by Lou Cameron
Captain Gringo, of course, swung wildly in the dark, hoping Pancho’s head would be somewhere near all the dirty things he was calling everybody. It was. The barrel of his .38 thunked solidly into what sounded like a hollow gourd and the curses stopped as if someone had thrown a switch. Captain Gringo waited until he felt the solid thud of the unseen opponent’s body upon the floor. Then he sighed, groping in his clothing for his own matches, and struck a light.
Chirivita was on the bed, cowering naked against the far wall with her hands over her tits again, as if that mattered. Pancho lay face up on the floor, eyes open and wearing a bemused smile under his silly moustache. The tall American lit the candle before he turned to her with a glum expression and muttered, “Do us both a favor and don’t say anything.”
She said, “Oh, Deek, I am so embarrassed I do not know what for to say”
He answered, “That’s what I meant,” as he dropped to one knee to feel the side of Pancho’s throat. Then he sighed and added, “Shit.”
“What are we to tell him when he wakes up, querido?”
“Señora, I’m not your querido. I’m a poor asshole you picked up at a paseo to cheat on your husband with. He’s not going to say anything about it, because he’s not going to wake up. I hit him a little harder than I meant to.”
“Oh, my God, have you killed him?”
“No. You killed him, you stupid little tramp! For God’s sake, didn’t your mother ever tell you the facts of life? Cheating wives are supposed to take pick-ups to a hotel or something. Bringing me here was too stupid to even consider, which is why I never considered it!”
“He was not supposed to be back from the border for another week.”
“Yeah. But here he is and we’d better stop yapping about how we got into this mess and think about getting out of it. Where’s the nearest river? Never mind, I know, and it’s too far. Okay, if nobody comes by to ask about all that noise just now, our best bet is to just leave him in some alley and hope the local law buys it as a robbery attempt or something. I know you’re good at fibbing to guys you pick up. How are you at fibbing to the police?”
Before she could answer there was a knock on the door. Captain Gringo swore, moved to douse the candle again and hissed. “You’re on,-Sarah Bernhardt. Make it good if you don’t want to spend the night in jail!”
Someone knocked again and Chirivita whimpered, “Oh, no, I am afraid to answer, Deek Maybe they will go away, no?”
“I’m afraid, too, and that’s a police knock if ever I’ve heard one. There’s no way in hell they’ll just go away. So answer it for God’s sake.”
Not waiting for her to argue further Captain Gringo stepped over to the bed, grabbed her by the arm and frog marched her, naked, to the door as a male voice on the other side called out, “Hey, open up. This is the police!”
Chirivita sobbed, took a deep breath, and put her face to the door to call back, “Por favor, I am not dressed, senor. What is it you wish from me?”
“Is that you, Señora Lopez? We heard shooting in the neighborhood and must find out where it came from.”
“I heard the sounds, too, senor. I have no idea where they came from. I do not wish for to be rude, but we have retired for the night.”
“Ah, then Sergeant Lopez is also at home?”
Captain Gringo could have kicked her when she answered, “Of course. Who else would I be sleeping with?”
There was a mutter of voices on the far side of the door. Then the one who’d been yelling at them through the thick paneling asked. “May we speak with your husband, señora?”
Chirivita gasped and proceeded to piss down one naked leg. Captain Gringo shoved her away from the door before she could mess things up worse. He knew he had a slight American accent but hopefully they didn’t know the late Pancho Lopez all that well. He made his own voice sound drunk and half asleep as he called out, “What the hell do you guys want? I just got back from the fucking border and I didn’t go to bed this early with my woman for to chat with other people about stupid gunshots down the street”
“Hey, Sergeant, don’t get the bowels in the uproar, eh? We are just doing our duty.”
