by Lou Cameron
She said, “Pooh, most of the countries down here are run by brutal, bloodthirsty dictators. Isn’t it our duty as Americans to bring democracy to one and all?”
“Why should it be? Do the people down here pay taxes to the U.S. treasury or salute the Stars and Stripes? Have they asked to be American citizens—second class, of course? I don’t see why it’s any business of Uncle Sam’s whether they want democracy or, hell, Buddhism.”
She sniffed primly and said, “I find that a very strange attitude for a notorious soldier of fortune to take! Jim says you and Gaston will fight for anyone who pays you!”
“Sure we will. That’s why they call us soldiers of fortune. The point is that we do get paid! What I can’t understand is a do-gooder who sticks his nose into other people’s business just because he thinks God only speaks English. Gaston and me wouldn’t have so much work cut out for us down here if only the major powers would butt out. Half the bloodthirsty dictators you’re so worried about wouldn’t last six weeks if they weren’t funded by outsiders.”
“Well, my Jim and other true-blue Americans most certainly are not helping those horrid men in Colombia. Don’t you want to see the Panama Canal dug for your country, Dick?”
He chuckled wryly and said, “That’s exactly who wants the canal, Red. Damned few banana growers down where we’re going own stock in steamship lines. I’m not against the idea of a canal through Panama. But if I was President Cleveland, I’d cut all this sneaky crap and just go ahead and do it!”
“How? The Colombian junta refuses to give permission.”
He snorted in disgust and said, “Big deal. They’re going to take on the U.S. navy in a gloves-off stand-up fight? You know what I’d do if I was in charge? I’d just go ahead and recognize the Panamanian rebels as a de facto government, send in the gunboats, and tell Colombia to get out of the way so my engineers could dig.”
“But that would mean open war and lots of bloodshed, Dick!”
“What do you think gets spilled in all these sneaky funded revolutions, orange juice? The trouble with Uncle Sam is that he wants everybody to like him. But nobody ever likes the boss. You want a guy who’s smaller than you to do what you say, you just tell him to do it. You don’t hire another mean little kid on the block to beat up his kid sister. If this old tub was a no-kidding U.S. navy gunboat instead of a target, and I had permission to do it right, I could have them digging their damned canal in no time. I’d just put into Panama City, train my turrets ashore, and tell any Colombian authorities who were interested that they had twenty-four hours to choose between a war or the fair price Washington’s offered for a canal zone. I doubt if I’d have to fire a shot. If I did, it would all be over long before I can even hope to have those guerrillas we’re arming in shape to do anything much. I’d even let you watch the whole power play from the armored bridge. But since somebody Stateside wants to do it the hard way, you’re going to have to go back with Esperanza.”
“That’s up for my Jim to say, Captain Gringo.”
He nodded, rose, and said, “Yeah. I’d better have a talk with him about it. I can see your pretty skull really must be stuffed with bellybutton lint.”
*
It had to wait until morning. He found Jim Bowman fast asleep and Esperanza wide awake when he checked both staterooms. He said, “I thought you were at the helm,” as he sat down on the bed beside her and began to take off his boots. Esperanza was of course already undressed. She said, “I don’t seem to have my sea legs tonight. So I turned the watch over to Tiavo. He hasn’t been ravaged front and back as recently, I’m sure.”
Captain Gringo stretched out beside her and took her in his arms and he said, “I feel like someone dragged me through the keyhole backwards, too. Maybe sleep would be a novelty. I can’t think of anything else we haven’t tried.”
She snuggled her lush nude body against his as she murmured, “Are you sure you won’t mind, querido? I’m awfully tired, but if you really have to …”
He patted her bare rump fondly and said, “Hush, my beautiful Basque bimbo. Right now I couldn’t get it up with a block and tackle.”
So Esperanza shut up and fell asleep as if he’d punched her in the jaw. He chuckled, lay back, and was wondering if he wanted a last smoke when he passed out with her in his arms.
