by Lou Cameron
‘Who is this Snow White of yours, Dick?’
‘Never mind. Tell me about the wicked whatever who married Don Alberto lately.’
Teresa curled a pretty lip and sneered. ‘She is, as I said, a pig. A stupid slut who puts horns on my poor grandfather every chance she gets, and she gets many chances, since my grandfather goes to bed at sundown. I have seen her myself, cruising the plaza during the hours of paseo, trying to pick up men.’
‘What were you trying to pick up at the paseo, women?’
‘It is not the same. I am a widow, and in any case, I only go there once in a while for to look. My poor grandfather’s wife goes out while he is sleeping for to be truly wicked and ... Oh, Dick, I just thought of something! That Indio, the one you saved me from, I think I saw him one night in town, flirting with that dirty little bitch who married my grandfather for his money!’
‘Are you sure? Lots of guys with Indian features wear earrings.’
Teresa frowned thoughtfully and said, ‘I am almost certain now that it was him. He was not dressed so roughly, of course. He had on a white suit such as Anglo tourists wear and, no, he was not wearing earrings. But he said while he was trying for to rape me that he knew me and—’
‘Right,’ Captain Gringo cut in, ‘we know that at least some of the kidnappers had to be city slickers, and it does look as if you were set up by someone in town. Let’s put the Indio on the back burner for now and get back to the lady you know you don’t like. How is she called?’
‘Her name is Melina. I am sure she bleaches her hair, the pig.’
Captain Gringo coughed on his claro, cleared his throat, and softly said, ‘So am I. Are we talking about a nice-looking, well-built blonde with not too many obvious Viking ancestors, Teresa?’
‘That sounds like Melina. Do you know her, Dick?’
‘Not as well as I thought I did, and, son of a bitch, she was sort of in my neighborhood just before Gaston and me were ambushed! Oh, boy, the guy who said perfidy was a woman must have met a few bleached blondes at a paseo in his time. Of course, it could just get by as coincidence, given round heels in a small town, but—’
‘You picked up my grandfather’s wife on the street? You dared?’ she cut in.
So he quickly soothed, ‘¿Quien sabe? A blonde is a blonde no matter what color hair she might have. The point’s not what she might or might not have done to me. The point’s what she or her pals might be planning to do to you! We’re going to have to make our break near a town with a telegrapho. If we hole up good and wire your grandfather to send his own picked men for ... Nuts, that could be a dumb move, if the lady of the house answers many doors when a message arrives by any means. I’m going to have to study on this some more. It’s getting really late. So let’s try to get some sleep now.’
He rolled over, closed his eyes, and tried to take his own advice as Teresa fumed silently at his side. She knew full well what she’d warned him not to try. But she’d never felt so insulted in her life.
As any experienced soldier of fortune might have expected, the guerrilla band took a casual approach to reveille and chow call. But it was nice to learn that at least one woman he’d met recently was truthful. Emesta had not been whistling Dixie when she’d warned Captain Gringo that El Generale was a walking wonder. He indulged his people in a long, warm breakfast, gave them plenty of time to load the pack mules provided for the heavier gear, allowed them to fall in wherever they chose in his column, and then proceeded to march them to death.
Teresa wouldn’t have lasted an hour on her feet at that pace. So Captain Gringo sat her on the mule they’d issued him to pack his Maxim and carried the not-quite-as-heavy weapon on his shoulder as he led the mule. Emesta followed, leading the ammo mule and wearing an expression midway between smugness and resentment. Teresa seemed unaware of her existence, so naturally she couldn’t know that the girl everyone thought of as her co-mistress was laughing at her because Captain Gringo appeared to prefer her loving and scowling at her because the lazy, useless blanca got to ride instead of walk. Captain Gringo had gotten Emesta to donate one of her extra peon skirts and a cotton blouse to Teresa as well, and that hadn’t made the peon girl like the highborn Spanish beauty any better. But with luck he hoped to keep peace in his ménage a trois, if that was what one called such a grotesque setup. Jealous or not, Emesta knew the rules of the guerrilla way of life, and Teresa had nothing to feel jealous about, so what the hell.
Having assigned Captain Gringo his new job, El Generale hadn’t bothered much with him since. Nobody had told Gaston anything about his new duties to the cause of Grenada, so he was free to walk along with Captain Gringo and his pretty machine gun crew, near the middle of the column. With mules in back of them and the ass of another section’s pack mule in front of them, they were free to talk, and if El Generale could be called a walker, Gaston was a natural talker.
He kept saying they seemed to be going uphill as the column wound its way through the jungle, not following any trail the soldiers of fortune could make out. Captain Gringo felt less chatty, lugging his heavy weapon. But he finally said, ‘Okay, okay, I know we’re headed west by northwest toward the highlands. I can see the fucking sun as well as you can. So what?’
‘So our droll leader told us, last night, we’d be making for the Nicaraguan border. Nicaragua is that way, non?’
‘I know where Nicaragua is. I’m trying to keep track of where I is! All the major towns in this neck of the woods are either near the sea for obvious reasons or up in the hills for reasons of health. I doubt we’ll be passing any towns or even good-sized villages, here in this lowland strip, and we’re at least a couple of forced marches from the highlands, even marching this forced. Doesn’t that bastard ever take a piss? We’ve been slogging at least an hour and a half, and he’s supposed to halt for piss-call at least once an hour.’
Gaston shrugged and suggested, ‘Perhaps he did not go to West Point. I am more concerned about the direction he’s taking us than I am about his manner of getting us there. Has it occurred to you that the next time we are called on to fight, knowing our great leader seems willing to fight anyone, anytime, on sight, we are sure to be fighting Costa Ricans, not Nicaraguans?’
Captain Gringo grimaced and replied, ‘That’s all I’ve been stewing about, when I can take my mind off pissing. My back teeth are floating and, yeah, we’ll be in a hell of a mess if we wind up fighting the Costa Rican Guard. We’re running out of countries where we’re not wanted for doing things like that.’
‘Eh bien. Since we agree that making la poof-poof at hitherto reasonable Costa Rican troops could lead to a dismal future in this country, how do you suggest we work it when the time comes? The time is coming, we both know, since the idiot in command is either lost or about to go to war with Costa Rica!’
Captain Gringo fished in his shirt for a smoke with his free hand as he said, ‘Let’s hope Costa Rica doesn’t know we’re here. They have no reason to patrol uninhabited jungle. So they probably don’t. Maybe Verdugo’s just looking for higher ground before he tends more to the north. This soggy leaf mold we’re on right now is a bitch to march across and, Jesus, if we don’t take a trail break poco tiempo, I’m going to piss my pants!’
Gaston lit his claro for him, then suggested, ‘Hand me the Maxim, run into the woods, and water a tree.’
Captain Gringo thought, nodded, and did so. As he dashed out of sight Teresa called down to Gaston, ‘Oh, where is Dick going? Has he deserted me?’
Gaston frowned back at her and cautioned, ‘Please do not shout about desertion in Spanish, ma’amselle. Most of these people understand the language and could misunderstand a simple call of nature, hein? I assure you Dick has no intention of leaving you behind. I know because every time I suggest it, he says we can’t.’
‘Oh, Gaston, I thought you were my friend!’
The old Frenchman shrugged and said, ‘I like almost everyone. On the other hand, I gave up the habit of dying for anyone whil
e I was still very young. That is one of the reasons I have managed to get so old. But since Dick is still young and foolish, let us change the subject, hein? If you are ever to get in shape for serious travel, it will not be avec your adorable derriere aboard a pack animal. You must, as we soldiers say, leg up.’
‘What is the matter with my legs?’ she asked.
He said, ‘They are very pretty. Mais alas, not much good for anything but spreading at the moment.’
‘You brute! I’ll have you know I did not allow your friend to touch me last night!’
‘And he still insists on saving you? How curious. Eh bien, as I was saying, you must get in the shape of runningness. Why don’t you try walking instead of riding for a time?’
‘My feet hurt. These peon zapatas are too big for me, and I told Dick I couldn’t walk far in them, damn it.’
