah, if one does not know where to place explosives, one does not place explosives, hein? Do you think they’ll try for me or one of our other men?”

  Captain Gringo said, “No. They would have done that last night if it wasn’t me they were after.”

  “A few of the boys were rather fortunate last night, and I can’t promise none of the ladies were unattached spinsters.”

  “I don’t buy that as the motive. Guys down here make a public show of knifing a man who’s hung horns on them.”

  “True, but neither the Chinaman nor the Dutchman are Spanish.”

  “Right, either way, we’re talking in a circle. I still think someone’s more worried about me getting warm than they are about a little slap and tickle with some dame.”

  They rounded the corner and saw a carriage parked in front of the chandler’s shop. Captain Gringo swore and said, “Damn, I was planning to see if the chandler had a sail loft or something I could bed down in. It looks like he has visitors.”

  Gaston said, “When one opens a shop, one hopes to have visitors. We shall go in and browse until they buy their supplies and leave, non?”

  The tall American nodded and the two of them stepped into the cavernous chandlers shop. The interior was cluttered with coils of rope, bolts of sail cloth, barrels of tar and paint, and there was even a diving suit hanging by its hose and lifeline from a beam. They threaded their way to a counter where, of all people, Jan and Ernestine Hoover were talking to the chandler. They saw him at the same time and the fat Dutchman nodded and said, “I see you are still here, eh? We heard someone tried to blow you up last night.”

  He didn’t look too upset about it, but Ernestine said, “We were so worried. Have you any idea who did it?”

  Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “No. You folks go on and buy your whatever. We’ll just look around until you’re finished.” He ducked between two bales and tried to lose himself in the maze. He didn’t want to lie and he didn’t want to give Hoover a chance to ask what he was doing there. He turned to say as much to Gaston and saw he was alone in a dark corner. Gaston was exploring another part of the big store. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to light a smoke and he could tell by the distant murmur of conversation that the chandler was still tied up with the Dutchman. So he leaned against a pile of soft braided ship’s fenders to take a load off his feet as he sweated it out.

  Ernestine Hoover came around some bales to replace the smell of tar and hemp with her own musky perfume as she said, “Oh, here you are. I was so frightened for you when I heard about the attempt on your life, darling. I tried to get away last night, but I couldn’t. I still shudder every time I think how close I came to being in that bed when it went through the roof I—”

  Then she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him passionately, thrusting her pelvis hard against his.

  He kissed her back just long enough to be polite and whispered, “For God’s sake, honey, your fucking husband’s just the other side of those bales!”

  She started moving her pubic bone against his fly, teasingly, as she said, “He wasn’t fucking at all, last night. I think he has other things on his mind. God, I want you so badly I can taste it!”

  “Hey, take it easy! I want you, too, but this is cruelty to animals! There’s no sense getting ourselves worked up when we can’t do anything about—”

  She reached down and hauled her skirts up around her waist as she rubbed against him harder and purred, “Who says we can’t do anything about it?”

  She wasn’t wearing anything under her dress and her long pink thighs put her out-thrust pelvis level with his bulging fly as she reached down and started to unbutton him. He shook his head and said, “Damn it, what about your husband?”

  “I don’t want to fuck Jan. I want to fuck you. What are you waiting for?”

  Captain Gringo cocked an ear and heard the men at the counter droning on, but he said, even as he placed a hand on each of her bare buttocks, “Jesus, this is crazy! He’ll be through there any minute!”

  She fumbled his erection out and guided it in place as she rose on her toes and squirmed herself aboard like a witch mounting a broom. As they both hissed in pleasure, she said, “Jan’s a fussy shopper. He’s liable to talk that poor chandler’s ear off. Isn’t this fun?”

  He started pulling her in and reeling her out as they stood there face to face, his back braced by the rope fenders and her buttocks riding his cupped palms like a swing. He knew she was getting an extra thrill out of the sheer audacity of screwing within earshot of a husband she said she was afraid of, but the sooner they got it over with, the less chance there was of getting caught, and, what the hell, she was really good!

  They pounded one another to a quick climax with their two powerful bodies. But as she clung to him, legs Quive
ring to keep her erect, she said, “Oh, again! Nobody thrills me the way you do, Dick!”

  He shook his head and said, “Come on, enough is enough. We’d better quit while we’re still ahead.”

  He withdrew and tried to get her skirts down, but she held them high, stubbornly, and stepped back to give him a full view. The combination of nudity below the waist, with her upper body primly encased in proper Victorian bodice and lace dickey was not only funny, it was stimulating as hell. Ernestine backed across the narrow aisle between the stockpiled marine stores and, when her naked hips encountered a bale of sail cloth, she lay back on it and raised her knees to hook a heel of one high button shoe on a barrel rim as she braced the other against a vertical post, with her legs spread as wide as they could go. She grinned roguishly at the startled American over the lace covered mounds of her breasts and then she asked, ‘What are you waiting for? Do it!”

  He figured the sight would freeze any husband’s blood whether it got worse or not, so he stepped forward, unbuttoned his fly again, and, standing upright, with his hands braced on the canvas on either side of her rollicking rump, proceeded to ram it in and out of her like he’d never done before. She bit her lip to keep from screaming with pleasure. Then they heard her husband, somewhere, calling out, “Ernestine? Where are you? It’s time to go!”

  Captain Gringo froze in place. But the big blonde wrapped her legs around him and called back, innocently, “I’m coming, Dearest.” And then she hissed and closed her eyes, as he felt her muscles contract on his shaft, he saw she’d told Jan the truth, in her own way.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The chandler was only too happy to rent them a sail loft. Nobody was using it anyway, and there was gear at hand to furnish it, albeit as a somewhat nautical as well as oversized bed chamber.

  Gaston watched as Captain Gringo enclosed a den-like pile of tarps and wool blankets in a corner, complete with ship’s lantern and clamshell ashtrays on a seaman’s chest. The chandler had had no trouble replacing the hat and linen jacket he’d lost in the blasted room over the cantina, but Captain Gringo wasn’t happy with the new gunbelt and antiquated single action .38 he’d found downstairs. The old thumb buster had been packed in tallow to keep it from rusting, but it had seen some service in its time and the bore was worn.