Renegade 22

by Lou Cameron

  One of the squad leaders who’d been with him in action called back, “Is that you, Captain Gringo? What’s going on?”

  Office politics. Which side are you on, Pablo?”

  “Your side, of course! Your comrade, Lieutenant Verrier, is holding the gate with other sensible people. He sent us to look for you in case you needed help.”

  “I do. Take these women to him and tell him I’ll be along shortly.”

  He patted Esperanza on her ample rump and added, “Get going, querida! I’ll meet you at the schooner, I hope. If I don’t make it, thanks for the memories.”

  The redhead wailed, “What about my Jim?” So Esperanza just grabbed her by the wrist and hauled the dumb little dame in her wake as she tore after the other guerrillas for the gatehouse.

  Captain Gringo holstered his revolver, bent down to grab the wet steel trail of the four-pounder, and heaved. It didn’t want to move until he put his wet back into it. As he got it off the mud, he swiveled the field piece around to train its muzzle on the headquarters side. As he dropped the trail and opened the breech, a familiar male voice shouted, “Cease fire, damm it! Man the walls, my loyal muchachos! We must not let that schooner get away!”

  Captain Gringo muttered, “Shit. I was betting on Inocencia winning,” as he picked up a shell, slammed it home, shut the breech, and pulled the lanyard.

  The fort had been built to stand up to fire from outside, not inside. So as the howitzer recoiled and slammed a four-pound shell through the thinner stone walls of El Criado Publico’s headquarters at point-blank range, and went off inside, the windows lit up like jack o’ lantern eyes and glass rained down all around Captain Gringo. But he was on a roll, and figured it couldn’t hurt to hit him again. So he reloaded and gave them another point-blank cannon shot.

  The fort’s ammo had been stored for safety in separate magazines under each angle of the fort. So all the ammo on hand didn’t explode at once when his second shell got lucky. Just enough to knock him on his ass in the rain as the whole interior of the fort was illuminated in brilliant orange and filled with thunderous echoes.

  He rolled over and flattened tight against the ground until most of the heavier debris had finally thudded down around him. Then he leaped up and ran for the gate.

  Gaston ran out in the rain to meet him, saying, “It’s about time you got here, you destructive child. Look what I found for you to play with.”

  Captain Gringo took the machine gun from Gaston and kept going, the ammo belt lashing behind him like a dragon’s tail as he asked, “Did you send the girls on to the boat?”

  “Mais non, our passage to the waterfront seems to be disputed. A species of jurado has a squad out in the rain, pegging shots at one and all who try to leave the party. They must have been pulling MP duty in the village and …”

  “Never mind what they’re doing there,” Captain Gringo cut in. “We have to make it to the schooner before El Criado gets a handle on the situation!”

  “Could the maniac still be alive, Dick? For a machine gunner, you fire a mean cannon!”

  By now they were in the gate tunnel, where a hundred or more guerrillas and the two girls seemed to be stuck. Captain Gringo shoved his way through. He noticed Esperanza had picked up a gun in her travels and was at his elbow as he neared the outside exit. He asked her where the hell she thought she was going, and Esperanza said, “With you, to the death!”

  He didn’t have time to argue. So he just told her she was nuts as he stepped out into the rain again, firing the Maxim from the hip.

  There were times for scientific warfare, but this wasn’t one of ’em. The loyalist jurados down the slope had the gate zeroed in, and the longer a guy spent pussyfooting out, the better target he made. So Captain Gringo simply gave them a target moving fast and shooting back as he charged down the slope at them, hosing wildly with automatic fire.

  Behind him, someone shouted, “Viva Captain Gringo!” and the whole band of confused guys on his side exploded out the gate, shooting confusedly but mostly in the right direction.

  Los Jurados had the initial advantage of prone positions and rifles trained on a known attack approach. So some of the guerrillas on Captain Gringo’s side were hit as he led the charge. But Los Jurados lost anyway, as they were simply crushed by superior numbers and fire power.

  At the bottom of the slope, after running over the dopes who’d tried to prevent him from reaching it, Captain Gringo dropped the hot and empty Maxim in the mud and called a halt to count noses.

  Gaston and the two girls were still with him. So were Pablo and most of the others. Captain Gringo said, “We don’t have room on the schooner for all you guys, Pablo. On the other hand, there’s plenty of abandoned army supplies in the jungle over that way, and the Costa Rican border’s not too far. Deal?”

  Pablo grinned wolfishly and replied, “Only the first part, amigo mio! I think I just made general. Most of the others hiding in the cellars will no doubt join me, once the dust settles. It is time someone showed Panama a sensible revolution! I shall take everyone over to the high country to the west with plenty of arms, food, and of course adelitas, to mount a practical guerrilla action, eh?”

  Captain Gringo didn’t argue. One more bandit band wasn’t going to make much difference down here, and it wasn’t his problem. He nodded and said, “Good hunting. Gaston, help Esperanza with that redhead. She looks like she’s about to faint.”

  Gaston said he wanted to carry Martha’s more interesting parts. But the redhead said, “I’m all right. I’m just so worried about my Jim. We have to go back for him.”

