Renegade 29

by Lou Cameron

  Ramos shrugged and decided, “Probably just a rumor. If one could call any of the locals friendly, eh? Perhaps they are simply trying to encourage us to leave early.” Gaston nodded and said, “One could see how they might. Mais have you any patrols out, and may one assume there is at least a defense perimeter surrounding this quaint Mexican village?”

  They could see by his expression the fat man hadn’t even thought of either, and probably didn’t want to. So Captain Gringo nodded and said, “Right. We can see you’re a busy man, General. So with your permission we’d better scout up an arming rod for my Maxim.”

  Neither the General nor his adelita rose as the two soldiers of fortune got up and took their leave. Out on the calle, Captain Gringo asked Gaston, “What was that about steel bars?” and Gaston said, “Our hostess, Prunella, has a whole zoo of cages out back, avec bars of all dimensions. I am sure she could spare one for you, if I asked her nicely. She seems quite fond of me now. Mais may I make an even more practique suggestion, Dick?”

  Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “I’ve already considered it. A run for the nearest border would be more risky than just sitting tight for now. We’re over two hundred miles from British Honduras as the crow flies and we’re not crows. The interior jungles of Yucatan would be a bitch to plough through even if it wasn’t crawling with snakes, crocs, and probably Rurales!”

  “You think they’re out there, then?”

  “If they’re not, El Presidente Diaz just doesn’t give a shit about strangers trespassing on his property and the first time I tried to enjoy an innocent stroll through Mexico Los Rurales arrested me in uninhabited desert country. Can you see them ignoring the occupation of a whole town’s worth of Mexican taxpayers?”

  “Progreso is trés remote from the capital, non?”

  “Nothing’s that remote from a tax collector. If we heard about what was going on here, all the way down in Costa Rica, surely a little birdy’s hopped on El Presidente’s windowsill by this late date!”

  “True, mais maybe some species of gentleman’s agreement has been struck off-stage, hein? When he is not butchering women and children in the name of Democracy, Diaz is sucking the ass of Tio Sam, and anyone can see you Yankees are backing the Cuba Libre Movement, though just why escapes me. I doubt if, in the end, it will make a great deal of difference to your country whether there is a Spanish colony or another piss-pot dictatorship off Florida. Mais getting back to here and now, I doubt there are any Rurales lurking about out there in the gloomy forest, Snow White. So why don’t we go look for some friendly dwarves, preferably female? We don’t have to make it all the way to the border in one jump. I just want to get us out of Progreso before the whole place blows up in the General’s fat face!”

  Captain Gringo said he’d think about it, after he got the fucking Maxim fixed, adding, “Whether we leave the party early or not we could still use a serious weapon if we ran into unfriendly dwarves in the forest, Gretel. I wasn’t kidding when I tried to tell that dumb fat slob the local Indians can get pretty wild. Once you get away from the sound of church bells in Yucatan, you can run into unreconstructed Maya, remember?”

  “True, but you speak a little Maya, thanks to your loving ways and that bruja who cured your fever and erection that time. At least wild tribesmen we may run into in the jungle won’t be as inclined to accuse us of raping their chickens and eating their daughters as the natives here!”

  “Let’s get back to those steel bars. Are they no-shit machine-steel or just cold-rolled low-carbon?”

  “Merde alors, how should I know? I was simply watching the animals, not running chemical tests on their cages! Prunella has a chemistry set as well as a trés comfortable chesterfield in her lab. Would that help?”

  Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “I’m not an industrial chemist, either. I’ve got to take my spare parts on faith. What I’m looking for is a length of good spring steel, about as thick as a pencil, say eighteen inches long or longer. I can always cut it down after I experiment with cutting threads at each end. But I can’t stretch a too-short rod, see?”

  “It sounds trés fatigué. If only there was another Maxim, somewhere in camp, I would be only too happy to requisition it for you by the light of the silvery moon. Mais if the idiots in charge of this lunacy knew what they were doing, I would not be so anxious to get our adorable asses out of here, with or without the Maxim!”

  They walked on, not sure where they were going. Like most towns in the tropics, Progreso came to life as the sun went down, which it was doing, and stayed that way until well after midnight. But the main businesses tended to be shut down after six. Mexicans wanted to enjoy life in the cool shades of evening, not work at it. So although the cantinas and whorehouse would be going full blast half the night, finding a hardware store open was going to be a problem.

  As they approached an alley entrance, Gaston asked, “What about a steel ramrod, Dick? Surely someone in town must have an old muzzle loader left. I’ve yet to see an electric light here.”

  Captain Gringo shook his head and said, “Too skinny, not tough enough. Hold it, what’s going on down the alley?”

  Gaston had ears, too. So he muttered, “Dick stay out of it!” But he might as well have said it to the nearest wall. For Captain Gringo had heard a woman crying for help and was already on the way as Gaston, cursing, followed.

  The girl in trouble was about fourteen, pure Maya, and backed into a doorway by a burly drunken Anglo who kept pawing and slobbering at her as she pleaded, “Por favor, señor! I am not the kind of muchacha you take me for!”

