Mexican Marauder (A Captain Gringo Adventure #16)

by Lou Cameron

  He laughed, said, “Get your own girl,” and rolled Veronica on her back to mount her. The blond and brunette English girls got on the mat with them. There was plenty of room. Quarters were nicely tight in Veronica. So, he paid little attention to Phoebe and Flora as he enjoyed the amoral, childlike peon girl. But as he was coming, Veronica laughed and said, “Oh, that looks so silly!”

  He followed her gaze, and, yeah, the blonde and brunette were going sixty-nine again. Veronica asked him why and he said, “I told her to get her own girl. Could you, ah, raise your knees a little?”

  She could, and it felt hot as hell. The sensuous moans and slurping sounds coming from the other couple were sort of stimulating, too. But when the uncomplicated little Mexican girl came a second time, he faked his own orgasm. He had to husband his resources, and Flora had rolled free of Phoebe and was writhing on the mat as she pleaded, “Do me, Dick! I’m so excited I can’t stand it!”

  He said, “Excuse me,” to Veronica and rolled off her to board Flora. As he entered her taller, slimmer, firmer body, he had to admit she had a point. He’d forgotten how great she was. He came so quickly it would have been impolite, had not Flora already been so stimulated by Phoebe’s bisexual tongue that she came with him.

  He kept going to be polite. He heard Veronica gasp in mingled surprise and pleasure, and, yeah, when he looked, Phoebe’s blond head was between the peon girl’s brown thighs as she crouched on her knees and elbows, eating her passionately. Her pale derriere and golden-fuzzed slit were aimed right at him. So, he admired the view as he went on making it with Flora. The once-prudish English girl was so aroused by the sheer perversity of the situation that she came repeatedly as he coasted in her. Just as it was starting to become work, Flora rolled her dark head wildly from side to side and gasped as she said, “Enough! Have mercy! I have to take a breather!”

  He laughed, withdrew, and crawled up behind Phoebe to mount her from behind. As he entered her blond love gates, he was again delighted by the contrast. As he started humping, he muttered, “That’s what I like best about women. Every time you make one, she feels better than anything you’ve ever had.”

  Phoebe didn’t answer. Her mouth was full. Veronica grinned at him across Phoebe’s arched spine and cupped her own brown breasts up to him as she said, “Oh, this is so delicious! I can hardly wait to tell the other girls of my village what we have been missing!”

  “Just don’t mention it at confession and you ought to be all right.”

  Veronica laughed and said, “We never tell the padre things like that. The Church says fun like this is forbidden. The Church is loco en la cabeza, no?”

  The blonde between them arched her spine yet more and began to wag her tail bone like an eager puppy as she expanded and contracted dh his questing shaft. She must have been excited at the other end as well, since Veronica had her head back, eyes closed, and was moving her brown body to literally screw Phoebe’s face. Phoebe hissed in orgasmic pleasure as she tried to bite Captain Gringo off at the roots with her love maw while shoving her tongue in Veronica’s mouth. The results were explosive for all three of them. Phoebe rolled out of the way, gasping, “Coo, I just died and went to heaven!” as the only male in the orgy fell forward atop Veronica, got into Veronica before it could go soft, and sighed as he said, “Here we go round the mulberry bush. Hi, Veronica. Long time no screw.”

  She laughed and enfolded him in her brown arms and legs. But he just lay there for the moment, getting his breath back as he enjoyed the message of her post climactic contractions. How could he have forgotten that Veronica had the nicest box?

  Flora sat up, frowning in concentration, and said, “I say. We seem to have done all the easy stuff. Why don’t we put our heads together and think of something really low? One doesn’t have a golden opportunity like this every day, you know.”

  Phoebe reached for her chum’s groin as she suggested, “I’ve got a better idea where we should all put our heads. Have any of you lot ever heard of a daisy chain?”

  Captain Gringo laughed and said, “It won’t work. All the daisy chains I ever heard of consist of one sex. I understand they’re very popular at all-girl schools.”

  Phoebe said, “They are indeed. But not to worry, Dick. I’m sure we can fit you in.”

  He grimaced and said, “I’d better just watch.”

