by Lou Cameron
“About five hundred, give or take a kinked belt or a ruptured jacket.”
“Bueno. That’s what I heard. But I wished for to hear it from an expert.”
It all sounded almost reasonable, up to a point. Captain Gringo winced as the tailor’s assistant jammed him in the crotch again with the measuring tape and asked the major, “Get to the part the British might be playing in all this hegemony bullshit.”
“Is it not obvious, Captain Walker? Guatemala is a client state of Great Britain and our agents in Guatemala tell us they are mounting another invasion against us. Since we have proven, many times, that we can, how you say, whip their asses in a fair fight, they would not be planning yet another attempt unless the British were backing them. It’s no secret that the last war they had with us almost bankrupted them. It was the British who saved them by funding the Guatemalan national debt just a little while ago. The British are also starting a highway between their British Crown colonies on the coast and the Guatemalan highlands. Need we say more?”
Captain Gringo shook his head. If what the major was telling him was true, and it would be easy enough to check, Guatemala wasn’t just greedy, it was ga ga! Could he and Gaston be wrong about the plans of General Morales and his clan? This nephew of his didn’t look like the smartest guy who’d ever come down the pike, and the story fit the Byzantine methods of sweet old Queen Vickie’s expanding empire. President Cleveland had just shown them down in Venezuela that he didn’t consider the Monroe Doctrine a dead letter. But you didn’t need to paint a banana republic British pink on the map to get all its bananas, once it’s government was in hock to you! Washington couldn’t raise much hell if the Royal Marines maybe gave a helping hand to a friendly government. The U.S. Marines did it all the time. The Monroe Doctrine said nothing about countries in this hemisphere invading one another. They did that all the time, too. Washington didn’t want to mix in family quarrels unless they figured to get something out of it, like over in Panama. Yeah, the story still had some holes in it; but he could see why the Hondurans were letting Morales build a private army after all. He still didn’t see why the Brits would want to stick their noses into the border dispute between these two little out-of-the way countries, but he’d never seen what the hell Queen Vickie wanted with a lot of pretty weird places, either. He was going to feel stupid as hell if it turned out that General Morales was a good guy!
His nephew, the major, asked the tailor how soon they’d have Captain Gringo’s uniform ready. When the tailor said mañana, the major snapped that if it weren’t ready by that evening, they were in big trouble. He sounded like he meant it. Captain Gringo said, “It’s all right, Major. I can wait ‘til tomorrow.” But the major said, “No you can’t. There is a ball being held at the German consulate tonight and my uncle wishes to show the flag, as they say. He wants to let the diplomats who will doubtless attend to see as many professionals there in Honduran uniform as possible. We both know the reputation you enjoy in certain circles. So both the British and their Guatemalan, how you say, stooges, will no doubt wish to report back that we are dead serious about these tedious border disputes, eh?”
Captain Gringo nodded and, Jesus, that made even more sense! Had his survival instincts let him down this time? He knew guys who lived by the gun tended to start seeing things in the shadows that weren’t always there, and that could get you in just as much trouble as thinking the world was run on the level. He remembered some of the stories he’d heard serving with the Army of The West. He’d gotten out there a little late to meet many of the old gun slicks like Holliday and Hickok, but he’d met men who’d known them well. They’d said that toward the end Hickok had gotten so goosey about people coming up behind him that he’d once shot one of his own deputies without looking to see who it was.
Since he’d been on the run, Captain Gringo had been ambushed, betrayed, and double-crossed until he hardly trusted himself. You could always see a way a stranger was out to screw you, if you expected to be screwed. But he was still going to be surprised as hell if it turned out the people who’d hired him and Gaston were on the level. He decided to let it simmer on the back of the stove for now. There wasn’t anything else he could do about it at the moment.
The tailor said he’d try like hell and the two of them left as Captain Gringo said, “Well, my adelita will enjoy that ball tonight.”
Major Morales looked uncomfortable and said, “Ah, I mean no disrespect to your woman, Captain, she is most attractive, but—”
“You saw her? When?”
“As I was coming across the park. One of my security men pointed her out to me.”
“Oh? Are those your thugs hanging around out there?”
“Of course – for your protection. General Morales is afraid some enemy agents may try to decimate us the easy way. Getting back to your adelita, as I said, she is most attractive and no doubt a fine woman, but, well, to be frank, she is a mestizo, peon, no?”
“I told her to get something in basic black, Major.”
“That is not the point, Captain. You are an officer and a gentleman. What you do off duty is, of course, your own business, but to attend a diplomatic function accompanied by a half-breed is out of the question!”
Captain Gringo smiled crookedly and said, “I thought us Anglos were supposed to be the ones who frowned on dark complexions, but I can see you must be pure Castellan, so—”
“Don’t be impertinent to a superior officer!” the swarthier officer cut in with a frown, adding, “I am part Indian and not ashamed of it. The girl’s race is not the problem. It’s her social position. She’s most obviously a peon! Most of the diplomats will be attending the ball with European wives and daughters. Some of the women may indeed be mestizas or, as we prefer to call them, ladinas. But they shall all be ladies, not women of the working class!”