“Go do your fucking duty somewhere else, then. I’m going back to bed,”
It worked. As the sounds of their boot heels on the cobbles faded off, Captain Gringo realized his palm was soaking wet as it gripped the .38 too tightly. He shifted the weapon to his other hand, wiped his palm on his naked belly, and muttered, “Okay, we’ve got a few minutes, but there goes the neat idea I had about leaving him fully dressed in an alley.”
He lit the candle again and sat on the bed to have a smoke while he worked out his next move. The corpse on the floor wasn’t looking any nicer. Chirivita was back in her corner again and she was looking a lot uglier to him right now than she had when he’d picked up what he’d thought would be a nice uncomplicated game of slap and tickle. Was it really possible that guys got killed over dumb situations like this? Screwing was a lot of fun, but this was pricing it out of the market for sure!
Chirivita licked her lips and asked, “Deek, what are we to do?”
He took a drag on his Havana and said. “That’s a good question. I don’t suppose you have any place you can run to, right?”
“I am a native of San Jose, Deek.”
“That’s what I mean. Okay, it’s early. The bodegas near the plaza should still be open. Here’s what you do. You get dressed and you go over to the plaza to buy a bottle. Act innocent and make sure a lot of people see you. Take your time about getting back. If you can get someone to escort you and the bottle home it will look even better.”
“I do not understand. What are you going to do, Deek?”
“I’m going to try and tidy up around here. When you get back with your bottle and alibi you’ll find some ladrones have apparently killed your husband while you were out. Naturally you’ll yell a lot and when the police return the less you can tell them the better. All you have to remember is that he sent you out for booze and that’s all you know about it. Jesus H. Christ, Chirivita, it’s not like you’ve never lied before, right?”
“Oh, Madre de Dios, I am so frightened!”
“Yeah, meanwhile you’d better start moving. Put your damned clothes on. Surely you remember how. They come off the opposite way. So you only have to reverse the process.”
She shuddered and started to dress, not looking at her husband’s body while Captain Gringo picked up and reloaded the late Pancho’s gun. He put it aside and hauled his own clothes on as Chirivita finished and headed for the door. He hissed, “Hair and make-up, you idiot! Calm down and make yourself presentable in public. This is no time to panic.”
But he could see she was on the thin of edge of panic as she ran a comb through her dyed hair and attempted to powder her nose with her eyes shut. He said, “That’s good enough. Move it out, and remember we don’t know each other if ever we meet again on the streets, right?”
“Will you kiss me adios, for to give me courage?”
He’d have rather kissed a spitting cobra at the moment, but he gave her a brotherly peck, doused the light again, and shoved her out the door with a friendly pat on the ass. Her skirt was damp. She’d pissed on herself again.
He stood in the doorway, listening to the fading sounds of her high heels. Nobody else out there seemed interested. Captain Gringo holstered his own gun and finished his smoke to give her time to get well clear. The next few moves would be delicate indeed, but there was an outside chance the bush league cops down here would buy it. They had to account for the bullet holes in the walls inside. If the first fusillade everyone on the street must have heard had come from somewhere else, he had to give them some more gunshots to account for damage that shouldn’t have been there when he and the girl had been conning the cops through the door.
He snubbed out his smoke but pocketed the butt as he ran his plan through again for mistakes. If he fired a few shots straight up in the air and threw the gun ins
ide before running like hell, what would it read like?
The cops would come back. They’d find the guy inside with his gun and crushed skull. They’d see the holes in the plaster and assume Pancho had fired a lot at somebody while his wife was out. Obviously the killer or killers had gotten away, not knowing one of them had made a lucky swing in the dark. With luck and an open doorway the cops would find the “murder” before Chirivita got back and from there on it would be up to her. That was the part he didn’t like. He knew she lied good. But she was stupid as hell and if she was questioned by any halfway intelligent cop ...
A police whistle sounded just down the street, and Captain Gringo heard people running his way. So he started running the other way, swearing like hell. All bets were off. The dumb little redhead had already met some cops and folded like a tent in panic!