He slept through the night without dreaming. But then along toward dawn he had a dream to make up for it indeed. It wasn’t too clear just how he and the redheaded Martha Pendergast had wound up in the public library together, but there they were, screwing naked as jays in the reading room under a sign that warned: silence! But the redhead kept begging him to pound her harder, and he sure hoped none of those other people using the library this afternoon would notice. So far, nobody seemed to. They all just kept on reading their books at the other tables while he screwed the redhead on this one. She sobbed, “Oh, I’m coming!” and he whispered, “Me too, but can’t you read that sign up there?”
Then, when she moaned even louder, he opened his eyes and said, “Oh, hi, Esperanza. I didn’t know it was you again.”
The passionate Basque girl gripped him tighter with her long arms and legs as she did most of the work, asking him conversationally who on earth he’d expected to meet in her bed. So he didn’t think he’d better tell her about his dream. He was-almost there himself now, and as he came in her he really couldn’t feel disappointed. For if it had felt any better it would have hurt.
As they went limp together he glanced up at the porthole and saw the sky was pearling lighter. He asked her what time it was and she said, “Time to get up, damm it. But thank you for waking me up so pleasantly, querido mio!”
He said, “Don’t mention it. One more for the road?”
“Not if you expect me to walk the deck, gracias. I’m still sore from the way you abused me last night, you brute.”
He didn’t point out that the freak show had been her idea. Women were like that in the cold gray dawn. That was t probably why they called it the cold gray dawn. Actually it was sort of warm and sticky this morning.
They washed off, got dressed, and went out on deck. They both grinned as they saw nothing much but fog all around. He walked back to the helm with her and kept her company until breakfast was served to them on trays by the very handy Chinese cook. As they ate alone he asked her if she’d ever tried a Chinaman, and she laughed and said, “Once was enough. It’s not true what they say about Chinese men.”
He grinned back at her and said it wasn’t true what they said about Chinese women, either. He said, “I have to have a chat with Bowman about that dim-witted little redhead.”
“Oh? Do you want some of that, Deek?”
“Come on, Esperanza, did I act jealous about your cabin boy, even though he was a little dark for you? I don’t want to get under the dumb little dame’s skirts. I want her to go back to Limón with you.”
Esperanza looked relieved and said, “Bueno. If all else fails, I shall share my cabin boy with her. Laguna Chiriqui is no place for nice girls, or any girls at all, Deek.”
He told her he’d just said that and went forward to hunt down the stupid boyfriend of the even stupider redhead. He found them sharing a tray as they sat cross-legged atop the main cabin amidships. Captain Gringo knew Martha had already filled Bowman in when the skinny American said sullenly, “I won’t hear of my bride going back to Limón alone! She might not be safe aboard this pirate ship, damm it!”
Captain Gringo stood with his feet on deck, propping his elbows on the cabin coaming as he looked up at them to say, “Esperanza is a gunrunner, not a pirate, and I happen to know she likes boys better than girls. How safe do you figure Martha, here, will be in a guerrilla camp, Bowman? Have you ever spent any time in a guerrilla camp?”
“Of course not. But I’ve been assured El Criado Publico is a perfect gentleman.”
“That well may be. His army is still up for grabs. Revolutions are funny that way. All sorts of people join them, from starry-eyed ideal
ists to habitual criminals who like to call their disgusting habits patriotism.”
“I can take care of Martha, damm it.”
“I’m sure you can,” Captain Gringo lied, adding, “Meanwhile, what about the job you’ve been sent to do? A liaison officer’s supposed to keep track of what’s going on. How are you going to manage that if you spend all your time guarding your girl’s fair white body from God knows who or what? Oh, I forgot to mention it. Aside from two opposing armies where we’re going, the Central American lowland jungle is famous for its reptilian life forms. Only the snakes are poisonous, but the crocs and gators don’t need poison fangs to do a job on a well-turned ankle. Have you ever had yellow jack, Martha?”