Captain Gringo was tempted to ask how you could tell a half-breed lady from a half-breed peon, but he didn’t. To be fair, he knew he could and little Golondrina would only be uncomfortable mixing with a mess of snooty Creole belles, so what the hell. He said he understood and that he and Gaston would come alone. Major Morales looked relieved and said he’d come by later to pick them up.
After the officer left, Captain Gringo went down the hall to see how Gaston was making out and found a skinny naked lady alone in Gaston’s room and Gaston had been right: she was as ugly as hell. She had to be the good lay Gaston had been talking about. But that wasn’t what Captain Gringo was looking for. The whore said the little Frenchman had gone out but that he’d said he’d be right back. So the tall American asked her to send Gaston to his room when and if. He knew Gaston lied a lot, but he couldn’t have gone far.
He went back to the room he shared with Golondrina and paced up and down, smoking, as he waited for the girl. He wanted to go out and stretch his own legs, but he didn’t want Golondrina to worry if she returned to an empty room and he wasn’t sure she’d be able to read any note he left her. She was probably going to be sore about having to stay home alone this evening, but it couldn’t be helped and, truthfully, he was just as glad he’d be free of her for a few hours. He still hadn’t figured out a graceful way to get rid of her. He knew it was overdue. Not simply because they’d about exhausted the sexual and conversational possibilities, but because he liked to travel light when and if he had to run for his life, and because in fairness to the girl, she’d be safer traveling with damn near anyone else. Nobody in Honduras figured to make a scullery slave out of Golondrina. So if he could just gently persuade her to take some damn job or other, she’d be okay. He tried a couple of conversations about that for practice as he incinerated a couple of cigars, but didn’t come up with much. He knew subtle hints went over her pretty little head and just telling her to get lost sounded pretty shitty, even to him.
Gaston got back to the hotel before Golondrina and in fact, it was getting late for Golondrina to be getting anywhere. She’d only gone out to buy a dress, and how long could it take f
or her to make up her mind?
As Gaston sat down on the bed he said, “Maybe she has met a handsome young man on a flying trapeze? Since you say my bed is still being occupied by a cow I shall keep you company as we plot our escape. I just looked into a few possibilities over on the waterfront. None of them were very inspiring by the way. There is a rather ominous looking gunboat anchored a mile off shore.”
“I didn’t know Honduras had a gunboat navy.”
“They don’t. It’s American. They say it’s a courtesy call. I bought a drink for a Yankee sailor but he does not know, or would not say what they really want.”
Captain Gringo went to the window, looked out, but couldn’t see the harbor from there. He said, “Hmm, Uncle Sam must have heard the crap that’s being spread, if it’s crap.”
He brought Gaston up to date on his conversation with the major and added, “I still don’t see what the Brits figure to gain if they back the Guatemalans. How do we find out if it’s true the Crown bailed the Guatemalan government out of debt?”
“We don’t have to. It’s true. I remember reading about it a few months ago. I forget the details, but apparently, like many of these casually run dictatorships, they spent more than they had and their creditors were getting testy. British Honduras being almost next door, and the queen being such a good neighbor, the Bank of England liquidated Guatemala’s debts with a rather alarming loan. One imagines they expect to be paid back some day, although how Guatemala intends to pay Britain eludes everyone, since they have never paid anyone else.”
Captain Gringo blew a thoughtful smoke ring and added, “Hmm, then that major’s right. Guatemala is in hock to the Bank of England. The only security they had to put up was their pretty undeveloped land itself.”
“Or somebody else’s land, non?”
“That wouldn’t sit well with Washington.”
“I know. I told you I bought a drink for a sailor off a U.S. Navy gunboat just now. It is possible they didn’t learn anything from that land grab they just tried in Venezuela, Dick?”
“Anything’s possible. But if General Morales is really telling the truth we haven’t signed up for any fucking border skirmish. President Cleveland’s still sore as hell at England and it could mean an all-out war between The States and Great Britain if they try to call our bluff again!”
Gaston smiled cynically as he asked, “Our bluff, Dick? I was unaware you still considered yourself in the American Army.”
“I don’t. I gave up my commission when they started talking silly about hanging me. They won’t need me if they take on the British, anyway. Uncle Sam managed this last two wars with them without me. So what the hell.”
“My,” Gaston laughed, “how you have grown since first we met. When do you suggest the hauling of our asses, my old and rare?”
“As soon as we see a good opening. I don’t think any war’s about to start for a day or so at least. You and I could make it almost anywhere on foot, but Golondrina’s going to be a problem.”
Gaston shrugged and volunteered, “Leave her behind, then. I doubt if anyone intends to shoot her. But alas, you and I are not as pretty, hein?”
Captain Gringo went to the window and looked out again as he muttered, “I know you’re right, but she’s going to be pretty upset. Where the hell is that girl, anyway? How many fucking dress shops can there be in this town?”
