Citadel of Death (A Captain Gringo Western Book 11)

by Lou Cameron

  He shrugged and said, “It’s something I never got into. Not passing judgment, of course. My mother was a lady and I had no sisters. I can see how a thing like that could happen, you two being orphans and all.”

  “Paul says the Egyptian Pharoahs married their sisters, their daughters, and sometimes even their mothers.”

  “Well, it sounds like a complicated love life, but he did say he was planning to be king or something and it’s none of my business.”

  “Will you take me away with you, Dick? I have some money set aside and we both know my brother’s revolution isn’t going to work.”

  He stopped in mid-stroke, saw she was crying again, and kissed her moist eyelids as he answered, “Let’s not get carried away with this deal, Doll.”

  “Oh, I want to be your Doll. Not forever, if you don’t want to marry me. Just until we get out of this awful country. Don’t make me stay here with my cruel brother, Dick.”

  “Uh, you mean this sibling slap and tickle has been against your will?”

  “Not exactly. You know by now that I love to do this and Paul and I started as children. I don’t mind my brother sleeping with me. But I’m annoyed as hell that he won’t let me sleep with anyone else! The real problem with incest is that it leads to such a dead end. We can’t get married, even if he becomes the dictator or whatever. So what’s to become of me? Who ever heard of an old maid who gets laid almost every night?”

  He had to laugh, even though inside, he was kicking himself for having gotten into this fix, nice as it felt at the moment. But he wanted to keep her on his side, so he said, “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere in the near future, Wilma. But maybe we can work out a trip to Paris or something for you. I agree that you’re wasted here.”

  She started moving harder and he just had to post in the saddle as she did most of the work, purring, “Oh, I know you think I’m better than that Nigger wench. We’re going to have to be careful, but now that you’re here I don’t mind plantation life as much!”

  He laughed and then, since her corset was starting to irritate his belly, he withdrew, turned her over on her hands and knees, and went at her dog-style, gripping her cinched waist above the astounding spread of her star-lit rear. It kept her from babbling at him and she liked the novelty, too, judging from the way she tore at the grass with her fingers and teeth, panting with pleasure. But then, just as he was starting to come, he heard hoof beats and the grate of metal wheel rims on gravel. He stiffened in place and Wilma moaned, “Why are you stopping? I was about to climax again!”

  “Keep it down, for Chrissake!” he said. “I think your brother’s carriage is coming back!”

  She giggled and said, “I’m coming, too! He can’t see us, darling!”

  Captain Gringo wasn’t that optimistic. He withdrew and flattened in the grass beside her as he listened to the approaching carriage. They were maybe fifty feet from the drive and the carriage was a visible blur of moving blackness, now. He sincerely hoped to pass for a bush or something as he lay still barely breathing.

  Then the crazy big blond rolled him on his back and remounted, a heavy thigh gripping each of his hips as she eased onto his shaft, which surprised him by still being anywhere near an erection!

  He gasped, “For Pete’s sake, Wilma!” but she put a hand over his mouth and whispered, “Quiet, he’ll hear you!” as she began to move up and down like the mean little kid she was. He was tense all over as the carriage rolled by, sounding as if it were about to run over his ear while the owner of this lawn was riding in it!

  But then the carriage was past them and Wilma giggled, “He’s gone and I came!” She sat straighter and began to bounce as she threw her head back and crooned, “I know something Paulie doesn’t!”

  Captain Gringo muttered, “They’re both nuts!” as Wilma literally milked him to another orgasm. He tried to roll her over to finish right, but she said, “Don’t be greedy, dear. I’ve got to get dressed and greet my dear brother like butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth.”

  As she got off him she dropped her head to kiss his shaft, taking it between her lips for a moment before releasing it with a wet smack and adding, “Oh, nice. We’ll do that the next time we have a chance.”

  Then she was crawling away to her dress on the lawn, her big pale rear waving teasingly as he sat up. She retrieved her dress and said, “I’ll go in first as if I’ve been for a stroll. He’ll ask where you are and I’ll say I don’t know. Then you come in, in five minutes or so, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, either, right?”