Gaston looked disgusted and said, ‘Merde alors. I tell you that you had better learn, and soon. Try walking just a little while and then riding some more when your adorable mais très sissy feet give out on you, hein? That way your feet and ass will have the best of both possible worlds, non?’
She thought, then said, ‘I’ll try. Help me down.’
Gaston snorted and asked, ‘Help you down, as I pack a machine gun and lead a mule at the same time? Merde alors!’
‘If you were a gentleman, you’d help a lady dismount, Gaston!’
‘True, but since I am not a gentleman, what are we arguing about?’
She told him he was just awful and dropped off the pack saddle. She landed wrong and fell to her hands and knees in the black jungle muck. She remained that way, cursing in a most unladylike way until Emesta, catching up, stopped her own mule to reach down with her free hand and grab Teresa by the hair to lift her to her feet, screaming pretty good. The peon girl smiled innocently at her and said, ‘I was only trying to help, muchacha. For why do you say my mother was a dirty pig?’
‘You call me muchacha? You dare?’
‘Hey, what do you wish for to be called, a puta? I see no ring on your finger, princess. So what makes you better than me, eh? You think because our hombre fucks you, too, it makes you better than me? I spit in your lazy cunt, for God knows it does not seem useful for anything else.’
Teresa blanched, raised a hand, and hissed, ‘Why, you little peon snip—’
Emesta cut in, ‘Don’t try it, slut! I am a peon and proud of it. So I warn you, I can lick a soft city girl like you with one hand. Sí, and handle this mule at the same time!’
The argument was ended, no doubt just in time, by Captain Gringo re-joining them at a trot as the guerrillas blocked by Emesta’s mule began to add their own cursing commentary. Captain Gringo told Teresa to get back on his mule, now, and told Emesta they’d settle it later, rather than in the middle of a forced march. So he had it sorted out by the time El Generale loped back aboard his own mule to demand an explanation.
Since Captain Gringo and his baggage were moving on in good order by the time Verdugo got there, he simply said, ‘No excuse, sir. It won’t happen again.’
El Generale looked startled, nodded, and said, ‘Bueno. It is good to have real soldados serving me for a change. Are you sure you can handle two adelitas, on the trail, I mean?’
‘Yes, sir. They won’t fight again.’
‘See that they don’t. If you need help in calming the Spanish one, send her to me tonight. She is muy bonito, my mujer has the rag on, and she would be the first to tell you I have a calming effect on women.’
Captain Gringo didn’t answer. Verdugo laughed and rode back up to the head of his column. When he was out of earshot, Captain Gringo turned to Teresa and said, ‘You heard what the man said. Are we going to be good little girls?’
She gulped and said, ‘Send Emesta to him, then. She started it.’
‘I don’t think he likes her as much. Gaston? You were here. I wasn’t. So what’s the story?’
‘Merde alors, I am only sixty years old, and you want me to explain women? I would call it a simple case of mutual distaste. They both behaved like, well, women.’
Captain Gringo grimaced, and since Emesta was not in easy earshot, he told Teresa, ‘Okay, let’s say the war’s over and make sure you don’t start another. How did you get all dirty again?’
‘It was Gaston’s fault. He insisted I walk and I fell down instead.’
‘I noticed you do that a lot. Okay, just sit still for now. There has to be a better way.’
Gaston said, ‘Let us begin by returning this disgusting Maxim to its youthful owner. If she exerted herself a bit more, she might in time learn to run perhaps a city block without landing on her hands and knees, non?’
Captain Gringo took the machine gun but said, ‘No,’ as he braced it on a shoulder, adding, ‘We don’t have time to leg her up. It takes green legs at least a week and a lot of cramps to get in shape. I don’t think we have a week. Not unless all three of us, including her, want to wind up outlawed by Costa Rica!’
Gaston said, ‘True. We’ll be très fortunate if El Generale can get us through the day without a firefight. Mais I could not help noticing, when you scampered off just now, that nobody thought to challenge your departure.’
Captain Gringo nodded but said, ‘Where else could anyone have thought I was going? Half of them must have to piss right now too. All three of us, maybe the four of us, would raise more eyebrows if we simply strolled into the woods hand in hand.’