  None of them had noticed that he hadn’t been kissing anybody lately. All four of them could have used a bath, and the three girls, while still serviceable for his old organ grinder, were a mite gamy.

  So he leaned against the wall and watched, bemused, as the three of them formed a head-to-pussy triangle, with Flora eating Veronica, for a change, Veronica taking care of Phoebe’s blond crotch, while Phoebe did the same for Flora. He was a little disgusted at first. The room smelled musky and the girls were really acting nuts. But as they heated up again, he started to rise to the occasion again. He didn’t want to get into that, but he sure intended to take care of the first dropout.

  It was a shame, in a way, that they’d be leaving Veronica behind here. On the other hand, maybe it was just as well. Who had the strength to cope with three dedicated nymphomaniacs?

  *

  By that evening the lug-rigged fishing boat was in as good a shape as it was going to get. So, Captain Gringo and his friends started stowing things aboard. Tio Pepe and his harem had already headed for home, saving tearful farewells. Veronica had left walking kind of funny. But nobody noticed. The two tias who’d said a proper adios to Gaston were walking the same way. Come to think of it, everybody was. He could see by the way young Chadwick was mincing that he, too, had been well laid that afternoon. Captain Gringo, Gaston, and Clarke just looked tired.

  They had their gear on board and were saying adios to the alcalde and other important villagers when a shout rang out and they saw some men in the ominous uniform of los rurales headed their way along the quay!

  Captain Gringo snapped, “All aboard, gang! I’ll shove off!”

  The alcalde said, “Oh, our call for help must have gotten through after all!”

  “Now you tell us!” sighed the tall American as his companions threw themselves aboard the boat while he unfastened the lines and followed. Gaston already had the sail up, close-hauled to move them with the trades almost abeam.

  The little boat began to move as the towns people got out of the way of the rurale charge. Los rurales weren’t kidding around. They had their guns out, and the leader demanded, “Halt! Who are you and what are you doing here on Mexican soil?”

  It seemed a reasonable question. But nobody answered. There wasn’t a thing they could say that would please the Mexican police!

  The leader shouted, “I am warning you!” and, as the boat moved even farther away, he barked a command to his men and they lined up to form a no-kidding firing squad. They didn’t fire. Captain Gringo rose amidships with the Maxim braced on one hip, said, “Okay, you asked who I am,” and chopped them down like a row of cornstalks.

  By this time they were making for the harbor bar at a nice clip, so he put down the Maxim. Gaston, at the helm, said, “Eh bien, we won’t be able to go back there again, but who’d want to, hein?”

  Chadwick said, “You shouldn’t have killed them!” But even his lover, Clarke, thought that was so dumb he growled, “Shut up, you silly sod. What were we supposed to do, suck them off?”

  “Don’t be nasty. This could cause an international incident.”

  Gaston laughed and said, “Mais non, mes amis, Dick is already an international incident. Your Greystoke knew that when he hired us.”

  They steered for the open sea and made it. As the moon came out, they saw that nobody was following them. The sea was calm and laced with green fire. The trades were fresh and steady. They were making a good six knots. By dawn they’d be … still in Mexican waters, dammit!

  They made it. It wasn’t easy and it took forever, but, by hugging the coast and sheltering in the mangroves by day and sailing at n
ight, they finally limped into Belize. Their beat-up little fishing boat wasn’t any more interesting to the British customs people than it might have been to any patrol or pirate craft who’d spotted its tiny tattered sail on the way south. So, nobody bothered the wilted travelers as they spotted Nombre Nada moored next to Greystoke’s yacht and sailed over to join them.

  The girls headed right for the showers after Greystoke welcomed them aboard. The two mariposas saw they weren’t needed, and Clarke took Chadwick to wash the sea salt and grime from his tender behind, too. As they left, Gaston was the only one crude enough to pass a remark about dropping the soap. Captain Gringo and Gaston had the answers Greystoke wanted to hear, and, what the hell, they were used to being grungy. So, they all copied off in Greystoke’s salon, enjoying the shade and some decent booze for a change. Greystoke brought them up-to-date first, as they’d been the ones lost to human ken the past few days. As they could see, Nombre Nada had made it through the storm. When the British crew had gone back to pick up Captain Gringo and the others, Sir Basil Hakim had put a burst of 20 mm across their bows. So, they’d assumed the worse and reported back to Belize. Greystoke said he’d keep Nombre Nada where it was and swap it back with Esperanza the next time she was up this way, if she made it.

