Captains Outrageous cap-6

by Joe R. Lansdale

  “My guy hit like a sissy,” Jim Bob said.

  “You’re lucky,” I said. “He hit any harder than he did, you’d look like E.T. on that side of your face.”

  The person in the pool was obviously Juan Miguel. He swam a couple more laps just for show, then climbed out. He was butt-naked. One of the buffaloes gave him a long white towel and he went to drying himself.

  He came over, flipping his dick and balls with the end of the towel. I didn’t know if he were merely drying himself, or if it was some kind of greeting.

  Up close I could see Juan Miguel was older than he had appeared through the telescope. He was in good shape, with a slightly protruding belly, but solid muscle tone. He had all his own hair and certainly dyed it. He was probably about five ten, one ninety and proud of himself.

  “Que pasa,” Juan Miguel said, and he smiled so big the light bouncing off his teeth nearly put my eyes out.

  “How’s it hanging?” Jim Bob said.

  Juan Miguel thought about that, then slowly he laughed. “How is it hanging. That is good. How is it hanging. As you can see, my man, it hangs quite well.”

  “Yeah. It almost looks like a real dick.”

  Juan Miguel said something in Spanish. One of the buffaloes stepped forward, slapped Jim Bob so hard he was knocked out of the chair and the chair went spinning. He lost his hat again. It rolled backward all the way to the shrubbery.

  Juan Miguel looked at me. “Do you have a comment, sir?”

  “I’m cool,” I said.

  Jim Bob got up, straightened his chair, recovered his hat, sat back down. “Where do you get these guys? A girls school?”

  Juan Miguel made a movement with his mouth that wasn’t quite a frown or a smile, but was certainly unpleasant. I thought Jim Bob was due for another slapping, or worse, but Juan Miguel took a breath, looked down at his package and continued drying it as if he were polishing a precious stone.

  “Do you find nudity unpleasant?” Juan Miguel asked us.

  “Yours, yes,” Jim Bob said. “But your woman, hey, I think she looks pretty good.”

  Juan Miguel snapped something in Spanish, and this time both buffaloes jumped on Jim Bob. I wanted to help him, but I knew that wasn’t our game. Jim Bob took a short but rapid beating from their fists, then lay on his side and was kicked for a while.

  I said, “You do that much longer, I can assure you, you’ll never see your mistress again, unless it’s in a ditch with a zucchini stuffed up her snatch.”

  “Alto,” Juan Miguel said.

  Jim Bob lay awhile longer this time, but finally he got up, brushed himself off, righted his chair, recovered his hat, which was the shape of a paper wad, and sat down. “The two of them together, working hard, are almost a man,” he said.

  “You are crazy,” Juan Miguel said. “You want to die. And you will.”

  Jim Bob spat blood on the stones. “Not unless you want that mistress to end up like my partner said. Only I’ll make sure she gets a zucchini in every hole. Maybe even a melon. No more beatings. No more bullshit. You listen to us. We don’t come back soon, call in, your girlfriend, she’s gonna end up in a bad way. You hear me, you cheap-ass Mexican Godfather wannabe. We’re just hired help, and it don’t mean a thing to us one way or another, except we want to come out of this alive and happy, and if things work out, you get your bitch back alive and happy, and we come out of it with some money. And let me tell you, I’m gonna talk to you, you get some drawers on, or wrap that towel around that limp piece of spaghetti, sit down and listen.”

  “You are on my turf, you American turd. Nudity is healthy. I am sixty years old, and I know I do not look it. It is the nudity. The fresh air, the sun. I swim nude every night in this pool, and it has done wonders for me. Man was meant to have fresh air, sunlight, and exercise.”

  “It’s dark,” I said.

  “Yes, but there is the night air,” Juan Miguel said.

  “We’re on your turf,” Jim Bob said, straightening his hat, “but we’ve got your muff. Let me tell you about nudity for health, Zorro. Tried it when I was twelve. Stripped off and played Tarzan. Climbed up in a tree and got a sunburn, damn near fried my pecker off, turned my ass the color of a Washington apple. I didn’t find it so healthy. You get a good sunburn on your general and it starts to peel, let me tell you, it’s highly uncomfortable.”

  “You idiot,” Juan Miguel said.

  “You gonna sit and deal, or you gonna bore me with your lifestyle choices?”

  “You fool,” Juan Miguel said. “You think I am losing true love here? My wife, she is my true love. Ileana, she is a dalliance. A hobby. A pastime. She is one of many.”

  I felt my stomach go sour. What if Ileana didn’t matter to him? What if he had women all over Mexico?

  Then I thought: Like Ileana? Not likely. Who the hell was he fooling?

  “I think we’re wasting time,” I said. “You want her, we best get to talking, and talking now.”

  Juan Miguel studied us, as if to be certain we weren’t mirages, some stupid dream. He wrapped the towel around his waist, pulled out a chair and sat down. No sooner had he done that, as if on cue, out of the darkness near the pool, on the far side, something moved.

  At first I thought one of the palm trees had come loose of its roots and was about to topple, but the base was much larger than the palms, and as it stepped into the light, I saw it was tall, but shorter than a tree. It looked like someone had stacked some brown tires in a pile, put sumo wrestler legs and arms on it, fastened a vague facsimile of a human head to the top, and tied an anaconda between its legs. It was, of course, our living Michelin Man, in the nude.

  Juan Miguel saw our gaze had shifted from him to somewhere over his shoulder. He grinned. “Hammerhead, we call him.”

  Hammerhead leaped into the pool with a splash that almost started a tidal wave. He swam across the pool with a couple of strokes, climbed out dripping on our side. He ambled toward us. Moby-Dick gone bipedal.

  “What do you think?” Juan Miguel said, as proud as if he was showing us a pet, and I suppose he was. “Is he not something?”

  Jim Bob, naturally endearing, said, “An ambulatory shit pile. But I wouldn’t want him to fall on me.”

  As Hammerhead grew closer, he became even more frightening. Through the telescope I had not been able to see how strange his head was. The front of it protruded, then sunk toward the nose, which lay flat against his face like a splattered man who had jumped from a great height. He had more scars than a Gurkha division and there were little pale scars like road map lines against the darkness of his body. It was hard to tell his nationality. He was dark, but his features were almost blank. He had Asian eyes and a little mouth that held tiny white childlike teeth. When he moved, water trapped beneath the rolls of his flesh squished out. He came to stand next to Juan Miguel’s chair.

  “You’re a cute couple,” Jim Bob said.

  I thought, that’s it. Jim Bob’s gonna be dead so fast Juan Miguel will forget why we’re here. But nothing happened. He just stared at Jim Bob for a while. Then at me. He said, “You listen to me. You hurt Ileana, Hammerhead here, he will beat you to death.”

  “He could probably do that with that sausage between his legs,” Jim Bob said. “Considering that peanut you carry, I’m surprised you keep this guy around. Seems like it would remind you of your shortcomings.”

  Juan Miguel leaped to his feet, his fist crashed down on the table and the glass split and splattered into thousands of fragments that caught the light and ricocheted images of trees and shrubs at us.

  When the glass fallout was over, Jim Bob, in a bored voice, said, “You broke your table.”

  “Enough!” Juan Miguel said. “It is enough!”

  “I guess he’s had enough,” Jim Bob said to me.

  “Reckon so,” I said.

  Juan Miguel was panting. “What is… How do you say it? The deal? What is it? Tell me now, or I have you killed.”

  Juan Miguel’s hand wa
s bleeding. He pressed it to the towel at his waist.

  “The deal is this,” Jim Bob said. “We want half a million dollars for your little doll, and we want to tell you why we want the money.”

  “I know why you want the money,” Juan Miguel said. “I know why anyone wants the money.”

  “No,” I said. “No, you don’t. We want the money because of Beatrice and Charlie.”

  “Who?”

  “We want the money because you wanted to kill me and the old man. I even want it for Billy, and I didn’t even like that sonofabitch.”

  “What is it that you are talking about?” Juan Miguel said, his words becoming more accented and purposeful. “What is the fuck you want?”

  “That’s what the fuck,” Jim Bob said. “That’s the way you say it. No slight there, just thought you might like to know that for future reference.”

  “You do have half a million?” I said. “We’d hate to think you don’t. ’Cause you don’t, we got to take less, well, you get her back, but without a little finger or a thumb. You know what I’m saying?”

  “Let me tell you a little thing you have not thought of,” Juan Miguel said. “I get her back with any part missing, her hair cut, a scar on her thigh, I do not want her back. She must come back as she is supposed to be. She does not, she is of no use to me, understand?”

  Definitely not true love, I thought. And, unlike us, he wasn’t bluffing.

  “Very well,” I said. “She comes back pretty quick if you act pretty quick.”

  “How dare you threaten me.”

  I knew we were beginning to play it pretty close. Maybe Juan Miguel was thinking now he could let Ileana go, shop for another. Then again, she was special. Unique. And she was his, and he liked to own things, and once owned, he didn’t like giving them up.

  I said, “Here are our demands. And we want you to know our reasons. So just listen. And tell Gorgo here to go play somewhere. He makes me nervous.”

  Juan Miguel spoke something in Spanish. Hammerhead’s face stayed just the same. Not a flick of an eyelash. He went to the pool, dove in, began to swim.

  “Because of his size, the way he looks,” Juan Miguel said, “you might think he is a fool. He is not. He is very strong. And very loyal. He would do anything I ask. I want you to keep that in mind as you deal with me. You must prove to me that Ileana is alive. That she is okay. That she is unharmed merchandise.”

  “We can do that,” Jim Bob said. “That’s how we’ll begin the down payment, with proof she’s okay.”

  “What kind of proof?”

  “A phone call. She can speak to you to let you know she’s all right. We come back here, you give us half the money.”

  “How much is this half?”

  “This half is two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The other half, well, obviously we’re talking half a million here. But you try to be smart. You try to get by not paying the money, I’ll send her head home to you in a box. Comprende?”

  Juan Miguel said, “Very well. But what has this to do with the people you named?”

  “You’re making me mad,” I said.

  “That bothers me so greatly,” Juan Miguel said.

  Jim Bob looked at his watch. “We’re not back in half an hour, they kill the girl. So you had best listen and cut with the shit. Tell him, Hap.”

  I gave him a brief outline of the events I thought he needed to know, and when I was finished, Juan Miguel said: “That was a personal matter. She had it coming. She lied to me. She did not do as she said. That I cannot allow. I will not allow it with you. Do you understand?”

  “What about Charlie, the man you killed because you thought it was me?”

  “I thought you had helped her to try and con me. I did not like that. The same with this Billy. Mistakes. I can see that now. I was angry. I like to make a clean sweep, as you Americans say. I have her killed. She gives your name. They find this other man’s name on a card. I send Hammerhead to the States. He does the job. He comes home.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That is it, senor. Nothing mysterious. That is all.”

  I wondered how a giant like Hammerhead had wandered around LaBorde without the cops hearing about him from some source. Juan Miguel must not have been kidding about him being smart.

  I suppose I had wanted there to be more, some semi-valid reason for all the deaths, but there was none. It was as Jim Bob had figured. Juan Miguel cleaning up after himself, not wanting any messes left over from his dealings with Beatrice.

  “So, this is your plan,” Juan Miguel said. “I could hold you, of course. I could make sure you do not leave.”

  “We been over that,” Jim Bob said. “Fuck with us, the woman’s dead. For whatever reason, even if the reason belongs to someone else, you fuck up, she’s toast.”

  “Toast?”

  Jim Bob slapped the back of his hand into his palm. “Burned. Done. Wiped out.”

  “Very well,” Juan Miguel said. “But do not make a mistake. Take care of Ileana. Very good care. And when I get her back. When you have your money. Please run. Run very far. For I will be at your back, my friends.”

  “We’ll remember that,” Jim Bob said.

  “There’s just one more thing,” I said.

  “There always is,” Juan Miguel said.

  “The archaeological items you wanted from Beatrice. They are real and they are available. They are for sale.”

  “You must be out of your mind,” Juan Miguel said. “I would not buy them from you.”

  “Well, you see,” I said, “they sort of go with the deal.”

  “Then we are not talking half a million of your dollars, are we?”

  “I suppose not. I will reveal the location of the facades when I see the money.”

  “I no longer want them.”

  “That doesn’t matter. You’ll pay for them anyway. And then I won’t give them to you. I’ll donate them to the Anthropology Museum in Mexico City.”

  “How much?”

  “That’ll be another half million.”

  “A million American dollars. That is outrageous. No woman is worth that.”

  “Well, considering you can buy pussy for about two dollars in some places, I reckon you’re right,” Jim Bob said. “But if this woman is someone you like specifically, and can’t be replaced easy – and let me tell you, she looks to me hard to replace under any circumstances – well, then, at least to you, she’s worth a million dollars. It was me, and I was in your position, I’d buy her back. Oh boy, would I. And you want her, good buddy, you better let us leave in less than five minutes so we can stop and make a phone call along the way, say the deal’s on so she doesn’t get snuffed. And don’t follow. I wouldn’t like it.”

  “My men could work on you until I knew what I wanted to know,” Juan Miguel said. “They are very good at that sort of thing.”

  “That’s nice, but we made a pact with our group. We don’t know anyone’s real names. That way, you can torture us all you want, and we can’t even tell you where each other lives, except the two of us. We know each other. But you got us. So how would that help? And it don’t matter we did know, we told you where she is. By the time you get through doing what you got to do, it’ll be way too late. I can hold out that long, I promise you.”

  Juan Miguel looked at his men, then he looked at us. I tried to remain cool and calm. I glanced at Jim Bob. He looked like he was waiting on a waiter to bring him a beer.

  “Go,” Juan Miguel said. “Go. I will be waiting for her call. And she must answer me. It cannot be thought to be a recording. I must ask a question and she must answer so that I know she is alive and unharmed.”

  “Fine,” Jim Bob said. “Remember, we’ll be listening. And I better not see your men, or your giant, anytime during the dealings. And when it comes time to trade, you’ll do it our way. Just you. And dress up, would you? And by the way, before we leave I want my pocketknife, and he wants his four pesos back.”

  We went
out to the car. Jim Bob drove us out of there. When we were away from the house, he checked the rearview.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “No one’s following.”

  “Good,” I said, letting it out like a sigh.

  Jim Bob held out his hand. It was shaking violently. He said, “Will you look at that?”

  I held up my own shaking hand.

  “Twins,” I said.

  33

  That night, in the hotel, Brett and I sat by our window in chairs pulled close together. I had wrapped some ice in a towel, and was holding it to the back of my head, trying to bring the swelling down on a knot one of Juan Miguel’s Golems had given me.

  We sat there with the shades wide, looked at the pedestrian walk and the sea beyond. The water looked oily and there were a number of dead fish washed up close to shore and they too were covered with something dark and slick.

  The moon was a nasty slice of limburger, spotted by clouds that looked like soggy boles of field-spoiled cotton.

  Jim Bob had dropped me off and driven out to Cesar’s.

  “You really think Juan Miguel will come through with the money?” Brett asked.

  “Truthfully, I don’t know. And it doesn’t matter. We don’t want the money.”

  “But he might come through with it.”

  “You want the money, right?”

  “Of course not. It’s blood money. I don’t want that. But what if he did come through with the money?”

  “We meet him, he has the money, we kill him. We leave the money.”

  “It would be a shame to leave all that money. A quarter million first time, right? I mean, that’s a lot of money to just leave lying around.”

  “Brett, I don’t steal from the dead.”

  “I know. But listen. What if you took the money and gave it to Ferdinand? He could buy a new boat. He could go on with his life. If anyone deserves the money, it’s him. His daughter was killed by that animal. Charlie, he doesn’t have anyone he’d want to have the money. Certainly not his ex-wife.”

  “You got a point. It works out that way, okay. Ferdinand gets the money. Maybe Cesar will have other ideas. I don’t know. But it’s okay with me.”