‘All four? Mon Dieu, are we planning to take Emesta along as well?’
‘Keep it down. I don’t see how else we can make it, unless we slit her throat before taking off, do you?’
‘Non, and I know better than to suggest you slit the throat of a pretty girl who’s been so good to you. But do you think she’d go for it? She was with El Generale when we met her, as I recall.’
‘She’s my adelita now. Aside from that, she thinks Verdugo is a jerk-off. I don’t think she’ll be the main problem. I’m afraid our spoiled little kidnap victim will be the problem.’ They’d switched to English and were speaking softly. So Gaston thought it safe to say, ‘Eh bien, neither of us kidnapped her. We have yet to receive a penny from her family, and the cochons who defamed your good name are now dead. So what are we talking about?’
Captain Gringo told him he was a shit heel and went on to say, ‘We don’t know that all the rats involved in her snatch have been brought to justice. El Jefe sent runners into town to check out our con. So they can’t be dead. Teresa says she thinks her snatch was set up by her step-grandmother and, oh, I forgot to tell you the cute part. Remember that bleached blonde I brought home from the paseo, the one who could have set us up at the posada?’
‘Very fondly. What about her?’
‘Guess who Don Alberto’s young wife might be.’ Gaston blinked and protested, ‘Mais non, a man that old would never survive such an active life. I may have neglected to tell you I had some of Melina after you’d left her in a condition of unsated nymphomania. Besides, she was simply a casual street pickup, not a woman of the hidalgo class. Melina is not that unusual a name in any case.’
‘It’s not as usual a name as Maria, and how many dames by any name could be running around getting laid in Limón on any given night? What’s the total population, say ten thousand?’
‘That seems a bit high, and I will grant you blondes of even the artificial species are not too common. But the wife of a hidalgo, picking up total strangers in the plaza ...?’
‘I knew a Roman emperor one time whose wife went in for gang bangs with her slaves. I think her name was Messalina.’
‘Ah, oui, good old Messalina. I wonder what ever became of her after she gave me that dose that time. Eh bien, it is possible we are dealing with a wicked step-grandmother indeed. Mais so what?’
‘So if we’re talking about the same Melina, good old Teresa could be right about it being an inside job. A sort of stupid one. But Melina didn’t strike me as the brightest lady I’ve ever met. So assumi
ng we can get Teresa out of this frying pan, how do we get her through the fire to her grandfather?’
‘Merde alors, getting her to Don Alberto would be soup of the duck next to getting her out of here! Why do you always put the cart in front of the horse, Dick?’
‘I like to know where I’m going before I hitch up. Melina never kidnapped Teresa personally. She was in cahoots with a smarter crook.’
Gaston shrugged and said, ‘True, El Jefe. But he is dead. Last night I made sure as I was poking around to see if anyone may have overlooked the contents of his pockets. They did not, the bastards.’
Captain Gringo shook his head and insisted, ‘El Jefe wasn’t the boss. He was just a front. Probably some pimp Melina met before she married the old fool for his dinero.’
‘You know this because he told you, Dick?’
‘He didn’t have to tell me. He was all bluff. He couldn’t shoot us without getting approval from someone in town. He had no control over the camp bully who was supposed to be his segundo. He was the face we were supposed to remember if they decided to use us to cut the cards some more with Don Alberto. Like I said, the real brains never left town.’
‘Merde alors, you credit the gang with brains? If Melina wanted the only other heir out of the way, she had no reason to go through such a complex charade, Dick.’
‘I know that. You know that. Fortunately for Teresa they wanted to make a profit on her murder. Her grandfather’s young wife had to offer something besides her ass to get guys to do such heavy work for her. Forget the kidnap bullshit. The problem now is that Melina still has said guys in her stable, if not her ass. Teresa has no idea who they are. We have no idea who they are. So we can’t send for help. We have to pop her out of the woodwork under her grandfather’s nose, alive and well. Or alive, anyway. I think we can probably trust the thugs he keeps around him for bodyguards and errand boys.’