  The drunken liberator of Cuba drooled, “Sure you are. You just don’t know it yet. Lessee what you got under this skirt, honey lamb. For I can see you values it highly, and that means it must be good!”

  A seam of her dress ripped before Captain Gringo could get to them. But when he did, it was her attacker that got damaged the most. The big Yank grabbed the ruffian by one shoulder, spun him around, and cold-cocked him with a solid right cross. The guy was big enough to stay on his feet as he staggered backward from the blow into Gaston. So Captain Gringo dropped into a fighting crouch in case he was coming back for more. But the drunk just made a funny gurgling noise deep in his throat and fell forward with a look of wonder on his face to land face down in the alley dust, eyes still open.

  Captain Gringo turned to the young girl in the doorway. She was clutching at her torn blouse, but one pert little nipple was exposed anyway. She stared wildly up at the even bigger gringo and gasped, “Oh, Santa Maria! You are one of them, too!”

  He smiled thinly down at her and said, “No I’m not. Would you like us to see you safely home, or would you rather do it yourself, señorita?”

  She gulped and asked, “No tricks? I am free for to go?”

  He nodded and she took off like a scalded cat. But halfway down the alley she turned to shout, “God bless you, señor!” before turning away to vanish in the darkness.

  Captain Gringo moved closer to Gaston, stared morosely down at the figure spread out like a bear rung between them, and asked, “Why did you do that, Gaston? I could have handled him.”

  Gaston shrugged and said, “Oui, and then what? Do you really need more enemies, Dick? He was not too drunk to remember, once he sobered up, and who is to say how many friends he might have had that we would not know on sight, hein?”

  “Okay, so you knifed him and he probably had it coming. But what do we do with him now? If the Colonel finds one of his boys dead in an alley, come morning, it could go hard on the locals in this part of town.”

  Gaston nodded and said, “They know that. If I know the kind of people who must live along this alley, nobody is going to find him before they’ve gotten rid of him. Meanwhile, may I suggest we get the fuck out of here before someone finds us?”

  The point was well taken. They moved on just slowly enough to avoid attracting needless attention but fast enough to put some distance between them and the cadaver. They sl
owed down by unspoken mutual agreement once they’d swung a couple of corners. Gaston looked around and said, “Now you’ve done it. There are no street lamps in this working-class part of town, and I confess to being completely turned around.”

  Captain Gringo shrugged and replied, “What can I tell you? In a town this size, how far could the main drag be? Come on, I see a light ahead. Looks like an open shop spilling light across the walk.”

  It wasn’t, exactly. It was even better. For as they approached the orange glow they heard the tapping of metal on metal and Captain Gringo said, “Hey, it’s a herrera, open late! This could be just what we’re looking for!”

  “Merde alors, since when is it we? I just want to find my way back to the house. I promised to show Prunella some animal training tricks.”

  They reached the open front of the herrera. The wiry, gray-haired blacksmith glanced up from his anvil, eyed them warily, and got back to work on the wrought-iron grille he was fashioning. Other lengths of scrap iron were soaking in the coals of his forge. A young Negro was hand-pumping the blower. He was trying not to see the two strangers in the doorway, either.

  Captain Gringo said, “You do fine work, señor.” and the blacksmith growled, “It is a living. Do you want something, or are you simply interested in quaint native customs?”

  Captain Gringo ignored the sarcasm and replied, “I have need of a rod of spring steel, about this long, about as thick as a lead pencil, or perhaps a bit thicker. I may have to machine it down in any case. Do you know of a machine shop here in Progreso, señor?”

  “Over by the waterfront. I forget the name. It will be closed for the night in any case. I do not have any spring steel in any size or shape. As you can see, I am simply a shaper of peon knickknacks.”

  “Suppose we found a wagon spring for you to rework? Do you think it would be possible to hammer a curved spring leaf down to a thin straight rod without losing the temper, señor?”

  “No. Do I look like a swordsmith? I only know how for to work wrought iron, perhaps mild steel. It is not important whether a window grille has temper or not, if the straps are thick enough. As to hammering out steel fishing rods, you have come to the wrong place. Ask them at the machine shop in the morning. I can’t help you.”

  It was obvious he didn’t want to, even if he could. So Captain Gringo thanked him politely and turned away. As they moved on up the calle Gaston asked why he hadn’t at least asked the way back to the main drag. Captain Gringo shrugged and asked, “Do you really want to stay lost? That old guy wouldn’t give a gringo the right time. Can’t say I blame him. Guys on both sides can sure act like assholes.”

  But then the young Negro who’d been working the blower ran after them, shouting something. They turned and the black said, “Come back, por favor, El Herrero wishes for to speak with you again!”

  They exchanged glances and followed him back. The old smith had put down his hammer and produced a bottle from somewhere. Better yet, he was smiling now. He said, “My daughter just came in for some hot water. Her daughter, my granddaughter, is just down the calle, having some braises attended to by the women of the neighborhood.”

  “Oh, was your granddaughter hurt, señor?”

  “Not as badly as she might have been, had not a pair of most simpatico caballeros come to her rescue not long ago. