by Lou Cameron
Captain Gringo smiled back and said, “It took me a while. But I’m learning. Getting shot at and betrayed a lot does wonders for one’s education.”
They rode on without getting shot at or betrayed, since they made sure nobody spotted them as they stuck to the high timber. They swung inland and forded the Rio Grande de Santiago where it was shallow and uninhabited. Gaston agreed that trying to board a train in San Blas itself right now could be a little noisy. But the train stopped at Tepic, about fifteen miles east of the seaport, and nobody had shot up Tepic lately.
They abandoned their rifles in the woods, rode into Tepic, and stabled the mules at a livery. Then they bought new suits and hats before risking the ticket office at the Tepic depot. The ticket agent said they were in luck. The trains were just starting to run again. Captain Gringo managed to look innocent as the chatty ticket agent explained there’d been a hell of a battle down the line at San Blas but the army had announced a victory and everything was getting back to normal.
They went to mass at the church across the plaza from the depot while they waited for the east-bound train. Captain Gringo had been raised a Protestant and Gaston said he was an atheist, save in tense moments. But how often would rurales pester nicely dressed men in church?
Sanctified, they came out when they heard the whistle blowing and timed it so they had to run for the train, in case anyone on the platform was being a pain about I.D. Nobody was. They swung aboard as the train pulled out. As they stood on the platform between cars to get their bearings, they saw the cars to their rear were second-class coach. They’d asked for Pullman compartments in Tepic and been turned down. All compartments were booked. Captain Gringo said, “Stay here. We may work something out with the conductor.”
They didn’t. The conductor was polite when he punched their tickets and pocketed a healthy tip. He said he could see they were caballeros and they could have the run of the train as far as he was concerned but, alas, the compartments were all taken. He added that there was a nice club car to the rear and said, “When we stop at Guadalajara, some first-class passengers may be getting off. I shall keep it in mind you wish to ride in private.” He moved on. Captain Gringo said, “Well, we can’t stand here all the way to Guadalajara. That would be as suspicious as chancing the club car.”
Gaston said, “Oui, but let me scout it first. With this hat, I tend to blend into any crowd. You, alas, are a big blond moose to be recognized for blocks. Uh-oh, someone’s coming!”
They stood clear of the sliding door as it opened. It was Pilar Perez! The young widow gasped, “Ricardo! What are you doing aboard this train? I thought I would never see you again!”
“That makes two of us. But let me figure it out. This is the first train out of San Blas since the shoot-up right?”
“Of course. I had to spend some time in a hotel. I must say you made an awful mess back there, Ricardo. They are still cleaning up after you.”
“I see you’ve had a bath and bought a new dress, too. Nice. Did you manage to get a compartment?”
“Naturally. It’s an overnight trip to my father’s hacienda. I have to change to a coach, of course, and…”
“Never mind all that. I’ve got to stay out of sight till we’re at least out of this state. Let’s go. Coming, Gaston?”
“Mais non, , my children. You two doubtless have things to talk about, while I, the invisible Gaston, had better do some scouting. If you hear shots, keep the door locked. Otherwise, I shall meet you when we have to change trains tonight, up in the high country.”
Captain Gringo nodded and turned to follow Pilar to her compartment. Gaston sighed, “Lucky devil,” and headed the other way.
There was nobody he knew in the first coach car he entered. It was crowded. A baby was crying and somewhere a chicken was clucking. Gaston moved on to the next car. It was even more crowded. There would have been more room had not an eight-man squad of men in U.S. Navy tropic whites and canvas leggings occupied facing seats, two by two, with Krag rifles braced against their knees.
Gaston kept walking, hoping they would take him for just another well-dressed, Mexican as he raised his hands to light an imaginary smoke until he’d passed them. None of them even looked up at him. It was just as well. He recognized a couple of them from the gunboat he’d sunk.
There was a less exciting coach behind the one the sailors occupied. He saw the next, and last was the club car the conductor had mentioned. Gaston didn’t go right in. He pulled his hat brim down as he stood on the platform between cars and peered through the dusty glass. He swore softly, then muttered, “But of course!” as he spotted Lieutenant Carson seated at the bar, profiled to Gaston.
The Navy man had changed to civvies again, in an apparent attempt to be sneaky, or perhaps because it was more comfortable to travel that way. Gaston knew Carson well enough to know why none of his enlisted men were drinking with him.
Gaston lit a real smoke as he considered his options. Unlike Captain Gringo, nobody had invited him to a private compartment. Carson might or might not prowl the train. Carson would certainly recognize his escaped prisoner. He’d spent more time gloating over them than had any other member of the crew.
Gaston made sure nobody was coming either way. Then he got a good grip on the rail, squatted, and stretched his free hand down to uncouple the rear car from the train.
He was naturally aboard the coach car still going somewhere as the club car began to fall back on the uphill grade. He resisted an impulse to wave bye-bye as the club car rolled to a halt, hesitated, then rolled back the other way. It might jump the tracks before it reached Tepic. Then again, it might not. Gaston moved innocently inside the car ahead to sit down and think about that.
*
In her private compartment, up forward, Pilar moaned, “Oh, that is too deep, querido! It has been so long since I have been with any man like this!”
Captain Gringo moved less passionately as he lay naked in her arms, with her slender, ankles locked atop his rump. She said, “That’s better. But I cannot believe I am letting a man I am not married to treat me like this in broad daylight! How did you get me out of my clothes so swiftly, Ricardo? I do not remember telling you I wished you to be so forward, even though you know I needed this!”
He didn’t answer. High-class dames always talk like that at first. It would have been rude to point out that she’d started unbuttoning her bodice as soon as he’d kissed her. Or that she’d invited said kiss with the smoke signals in her dark Spanish eyes before he could get the damned door locked.
The mattress under her naked firm flesh was firm, too. So even though she had slim horsewoman’s hips, her love gate was presented at a nice angle to his thrusts, and the click-clacking wheels under them vibrated her teasingly on his shaft even when he moved it gently in her. He wanted to make it last. She was the best he’d found since escaping from that gunboat, and she wouldn’t be getting off for hours, thank God.
But the wheels were clicking slower now. The damned train seemed to be stopping at every village. He started moving in her at his own pace, on his own. She moaned, “Oh, that feels lovely. But why are we stopping, Ricardo?”
“We’re not. I’m getting ready to come, baby!”
“Oh, me too! But if we stop at a station, someone might peek in!”
“The shades are down. Don’t you remember pulling them down? Oh, yeah, I’m almost there!”
“Ay, Maria! Me too! I don’t care if anyone’s watching! I wish to come and, madre mia, I am coming!”
Out on the platform, Gaston was blissfully unaware of them as he ran over to the public pay phone and called police headquarters in Tepic. They said the runaway club car had indeed rolled into the Tepic yards and smashed into a box car, and they were mad as hell about it. When they asked who Gaston was, he said, “Lieutenant Verdugo, Federale Intelligence. There is no time to talk. I called you because there are no federales in Tepic. You must not let him get away!”
“Get away? Who is
trying to get away, lieutenant?”
“The notorious Captain Gringo! I am about to leave the train to go after his confederate, another soldier of fortune. It is obvious what happened. As you can easily check with San Blas, a detachment of Yanqui navy police are aboard this train. When Captain Gringo saw them, he uncoupled the club car, hoping to coast back to town so he could catch a safer train. Ah, I see some muchachos with machetes, so I must organize a sweep of the hills for the other one! Be careful about the one who rode the club car back. He is armed, dangerous, and a most dreadful liar! Don’t let him trick you!”
Then Gaston hung up and ran to catch the train as it started rolling. The conductor was standing on the rear platform. He said, “Hey, did you see what happened to the club car? It was there a minute ago!”
Gaston said, “I just called Tepic about it. They will arrest the Yanqui bastard who did it.”
“You know who stole my club car, señor? Who on earth are you?”
“Keep it under your hat. I work for the government. But I promise you shall be shot if you breathe a word about it to anyone.”
“Ah, in that case silence is golden, no? The other secret agent you came aboard with is up forward. Questioning a suspect, from the moaning sounds I just heard.”
“Bueno. See they are not disturbed. We are on a mission of grave delicacy. If the woman talks, we may let her get off alive at her stop. But why am I telling you all this? Remember, not a word to anyone!”
So the conductor didn’t go near Pilar’s compartment again. He had his wife and kids to think of.
So, as Captain Gringo made undisturbed love up forward, Gaston kept a lookout in the forward coach, seated with his back to the bulkhead where he could watch for wandering U.S. sailors. None came. As he’d passed them a second time, they’d started a poker game. It would take them a while to miss their officer. Gaston doubted they’d miss him much.
Meanwhile, back in Tepic, the police, who had their own wives and kids to think of, had turned the case over to the tougher rurales. Lieutenant Carson laughed like hell when they told him he was Captain Gringo. He faced the trio of hard-faced men in big gray sombreros who’d just led him to the end of the tracks and said, “This is ridiculous! I am not Walker. I’m a U.S. Navy officer, you idiots!”
The rurales exchanged thoughtful glances. Carson took out his I.D. and said, “Here, if you can’t read, maybe the pictures will help. You see that American eagle? Take me to your superior! You’re fucking with the U.S. Navy, and nobody fucks with the U.S. Navy unless they like noise!”
One of the rurales smiled gently and said, “We have heard this. Yesterday, just up the coast, a Yanqui gunboat shelled a rurale post. Many of our comrades were killed, Señor U.S. Navy. Perhaps you would like to tell us why you shelled rurales? It seems a most cruel thing to do, in peacetime, no?”
Carson muttered, “Jesus!” then pasted a smile across his face and said, “Hey, guys, that wasn’t my outfit! I don’t know anything about any, ah, misunderstanding like that.”
“It was nothing to be misunderstood, señor. The shells came down. The men inside went up, through the roof. We understand you Yanquis do not seem to like us. It is not important. We don’t like you either.”
One of the others muttered, “Enough. Why do we waste time with this gringo, eh?”
Carson pleaded, “No, wait! Please!” as the rurale drew his .45 and cocked it. Carson dropped to his knees, whimpering, “You’re arresting the wrong man!”
The rurale looked puzzled as he growled, “Arrest? What is this arrest shit?” and pulled the trigger.
Carson’s face vanished in gunsmoke. When the smoke cleared, he was stretched out at their feet, still twitching. The man who’d shot him spat and said, “Bueno. That is how one deals with big-mouth Yanquis, no?”
One of his comrades said, “We should have questioned him some more, first. Now we’ll never know whether he was this Captain Gringo or some other gringo motherfucker!”
The man who’d shot Carson holstered his gun, saying, “You must be new at this game, nino. We must wire Ciudad Mexico as soon as we find someone to bury this carrion. El presidente will be pleased to learn Captain Gringo is dead,”
“But, Paco, he said he was someone else, and now, with his face blown off, it may be difficult to tell if he told the truth or not, no?”
“Estupido! That tip said he was a big liar. Of course he was Captain Gringo. A real Yanqui-gunboat man would have never identified himself as such to us after shelling one of our posts! This renegade could not have known about the international incident, so he outsmarted himself with some stolen I.D. They told us he escaped from a Yanqui gunboat, remember? Look at him. You can still see he was tall and blond in life. He fits the damned description. The case is closed. The renegade is dead. So nobody has to look for him anymore. But let us get out of this hot sun, muchachos. The shooting of gringos is thirsty work, even though it gives one pleasure.”
The Renegade Series by Lou Cameron
writing As Ramsay Thorne
Renegade
Blood Runner
The Fear Merchant
Death Hunter
Macumba Killer
Panama Gunner
Death in High Places
Over the Andes to Hell
Hell Raider
The Great Game
Citadel of Death
The Badlands Brigade
The Mahogany Pirates
Harvest of Death
Terror Trail
Mexican Marauder
Slaughter in Sinaloa
… And more to come every month!
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