There was a lot to be said for progress, but when a guy in Captain Gringo’s position was making tracks down a strange street he was just as glad that San José’s street lighting was still a little primitive. Dogs barked and doors and windows popped open all around as he tore through the darkness, but nobody could get a good look at him. He came to what seemed to be a corner and swung around it, running smack into a wrought iron grill and cutting his lip before he realized it was a patio gate and that he was boxed!
Or was he boxed? The gate was locked with a padlock hanging on the outside. That meant the people who lived inside had gone out since the padlock would have hung on the other side of the bars if they’d been in for the night.
He couldn’t get over the top of the gate itself. The pointed steel bars ended inches from the overhead archway. But the archway was only a few feet higher, so what the hell. He grabbed the bars and climbed until he could hook a hand over the rough stucco arch above. Then he simply kicked himself over and dropped into the dark patio beyond.
He’d just flattened out against the inner wall when light lanced in through the bars to sweep the patio and a gruff voice said, “Nada. The gate is locked in any case. Let’s try the next cross street. Did the Sergeant’s woman give you anything more to go on? There are many tall blond men in this world, you know.”
They moved on before Captain Gringo could hear the reply. He didn’t need to hear much more. That treacherous redhead had spilled her cheating guts! His story had been too complicated for her as soon as she remembered it had been him, not her, who’d clobbered her husband.
He wondered if she’d told the cops why. It hardly mattered if they caught him. Under Spanish Common Law a lover caught in the act couldn’t plead self-defense. There wasn’t a judge or jury down here who didn’t think shooting your wife’s lover sounded like a keen idea, or that killing an outraged husband in his own home wasn’t first degree murder. Nobody but a chump was supposed to let a husband catch him in such a ridiculous position in the first place. The tall American grimaced as he realized he’d have gone along with that idea up to a point. He wouldn’t have been screwing Chirivita like that had he known she was married, but he had been, and no matter how you sliced it, he was in the wrong. So his only way out was not to get caught, and this would be easier said than done.
He was okay for the moment. But the people who went with this patio could come home any minute. The night was young and they might have just stepped out for some shopping of their own in the cool of evening. Meanwhile, some of these patio houses had back entrances and the street he’d just run down was hot on his neck right now. He moved across the tiled patio, eyes narrowed in thought as he ran all the words he’d had with that redhead through his mind again. He’d told her his name was Dick and that he was a coffee broker from North America. He hadn’t told her what hotel he was staying at, had he? No. He was in the clear on that. But the sons-of-bitches had his description and how many hotels could any obvious Anglo be checked into for God’s sake?
He envied his sidekick, Gaston. The little old deserter from the French Foreign Legion had nondescript features and had been down here long enough to speak Spanish like a native. Nobody ever noticed Gaston in a crowd. But Captain Gringo was not only blond and blue eyed, he stood head and shoulders above half the swarthy men down here even before he opened his mouth! The working name, “Captain Gringo” had been pinned on him in sarcasm shortly after he’d been forced into his new career after escaping from a bum-rap the U.S. Army still wanted to hang him for. He had to somehow get back to his hotel, his money, and Gaston, before the local law made the obvious connections. He came to a solid looking oak door on the far side of the patio. He tried the latch. It was locked. He took out the pen knife he packed for such unforeseen emergencies and proceeded to pick the lock. Like the street lighting, locks tended to be primitive down here.
It worked. The old Spanish lock gave in so easily it should have been ashamed of itself. Captain Gringo found himself in a dark hallway with doors leading off to either side. He looked to the left and saw it was a dining room. Dining rooms connected to kitchens and kitchens connected to back doors. So he grinned and moved on, striking a match to light his way. The kitchen was just a kitchen and sure enough there seemed to be another passage leading beyond. Two doors formed an el behind the kitchen. One had to be the back door. He opened the one he guessed led straight back and, sure enough, it opened onto an alleyway, empty, dark, and silent as the tomb. So why did he hear the sounds of sobbing, somewhere in the night?
He shook out the burned down match and struck another as he ducked back inside, following the soft mysterious sounds. They were coming from the other side of what he now saw was a pantry door, near the rear entrance. He tried the latch. It was locked. The sound of his attempt made whoever was crying on the far side stop. He shook the latch and asked, softly, “Who’s in there?”
There was a long silence. The soft feminine voice sobbed out, “Por favor, I have not been trying to escape again, Patrón!”
Captain Gringo frowned and asked, “What’s going on? Are you locked in there?”
“Of course. Is that not you, El Patrón?”
Captain Gringo didn’t answer as he* digested this. It sounded like the people who lived here locked up a servant girl or somebody whenever they went out. It seemed a little shitty and was probably illegal, even in Latin America, but he had enough to worry about right now. The smartest move would be just to move on, right?
He took out his knife again and picked the lock. He struck another match as he opened the door to peek inside. He’d been right about it being a pantry. But there was no food on the shelves. A mestiza peon girl cowered in a corner as far from him as she could get. She wore a maid’s uniform and had a swollen left eye. Captain Gringo moved the match so she could see he wasn’t one of the people who’d been beating her as he smiled and asked, “What did they lock you up for, senorita?”
“I was wicked. I tried for to run away to my home village.”
“I see. I thought chattel slavery was against the law in Costa Rica.”
She shrugged and answered in a defeated voice, “I thought this, too. But every time I try to leave they beat me. I am called Golondrina, senor. Are you a ladrón?”
“I didn’t come to rob this house, Golondrina, but I am running away too. My name is Dick. How long do we have before the people you work for come home?”
“Por favor, I do not know. They never tell me anything.”
The match went out. He said, “It doesn’t matter because I won’t be here. Do you want to make another try for it or should I lock you up again so you won’t get in trouble?”
Golondrina moved over to him and clutched at his jacket hopefully as she sobbed, “Madre de Dios, do I have the choice?”
“Why not? It wasn’t my idea to lock you up. Of course you have the choice.”
She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest as she pleaded, “Oh, take me with you. I do not wish for to be a slave!”
He didn’t want her to be a slave, either, but taking her with him seemed a bit much to ask. Her clean unperfumed hair offered
a healthy contrast to the cheating wife he’d just been messing with, and from the little he’d been able to see of her in the flickering match light, Golondrina wasn’t a bad looking little thing. But the simple peon girl obviously didn’t know beans about evasive action if she couldn’t escape from her unpleasant employer. Her best bet would be to stay put for now and make a few simple plans before she cut out again. He asked her, “Would your people take you back if you could reach your village?”
“I do not know, señor. My father sold me for to pay his debts to our old patron.”
“Oboy. You just don’t have anywhere to run to, muchacha!”
“I could go with you for to be your adelita, no?”
“No. I’m a Yanqui, not a Hispanic guerrilla. We don’t have adelitas.”
“For why? Do you Yanquis not like girls?”
“Yes, but not tagging along as outlaws on the trail. It’s been nice talking to you, but I have to be on my way, Golondrina.”
He untangled himself from her and headed out. He had to make it across town to his hostel, hopefully without getting shot, and it was up to her whether she lit* out on her own again or hung around until the people she worked for came home again. He didn’t think she’d tell on him if she was still there when they did. There wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it either way. Unlike many professional soldiers, Captain Gringo had inhibitions about shooting women and children, and Golondrina seemed a little of both.
He was sincerely sorry he’d killed the wrong member of the Lopez family just now, but even though he knew his older and probably wiser sidekick, Gaston, would have considered it practique to knock off the only witness to the accident, and even though Chirivita doubtless had more than one killing coming, he wasn’t sorry he’d let her go. He was just thoroughly disgusted with himself for ever having messed with her. And he wasn’t about to start up with another silly broad before he put some distance between his ass and the law!