He saw the tailor and his assistant coming across the grass with cardboard boxes, walking fast. He took out his pocket watch and said, “Shit. It’s later than I thought and I already thought it was late. The major will be making us play Cinderella any minute. I’d better write a note and just hope for the best.”
Gaston said, “It would be easier on both of you if you just left word for her at the desk, non?”
“Good thinking. You’d better go out in the hall and head the tailor off unless you want him to think you have lousy taste in women.”
Gaston laughed and ducked out as Captain Gringo resumed his station at the window. He was really starting to worry about Golondrina, now. The shadows of the trees across the way were lengthening ominously as the sun went down and he knew she liked to eat her dinners earlier than women of the so-called upper classes down here. Something must have happened to her. But what, for Pete’s sake?
Pete couldn’t tell him. Rape was pretty rare in a well-run Hispanic town. She’d have kept to the main streets while shopping. He’d have heard by now if she’d had an accident. Unless Gaston was right about that young man on the flying trapeze somebody else had grabbed her. But who?
Gaston came back in with the tailors. Captain Gringo said, “I’m going out to look for Golondrina.” But Gaston said, “No you’re not. In the first place, we have to get into these uniforms before the major gets here to take us to the German Legation. In the second place, you don’t have any idea where to look, and in the third place, that could be just what somebody wants you to do.”
“Come again?”
“Look, Dick, you could be worried about nothing. It’s not that late. But if someone has her, it could be a ruse to get you away from this hotel and the Honduran agents who’ve been ordered to see we are not disturbed.”
“Jesus, that is a grim thought! But we can’t just leave her to her fate, whatever it might be.”
“Merde alors, her fate at the moment may be having her nails done in some beauty salon. Look at the time, you idiot! Don’t you know anything about women?”
“I want to know where one in particular is, right now. But you’re right. I won’t know for sure unless she’s still missing when we get back. But if she hasn’t returned by then, I’m going to turn this town upside down.”
He nodded at the tailor and took the box he offered. As he was opening it, Gaston took his own uniform from its wrappings and said, “Ooh la-la, Heaven help anyone I meet tonight! I didn’t know you were that fond of Golondrina, Dick.”
“Shut up and get dressed. I’m probably feeling more guilty than anything else. I should have left her where I found her. I told her before we left Costa Rica that I was a trouble guy. But she insisted on coming along and I guess I was thinking about my own creature comforts aboard that damn steamer. Guys like us should be horsewhipped.”
“Speak for yourself, Dick. I got rid of my traveling companion! But, then, I have had more experience in such matters.”
Both uniforms fit very well, indeed, as the two soldiers of fortune got dressed and buttoned up. Captain Gringo complimented the tailor as he looked himself over in the mirror. It made him feel a little wistful as he remembered the last time he’d worn U.S. Army blues. The color and the cut were different but he noticed the captain’s bars on the shoulders and complimented the tailor on that, too, even though he owed them to the mysterious General Morales. The tailor produced a small white box and said, “I was told to bring these, too. I did not pin them on because I did not know the order in which they went, Captain.”
The tall American opened the little box with a puzzled smile and saw a group of new American campaign ribbons. He took out the red and blue one given to all Indian fighters on the old Apache Trail. Morales had studied his records indeed. He’d been still waiting for this other commendation ribbon when they arrested him for treason. Gaston, resplendent in his own khakis and peaked cap, came over to have a closer look. The Frenchman said, “Very nice. I didn’t know you had collected so many, Dick.”
Captain Gringo shrugged and said, “It was a long time ago.”
“Aren’t you going to put them on?”
“Why should I?”
“Women like them. Besides, you earned them, didn’t you?”
Captain Gringo frowned thoughtfully and said, “By God, I did at that. And who knows when I’ll ever get another chance to wear them?”
He took off the jacket to pin the ribbons over the left breast pocket. As he did so, he got a closer look at the patch on the sleeve. It looked like a knight’s shield with crossed machineguns. He asked the tailor about it
and was told, “We just had them made, Captain. It’s the insignia of General Morales Iron Brigade.”
“Yeah, but what’s the outfit called?”
“I told you, the Morales’ Iron Brigade. We’re going to put that on in gold letters, but the general said he wasn’t sure, yet. He said if things go as planned it may be a division rather than a brigade.”
Somehow that didn’t surprise Captain Gringo at all. “How many divisions are there in the Honduran army at the moment?”
The tailor thought and answered, “I’m not sure, Captain. All told, I think there are about twenty thousand men in our army and navy. Why do you ask?”
“It’s unimportant,” Captain Gringo lied, catching Gaston’s eye. Gaston raised an eyebrow but didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. They both knew there were about twenty thousand in a standard division. So if the government let Morales build another, he’d have as many men, with better arms, as all the others put together. Even if they only gave him a full brigade he’d be commanding a third of the little countries armed forces, and with heavy weapons and professional leadership, that should do it.
As the tailors left Gaston shut the door and said, “I can add, too. The question is only whether we have been hired to defend Honduras or to take it over, hein?”
“Yeah, and I don’t like it either way. But I don’t think we have to do either tonight, so what the hell.”