  He resisted an impulse to ask her if she’d played this game before. He groped for his own things and watched, bemused, as Wilma slipped on her lace dress, smoothed her hair, and rose, saying, “Ta-ta for now. I’ll tell you when I see another chance to meet like this.”

  And then she was gone before he could say he didn’t like bedroom farce all that much. By the time he’d dressed she was entering the house. He knew she had a point about his own early entry. So he moved over to the drive, lit a smoke, and walked toward the road leading past the Van Horn plantation. But well inside the grounds he heard the snick of a gun being cocked and heard a voice call out, “Halt, who goes there?”

  “Captain Gringo. Inspecting the perimeter. Who’s on guard here?”

  “It is I, Pepe, Captain Gringo. Le Grande Chef has posted guards on all approaches since we got the machine guns.”

  The tall American joined the shorter convict and turned to stare soberly toward the house. Fortunately the front lawn was a black, blank expanse. He asked Pene, “Has anybody but Van Horn been by while you were on guard here, Pepe?”

  The convict cocked an ear to the sound of distant drums and said, “No. I doubt anyone would be on the road tonight unless it was important business. Somebody was screwing on the lawn over there a while back, but that’s not what I was sent to guard against, hein?”

  Captain Gringo said, cautiously, “Oh? Did you see them at it, Pepe?”

  “Mais non. It is too dark, as you can see, but I know the sounds of a screwing when I hear it. One of the boys must have been with a servant girl, hein?”

  “That sounds reasonable. How do you trustees work that out? Do you draw straws or something?”

  Pepe laughed and said, “M’sieur has noticed there are not enough women on this plantation to go around. Fortunately most of us are long-termers who have learned the joys of sodomy. Le Grande Chef seems to have chosen us with that in mind. He seems to think of everything, non?”

  “Yeah, Alexander preferred troops who didn’t need to fool with local village girls on the march. He must plan some serious marching. Uh, you say you’re, uh, practique, too?”

  Pepe said, “Oui. They made me a femme because of my size the first night I was in prison. By the time I’d finished my first sentence I’d learned to like it. Would M’sieur Captain enjoy a blow job?”

  “Uh, thanks, but I’m not in the mood. Sorry.”

  Pepe shrugged and said, “Eh bien. I am on guard in any case. Perhaps on the trail you will remember my offer, non? Many of the boys will be most anxious to please you. But in all modesty, I suck and fuck better than most women. Chef usually requires my services. But rank has its privileges and I find you trés attractive, Captain Gringo.”

  “Uh, thanks, I guess,” muttered the American, adding something about getting on with his inspection and turning away, feeling awkward. He owed little Pepe for that shouted warning, but he didn’t owe him that much!

  As he strolled toward the house he wondered if Van Horn knew what the hell he was doing in recruiting so many homosexuals. He’d read his military history and the way the ancient Greeks had worked it, had been maybe as bizarre, but a lot more sensible. The Greek phalanxes had been divided up so that men of the same sexual natures served together. They’d have heterosexuals in one outfit and homosexuals in another. That way no grim mistakes could happen when strange soldiers found themselves sharing the same tent. Some of the Athenian outfi
ts had played so much grab-ass on the march it was a wonder they ever got any fighting in, while the girl-liking Spartans had simply soldiered tough, ignoring their hard-ons. Putting both kinds together was asking for friction, and apparently some of Van Horn’s private army still liked women. He knew that many a heterosexual would have clobbered poor little Pepe back there. It had been his own first instinct, and he was secure enough and had been around enough to know better. Most of his own kind tended to dismiss Pepe’s kind as sissies to be swatted, not thinking how the average homosexual got into more fights than anyone else on his tragi-comic quests. It could only be hoped that the straight trustees had been in jail often enough to live and let live, and that the catamites among the convicts had learned not to push it when a guy said no. Taking on a trained army with a bunch of guys that hated one another sounded like a frantic notion!

  He got to the house and walked into the parlor through the French doors. There was nobody there. He pulled the bell cord and when a male servant came in, he said he’d like a night cap and asked where Van Horn was.

  The servant looked a little sly as he replied, “M’sieur and M’selle Van Horn have retired for the night, Captain.”

  That was something else to think about as he sat down by the cold fireplace alone. He knew it was dumb to feel annoyed about the rather piggy Wilma bouncing with another man right now. God knew she liked it and it wasn’t as if Van Horn was stealing anything from anybody. He didn’t think she’d play true confessions, despite Gaston’s warning that all women did. On the other hand, a lady who confessed to incest on the first date wasn’t exactly a clam, and she’d enjoyed flirting with getting caught out there on the lawn. He was sorely tempted to haul Gaston off that colored girl and just run like hell!

  They’d made it this far, hadn’t they? How much more trouble could they get into between here and the Dutch border?

  The servant returned with a tall, cool gin and tonic on a silver tray. Captain Gringo noticed he had faint tribal markings, too. He thanked the man for the drink and asked casually, “Are you Ashanti, too?”

  The servant shrugged and said, “No, M’sieur. I am Ibo. Like the girl your friend is sleeping with. We were both captured long ago by the Ashanti. Our homeland is far to the north, in Dutch Guiana. Ashanti are very bad people. Not civilized, like us Ibo. They were going to sacrifice us, but M’sieur Van Horn bought us from them as slaves.”

  “Is slavery legal here in French Guiana?”

  “No, M’sieur, but try telling that to the Ashanti! We are not really slaves of M’sieur Van Horn, of course, but the Ashanti must not ever hear this. They would come after us. They are cruel. You see, they were once slaves for a short while. Their tribal legends say that being a slave is the most terrible fate of all. They would rather make a slave out of an enemy than boil him alive over a slow fire. That is why it’s so easy to fool them. We Ibo are smarter. We don’t like slavery, but we know there are worse things that can happen.”

  Captain Gringo sipped his drink and said, “They say that girl, Tonda, ran back to the Ashanti after being a slave. Do you think they’ll take her back?”

  The servant shrugged and said, “I do not know. I said they were not civilized. I don’t think an Ibo chief would want a woman like that. She was sold as an accused adulteress. If she can persuade M’Chuma she was not untrue to him, either here or there, she may have a chance. Otherwise she will wish she stayed here. I would tell you about Ashanti torture if it was not so close to bedtime.”

  Captain Gringo dismissed the servant and slowly sipped his drink as he ran that lovely bit of gossip in with the rest of this God awful mess. He looked at his watch. It was too late to make up any rational excuse to saddle two horses and ride off. Riding beat walking and they didn’t seem to be confined to this plantation. Their best bet was to stay cool for now, make up some excuse to go to town in the morning, and play it by ear from there.

  He finished his drink, put the glass down, and rose to head for his own room. It was a funny time to miss Tonda not being there. He’d had the skinny English brunette and the fat Dutch blond in the same day, for God’s sake. He was just feeling horny because of the tense situation, he guessed. Maybe that was how bedroom farces worked. The excitement of dodging all over gave a guy a hard-on?

  He opened his door and went in, switching on the light. He stared blankly down at the plump woman in his bed and said, “Wilma, what the fuck are you doing in here?”

  “You took the words right out of my mouth, darling. I just had a bath and a douche and the corset was killing me!”

  He said, “So I see.” Without the corset she looked a lot fatter, albeit still nicely Junoesque. He said, “Isn’t your brother’s room just down the hall?” And she said, “Yes. He went out again. He said he’d be gone all night on some business. So we have this end of the hall to ourselves. Save for Gaston and that wench across the hall. I heard them through my wall and started getting kind of jealous.”

  “Your, ah, usual bed partner left you hanging, eh?”

  “Pooh, Paul’s too fat to do it right with the little he has to offer. I’m glad he didn’t want me tonight. I want you some more! To tell you the truth, I was saving a little of myself to keep Paul from getting suspicious. But now it’s all yours and I can really let myself go!”

  He’d thought she had, out on the lawn. But as he shucked his clothes and rejoined her on a soft mattress, he saw she hadn’t. The hell of it was, she felt completely different, inside as well as out, now that she’d unlaced that cinch around her internal organs. So he found to his surprise that he’d saved a little for an emergency, too!

  ~*~

  Captain Gringo woke up feeling that something was missing. Then as he stared at the sunlight slanting through the shutters he knew it was Wilma. The sheets and pillow cases still reeked of her perfume and sweat mingled with the musky horse chestnut scent of human rutting. He grinned and ran a hand over the stubble of his jaw. That smelled like pussy, too.

  He opened the blinds to air out the room as he washed and shaved at the dry sink across the room. He ran the sponge all over himself and got most of Wilma off before going down to see if anybody was going to serve him breakfast. He found Gaston already consuming ham and eggs on the back veranda, alone. As he sat down, Gaston said, ‘“You certainly make noisy love, Dick. I know Le Grande Chef is out beating the bushes for some obscure reason, but do you think it was wise to make love to his sister so openly? S’Gawa, the lady I spent the evening with, tells me they are unusually close for brother, and sister.”

  Captain Gringo grimaced and said, “The noise was her idea. I can screw as quiet as the next guy, but what do you do with a dame who’s screaming at the top of her lungs for more?”

  “Eh bien, give her more, most naturally. From the sounds one assumes you did. But when her big brother gets back—”

  “We’re not going to be here. This situation is too rich for my blood. Aside from the incest and sodomy going on all around, the whole scheme stinks. Those French officers yesterday didn’t look stupid, even half drunk. Van Horn’s running all over playing plot in the cellar, so by now a lot of people have to know his plans, which wouldn’t make sense if they were secret. I’ve been thinking some more about that ship in Sinnamary. We’ve been accepted here as legit gents. If we played our cards right—”

  “Merde alors! I told you she’s an American vessel!”

  “So what? She’s a long way from home. She’ll be stopping at other ports of call before she goes anywhere near the States and right now any port of call would be an improvement. Shit, I’d rather go back to Venezuela, now that our last adventure there’s had a little time to cool off I know my way pretty good through an old-fashioned Hispanic revolution. What’s going on here in French Guiana is just too fucking complicated. I can’t think of anybody down here I’d trust a second!”

  Gaston shrugged and said, “I’ll ring for your breakfast.” But the tall American said, “I’ll eat in town and you’re abou
t finished. Let’s get the hell out of here before Van Horn returns.”

  Gaston went on arguing as they walked out to the corral and selected two horses a little better than they’d had the day before. As they rode out, Chef was drilling a squad of men and shot them a new salute he’d been practicing. It made Captain Gringo feel a little guilty, but what the hell, he’d given them some training and they were in better shape now to take on the French army.

  They weren’t in that much shape, though. And guilty or not, a guy had to look out for his own ass.

  They rode into Sinnamary and tied up at the same place. He wondered if Liza was still at the hotel and if he could get it up on such short notice if she was. He told Gaston to come with him to the waterfront and let him do the talking. But they didn’t make it.

  Half-way to the waterfront a full squad of gendarmes stopped them. The corporal in command smiled pleasantly and stated, “If you gentlemen will be kind enough to come with us.” Since nobody seemed to be acting surly about his side arms, Captain Gringo smiled right back and said, “Sure, Corporal. Where are we going?”

  “Just up the street, M’sieur. Our sergeant is talking to a witness and, forgive me, you were seen in this vicinity yesterday and you fit the description, although I am sure it is a mistake, non?”

  The squad formed a polite box around them as they were frog marched past their horses and the hotel to a corner Captain Gringo remembered only too well. The corporal pointed at a stairway up the side of the building the tobacco shop was in. He didn’t think they were after him for swiping a copy of J’Accuse!

  He was right. Some other gendarmes and a petite redhead in a green dress were standing on the balcony of what seemed to be her room. He could see that anyone up here had a clear view of the weed-grown lots where he’d tangled with those muggers the day before!

  They still hadn’t disarmed him and Gaston, but somebody had either a pistol or a prick against his spine as the police sergeant smiled at them and asked the woman, “M’selle?”