“But of course not. Why?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll learn all about it soon enough if you insist on staying with us. We call it yellow jack because it turns your skin an ugly shade of very sick Chinaman. Its Spanish name is vomito negro. That’s because you also get to puke lots of black vomit all over yourself before it kills you, if it kills you. The odds are maybe fifty-fifty, if you’re in good shape to begin with. I’ve already had it. So I can’t get it again and, as you see, it didn’t kill me. I just wanted to die for a while.”
The redhead frowned down at him and said, “Pooh, you’re just trying to scare me, Dick Walker!”
Captain Gringo said, “That’s true. I see I’m not doing so hot. But think it over, kiddies. I gotta go see if we lost our bow gun to green water last night.”
They hadn’t. Thanks to the tarp, the gun wasn’t even starting to rust yet. But he was field stripping it anyway when Gaston joined him, belched, and hunkered down beside him to observe, “Eh bien, if that Chinese cook was only a little less masculine I’d marry him. I have always wanted a Chinese cook, a Japanese wife, and an East Indian mistress.”
“What would you do with a wife if you had a great cook and a mistress that liked to get on top, Gaston?”
“True. Forget what I said about the wife. I just passed our bride-to-be and that species of a scarecrow she intends to waste her adorable little self on. Do you suppose that’s the only way he can get any of that red hair around his no-doubt ugly rod of amour?”
Captain Gringo agreed and filled Gaston in on his suggestions about the girl going back with Esperanza. Gaston shrugged and said, “Eh bien, you tried. Leave her to heaven, or, for that matter, hell. We have our own adorable asses to look after, and I am beginning to wonder how we’re going to manage that. I’ve been talking with some of the crew, strictly in a platonic fashion, I assure you, and a picture emerges from the mists that I do not fancy.”
“Keep talking. I’ve already figured that Bowman’s mysterious backers ain’t the real Uncle Sam. I see it as a power play by big-biz guys with maybe the approval of a few congressional war, hawks. President Cleveland figures to be sort of surprised if we pull off anything important down where we’re going.”
“Merde alors, no more surprised than Colombia, I’m sure. Do you recall that adorable Colonel Maldonado who was in charge of the forces we fought the last time we visited Panama, Dick?”
“Yeah, and he’s pretty good. That’s who we’ll be up against again?”
“Oui, and it gets worse. One of the crewmen recalled the real name of this trés dramatique Criado Publico. It is Zagal, Professor Fernando Zagal, late of Havana University.”
“So? He’s a Cuban rebel too?”
“Mais non. He was a member of the Cuba Libre movement, but they threw him out. Unfortunately, that’s all I know. But there are some trés strange people fighting for the Cuba Libre cause, and if they could not use an educated law professor, he must have done something strange indeed, non?”
Captain Gringo snapped shut the Maxim’s action and muttered, “Oh boy. Let’s hope it was just party politics. Every rebel movement’s full of guys who want to be chiefs instead of Indians. At least now I see where they found El Criado Publico. The Cuba Libre movement is being funded and run from New York. He’s probably some Cuban exile, somebody from Wall Street found wandering around up there, handing out his own new constitution, and, what the hell, if you can’t lead a Cuban revolution lead one in Panama, right?”
Gaston sighed and said, “I wish people who didn’t know what they were doing would not do that, Dick. Remember that other fuzzy-minded professor we met up in Mexico that time? The one who meant to overthrow the Diaz dictatorship with a clean mind and lots of speeches?”
“Yeah. I wonder whatever happened to that bunch. They damned near got us killed.”
“I know. I was there. Attend me, Dick. If this turns out to be another utopian fantasy, I want your word we shall simply skip out, sans further discussion, hein? I mean it. I am not about to risk my poor old derriere again on people who’d rather make speeches than fight!”
Captain Gringo smiled thinly and said, “Relax. My derriere votes with yours. We’ll give it a shot. But if it looks like we’re about to get shot for a lost cause, that’s it. I’ve learned the hard way that old Don Quixote was an asshole as well as a nice guy.”
“To say a nice guy is an asshole is a redundancy, my child.”