  Captain Gringo told Greystoke everything they’d been through, except for the sexy parts. Greystoke frowned when he heard about the deal they’d made with Hakim. But before he could say anything, Captain Gringo explained, “Look, the little shit was going to take us out and tap that line in any case, whether we made a deal or not I sold him worthless info and a dead cable for our lives. I thought you’d be pleased that for once I brought almost everybody back alive.”

  Greystoke sighed and said, “Well, that is a switch. I suppose it was hoping too much for you to have liquidated Hakim and his lot.”

  “Hey, you liquidate him if that’s what Whitehall wants! Aside from his being a dangerous little prick, Gaston and I are soldiers of fortune, not paid assassins.”

  Gaston blew a thoughtful smoke ring and chimed in, “I will murder someone on occasion if the money is interesting. But it has just occurred to me, M’sieur Greystoke, that you might have been trying to buy a killing trés cheap!”

  Greystoke looked innocent. Gaston grimaced, waved his cigar at Captain Gringo, and explained, “You knew my excitable youth, here, is inclined to be destructive. Hakim has too many friends in high British places for you to order any British agent, officially, to put Woodbine Arms Limited, out of business. On the other hand, you issued two machine guns and a crate of high explosives to this adorable child, knowing full well Sir Basil might be paying us a social call!”

  Greystoke said, “Don’t be ridiculous. Hakim is a thorn in our side, but he is on our side, more than Krupp of Essen.”

  “Eh bien, and does not Sir Basil have stock in Krupp as well as the British Woodbine industrial complex?”

  “Look, that fucking little Turk has his finger in every pie. But forget about him now. Since Hakim’s yacht arrived here this morning, just ahead of you, he obviously didn’t learn anything damaging to the Crown. He wouldn’t have abandoned that cable so soon if it weren’t still dead. Your mission was to spy on the Spanish. I must say I’m a bit disappointed in the meager results.”

  Captain Gringo took another sip of gin and tonic and said, “Bullshit. Our mission was to guard your sneaks, and we did it pretty good. We weren’t ordered to find out anything about the Cuban situation. If Boggs and Carmichael hadn’t been killed, I wouldn’t know as much as I do.”

  “Agreed. But, dash it all, how much do you really know?”

  “We told you. Apparently somebody’s in the market for a mess of armor plate and they think they can get it cheaper from John Brown Limited, than Hakim’s rolling mills in Blighty. Frankly, I don’t see what difference this could mean to Whitehall, since the business figures to be all in the family. The queen doesn’t stop any lime juicer from selling anything from a pop gun to a battleship to anyone with money, does she?”

  “Of course not. England is the Workshop of the World. But we do like to keep track of such purchases.”

  “Yeah. Someday you’ll look pretty silly when a British gunboat sinks a British gunboat, huh?”

  Greystoke sniffed and said, “I hardly think it’s the place of a soldier of fortune to make such moral judgments. Let’s stick to the point. We’ve established that someone in Cuba is shopping for armor plate. What do you suppose that means?”

  Captain Gringo shrugged and said, “Don’t look at me! How the fuck should I know?”

  Gaston said, “It makes no sense either way. The Cuban guerrillas would hardly have need for armor plate, since they have no navy, unless die U.S. decides to supply them with one. In which case they still would not be shopping for armor plate.”

  Greystoke nodded and said, “The Spanish must be beefing up their fleet, then. There’s a Royal Spanish navy yard in Santiago.”

  Gaston shook his head and said, “Mais non. You children forget I have been in this business some time. So, I am trés familiar with Spanish military policy. Spain operates on les cheaps. Their army marches in rope-soled sandals. Their navy is held together by rust and Spanish macho. The old conquistadores were fighting sonsofthebitches. But their great-grandchildren have gone to seed resting on their ancestors’ reputation. One imagines the future shall see a similar softening of British resolve. But whether your grandchildren regard the British flag waving from Pine to Palm or not is beside the point. The Spanish Colonial Empire is trés finis. Spain is not going to spend enough money on new arms to matter. They’ve having enough trouble meeting the payroll of their pathetic army and navy as it is. Besides, they don’t have time to began a new navy.”