  So Gaston picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and said, “Lead on, Dick,” and, as Captain Gringo took Esperanza’s hand to do so, the Frenchman patted the redhead’s ass and explained, “If he was not blown to bits he was going to die of yellow jack in any case, my pet. But do not worry. I promise you shall not be allowed to feel lonely on the way back to Limón.”

  As they headed for the waterfront they were met by some of Esperanza’s crew, armed and dangerous. They said the way to the coast was clear. The villagers, as usual, wanted no part of the action.

  So a few minutes later they were all aboard the Nombre Nada, and, low tide or not, Esperanza ordered them to cast off and back off muy pronto. She’d of course kept up her steam all this time, while the cargo of arms they hadn’t finished unloading would fetch a nice price somewhere up or down the coast where other rebels might be more reasonable.

  The she-skipper had to stay on deck while all this was going on. Captain Gringo kept her company despite the rain. They were both already soaked to the skin, but that was okay. They still had most of the night ahead of them to undress and get warmed up.

  Gaston saw no reason to stay out in the rain. So he carried the redhead to his stateroom and bolted the door before he set her on her feet, saying, “Don’t sit on the bed until I get you out of those wet clothes, hein?”

  As he began to undress her, the redhead protested, “What are you doing? This is not my cabin and … Sir! That’s not a button you’re fumbling with!”

  Gaston hauled her in and kissed her to shut her up as he let her wet garments fall to the floor and unbuckled his own belt with his free hand.

  Martha responded warmly to his kisses. She didn’t know how to kiss any other way. But as Gaston moved her over to the bed and lowered her cool, damp, naked body to it, she gasped and said, “Wait, this is all so sudden! I’m engaged!” Gaston said, “Not yet,” as he forced her clammy thighs apart with his own small but strong legs and got his erection in position. She gasped again in mingled surprise and pleasure as he entered her and said, “Now you are engaged, M’mselle, in a trés delightful way, non?”

  “Oh, dear, I seem to be getting raped,” said the redhead, as she raised her knees and locked her ankles across the little Frenchman’s bounding buttocks. He soothed, “Mais non, my child, it is only rape when you do not enjoy it!”

  She giggled and clamped down on his thr
usting shaft, saying, “Well, when rape is inevitable, as they say. Hmm, there’s more to you than meets the eye when you have your pants on. But what about my Jim?”

  “Merde alors, my sweet, anyone can tell you that when they turn yellow like that but refuse to vomit black, they are done for. Forget the poor specimen of a Puritan. Now that I know you better, I see the marriage would have been a disaster in any case. Mon Dieu, are you always this responsive?”

  She moaned. “Oh, will you please stop talking and just fuck me? I’m coming!”

  So he did, and when they came up for air at last, Martha sighed, and said, “Oh, this is so confusing. I thought if I wasn’t Jim’s girl I was Dick’s.”

  Gaston started moving in her again to keep it up as he said, “Dick has a girl, and he refuses to share her, the selfish child. If you don’t want a large female Basque pulling your red hair out by the fistful, all the way back to Limón, you had better resign yourself to being my girl, for now. Don’t worry, we shall probably be tired of each other by the time we disembark. So you won’t be stuck with a dirty old man.”

  She moved her hips teasingly and pleaded, “Would you stick me faster, you dirty old man?”

  *

  Back at the old Spanish fort, El Criado Publico moaned with the pain of the effort as he struck a match to find out where in the hell he was. His legs were pinned under a heavy beam. A candlestick from the rooms above was half-buried in the thick plaster dust near enough to reach. So he managed to light the wick before the match went out. The candle burned brightly on its side on the cellar floor. The old man tried to sit up. He managed only to prop himself up on one elbow as he gazed about in dismay. He saw that by some miracle the falling wreckage had formed a sort of cave around him and the beam pinning him to the stone floor. At one end of the sealed-in cavern, or tomb, his daughter, Inocencia, seemed to be peeking like an elf at him over other beams. Her eyes were staring blankly at him. He asked “Are you still alive, you wicked child? I thought I saw you shot.”

  Inocencia didn’t answer. He looked closer and saw that she wasn’t really peeking over the debris at him. Her severed head was simply resting on its stump. There was surprisingly little blood, and her face looked more serene than it had been in recent memory.

  He sighed and said, “Your death was swifter than what I’d had in mind. Attempted patricide calls for stern justice, my child. But what is done is done. In all justice, I may as well confess that your rebellious nature may have been at least partly a product of my own mistakes in rearing you. As I told that prisoner we left to enjoy the flesh of his own dead mother, a parent must bear some responsibility for a wayward child.”

  He heard movement in the darkness beyond the dim light of the candle. It sounded like digging. He shouted, “In here! I am trapped in here! Get me out and I shall reward you with a promotion, whoever you are!”

  There was no answer, but the digging noises continued. They sounded hesitant. As if whoever it was was injured or confused. Zagal tried to remember who could be left. He knew Numero Uno was dead. Numero Segundo had taken a pistol shot in his own head after treacherously blowing off Numero Uno’s face. Could it be that big Americano? Captain Gringo had dematerialized as if my magic in the chaos of the gunfight over the dinner table upstairs.

  Criado Publico shouted, “Listen, forget what I said about treason, señor! That other Americano was probably delirious, as you suggested, eh? Get me out of here and all will be forgiven! I will see you get your pardon. Without me, there will be no pardon! So be swift and dig me out, you big ape!”

  Powdered plaster and stone dust cascaded to the already dusty floor as the black jaguar, Diablo, poked a dusty muzzle through to El Criado Publico’s side. Zagal gasped as the big cat wormed its whole head through to stare at him with glowing feline eyes. The old man gulped and said, “Nice kitty. Good kitty. You are a good kitty, no?”

  The big cat wriggled in to join the trapped man and the severed head of its mistress, purring deep in its throat. Diablo was covered with dust and looked more gray than black as he moved slowly over, caught the scent of blood, and ignored the pinned-down man to pad over to Inocencia’s head and sniff it. The mingled scent of her blood and perfume confused the already confused jaguar’s instincts. It reclined by the head and raised a furry hind leg to lick at his big pink penis. But his mistress did seem to want to mate with him, for some reason, and Diablo had other appetites. They hadn’t fed him properly in that dark place they’d been keeping him, so he was hungry.

  He sniffed at the blood in the air of the stuffy cavern, or tomb. It never occurred to the big cat to taste the flesh of the dead girl who’d been such a loving mistress indeed. But Diablo had to eat something.

  He moved over to the dead girl’s pinned-down father, regarding Zagal with the same expression as a housecat investigating a trapped mouse. The old man whimpered, “No! For the love of God, not that!”

  But it was to be that, he learned to his horror, as the jaguar lowered its big belly to the floor at his side and began to eat him, without bothering to kill him first.

  *

  Back aboard the Nombre Nada; Captain Gringo had been thinking about that promised pardon, too, rather wistfully. It had probably been pie in the sky, and a guy had to do what a guy had to do, but he sure could have used it. He and Gaston still had the front money, and Esperanza had some nice arms to peddle at a profit as well, but he still felt mighty homesick.

  He felt less so when Esperanza nudged him in the ribs on the rain swept stern deck and said, “Bueno. We are safely out to sea at last and don’t have to worry about gunboats in this storm. Why don’t we go to my quarters and get out of these wet clothes and into each other, eh?”

  He agreed that her suggestion beat standing in the rain. So they locked themselves in and undressed calmly, as old friends tended to.

  But their friendship began to warm indeed as they tumbled naked into Esperanza’s clean linens together. She said, “Madre de Dios! Your poor cock is cold as ice.”

  He laughed and said it wasn’t any colder than her bare nipples as he mounted her. Her big thighs were cold too, as she hugged his naked hips with them and gasped, “Ay, que frio!” as he slid his cold erection into warmer climes indeed. She clamped down with her hot pink internal delights and in no time at all they were both not only warmed up but sweating a bit. He reached down and pulled a sheet over them to keep them from winding up with pneumonia when and if they ever stopped.

  They didn’t for quite some time. As Esperanza took charge by getting on top, she laughed down at him and said, “I see you were faithful to me ashore, this time. What kept you out of that redhead and crazy Zagal’s crazy daughter, eh?”

  He didn’t like to lie to his friends, so he said, “The last time I noticed Gaston, he had the redhead bound for glory. Inocencia just wasn’t my type, I guess. Did you know she was a real animal lover?”

  Esperanza leaned forward to tease his face with her swaying nipples as she moved sensuously on his shaft, saying, “Well, I noticed she seemed very fond of that black jaguar and … oh, you mean she was that kind of an animal lover?”

  “Yeah. Went in for incest, too. Gaston got it out of her, not me. Like I said, she just wasn’t my type.”

  “I’m glad. Could I get on the bottom again, por favor? I can’t move as fast as you and I’m almost there again.”

  He rolled her politely on her back, hooked an elbow under each of her knees to hold her long legs spread high, and proceeded to pound her good until they’d both climaxed again, hard.

  As he collapsed atop her, Esperanza hugged him to her ample breasts and crooned, “Oh, I am glad indeed. I saved up for this by neglecting my cabin boy, this voyage. I was hoping you’d be this nice to me, Dick. But, knowing you, I was afraid you’d have made love to at least a dozen other women before I got back.”

  He chuckled and mused aloud, “As a matter of fact, there were hardly any dames at all around, this time. Remind me never to sign up with a celiba
te order again. They didn’t even have the usual adelitas. So for once Gaston and I just had to behave ourselves.”

  Then he rolled her on her face to remount her from behind as he muttered to himself, “Oh, well, maybe the next outfit we join will be more interesting.”

  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

  Cavern of Doom

  Hellfire in Honduras

  Shots at Sunrise

  River of Revenge

  Payoff in Panama

  … And more to come every month!

  RENEGADE 22: PAYOFF IN PANAMA

  By Ramsay Thorne

  First Published in 1983 by Warner Books

  Copyright © 1983, 2017 by Lou Cameron

  First Smashwords Edition: April 2017

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

  Published by Arrangement with the Author’s Agent

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