*
It stayed muggy and misty all day. So Esperanza steamed full speed ahead and to hell with light winds and patrolling gunboats. She was right about the new screw being a great improvement. She gave Captain Gringo an even better screw during the siesta hour, although the Nombre Nada didn’t get to take a siesta. So, as he’d forecast to the redhead the night before, they made it to the rebel-held fishing village at Laguna Chiriqui less than two hours after sundown.
Just how was sort of mysterious. There were neither beacons nor any other indications of the treacherous channel through the mangrove-haunted shallows of the big labon. But with Esperanza at the helm they homed in until Captain Gringo, in the bows, spotted a necklace of dim lights ahead at about the same time as the lookout above called down to the big Basque brunette at the helm. Esperanza didn’t even have to correct her course as she stopped her engine and coasted in to the now dimly visible pier ahead. A couple of her crewmen ran forward and elbowed Captain Gringo out of their way to cast hawsers to the dimly visible figures waiting for them near a pier stanchion.
By the time the Nombre Nada gently bumped the pier fenders they had her too securely fast to bounce back more than a few inches. Captain Gringo nodded with approval and moved aft to see what happened next.
What happened next met with his approval, too. Before he got back to Esperanza in the stem, the guys on shore had a couple of gangplanks of their own in place and some of them were working with Esperanza’s crew to break open the hatches.
The big Basque girl was by the rail, making sure the stern lines were secure, when he joined her. He said, “Bueno. Better than I expected, so far. Shall we go ashore?” Esperanza shook her head and said, “Not until and unless you’re invited to, Deek. They have armed guards as well as stevedores on that pier, and they are pretty good, too, but a little trigger-happy. As for me, I am content to remain aboard until we discharge the cargo.”
She took his arm and added, in a huskier tone, “It usually takes three or four hours. Shall we go inside for to say adios properly?”
He laughed and shook his head. He knew he’d hate himself before midnight, because Esperanza was one of those dames a guy never seemed to get enough of, unless he’d gotten enough of her for a while. He said, “I’d love to. But I’d better keep my pants on in case they want me for some reason before you leave.”
“Jesus, Maria, y José, I want you for something before I leave! I won’t be back for at least a week, querido!”
He was saved from having to plead a headache by Gaston joining them. The little Frenchman said, “A trés fatigue juvenile, dressed prettier than a Mexican general, just took Bowman and his redhead ashore. If we don’t want Bowman telling tales out of school about us, we had better follow them tout de suite, non?”
Captain Gringo shook his head and replied, “Esperanza her
just explained that’s not the form. They’ll probably send somebody pretty to fetch us, when they want us. Here, have a cigar and hold your horses.”
Gaston growled that he had his own smokes and that if he had a horse he’d ride it the hell out of here, adding, “I do not like the ambience here, Dick. Regard how those shadowy stevedores are killing themselves up forward.”
“What’s the matter with the way they’re working the cargo? I think they’re doing pretty good.”
“They make me trés nervous. Nobody works like that in the tropics unless they are full of dope or very very frightened! The officer who came for Bowman and the girl was heavily armed and a typical martinet. We had officers like him in the Legion. They frightened us, too.”
Captain Gringo shrugged and asked, “What do you want, egg in your cerveza? We were afraid there wouldn’t be enough discipline down here. Now you’re bitching because Los Jurados have good discipline.”
Gaston shook his head and insisted, “Mais non, the crew of this trés tight ship has good discipline. But none of them are working hard enough to suffer sunstroke by starlight rat the moment! I tell you I hear the dulcet tones of invisible whip cracks, Dick. Those stevedores are run-of-the-mill mestizo peones who, left to their own devices, would work with the slow steady movements of their kind. Ergo, they are either coked to the eyebrows, scared out of their wits, or both!”
The tall American turned to the Basque skipper and asked, “Esperanza?”
She replied, “Don’t ask me. I told you I haven’t bothered to go ashore. As I said, I give my crew an hour or two shore leave before we leave, depending on the tides. They haven’t reported anything particularly frightening along the waterfront.”
“How about farther inland?”
“Why should they go farther inland? The cantinas and cathouses are strung along the shoreline.”