  Greystoke frowned and stared down at his empty glass as he mused aloud, “Somebody seems to be in the market for a lot of armor plate. Hello, I need another drink.”

  He reached for a pull cord to summon help. The beautiful Indira came in, wearing a see-through sari and carrying another round of drinks on a tray. As she handed Captain Gringo another gin and tonic, he examined her nipples and said, “Oh, right, a double agent. I should have known.”

  Greystoke smiled fondly after the Hindu girl’s receding derriere as he said, “Of course, Hakim sent her back to spy on me some more as soon as they got back. But she knows which side her bread is buttered on.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure you guys have a lot of fans in India. Listen, Greystoke, we’re talking in circles and it’s getting late. Fuck the Intelligence data and let’s talk sense. Gaston and I had a deal with you. We carried out our part of the bargain, and we want to get back to Costa Rica and unwind. When do we get paid?”

  Greystoke nodded, reached in his jacket, and took out a roll of bills. He counted out a modest sheaf and handed them to Captain Gringo. The tall American counted, frowned, and growled, “You call this money? I don’t!”

  Greystoke said, “I’m afraid it’s the best I can do, chaps. You did trade a modern, expensive yacht for that wonky native schooner, you know.”

  “Bullshit. Nombre Nada isn’t that beat-up, and besides, you’ll be able to swap back with Esperanza in time.”

  “Whitehall’s accountants don’t deal in futures, Dick. They were very cross with me when I last communicated with them. Besides, you know I only hired you two unofficially. Whitehall doesn’t pay officer’s wages to, ah, I’m afraid they called you beachcombers.”

  Captain Gringo’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he rose to his feet and spat, “You cheating sonofabitch!”

  Gaston stood up, grabbed his arm, and warned, “Take the money and run, Dick! I’d like to hit him, too, but let us be pratique, hein?”

  Greystoke remained at ease as he smiled up at them and said, “He’s right, you know. You two still depend on my continued goodwill if you mean to leave this British colony unmolested.”

  Captain Gringo snarled, “I’ll molest you, you welshing motherfucker!”

  But Gasto
n put his back into dragging him toward the door as he insisted, “Mais non, listen to me. I have the better answer. Trust me.”

  Captain Gringo knew that look in Gaston’s eye. So, he nodded and said, “Okay, Greystoke. Half a loaf is better than none, but you’re still a sonofabitch and I hope the Kaiser wins in a couple of years.

  Greystoke smiled thinly and replied, “I’m sure we can keep him at bay at least twenty. Vaya con Dios, chaps.”

  Captain Gringo waited until they were safely ashore before he turned to Gaston and said, “Okay, spill it. How are we planning to pay that bastard back for double-crossing us again?”

  Gaston chuckled and said, “By double-crossing him, of course. First let us check into a hotel, make ourselves presentable, and send Sir Basil a message to meet us on neutral ground, hein?”

  They started walking into town. But Captain Gringo said, “We don’t have anything left to sell him.” Then he frowned and added, “Do you think that bit about John Brown Limited, underbidding him might be worth anything to the old goat? It’s the only thing he might not know about the deal.”

  Gaston shook his head and said, “He’s heard that already. He would not have left the cable tap so soon if it had not come back to life shortly after we abandoned it to him, non?”

  “Shit, you’re right. By now Hakim knows as much as Greystoke, and it’s still not saying much. How much could he want to pay us just for verifying what he already knows?”

  “I think it ought to be worth at least a couple of thousand, Dick. I shall explain it to you both when we put our heads together, hein? It is rather complicated, and I so enjoy surprises.”

  *

  Captain Gringo and Gaston were lounging in the hotel tap room, clean-shaven and wearing fresh linen suits, when Sir Basil and two bodyguards arrived. They were dressed spiffy, too.

  The Merchant of Death took a seat across the table from die soldiers of fortune. His bodyguards covered the doorways casually while their boss talked. Sir Basil said, “I came as soon as I got your message, chaps. You say you have something for me?”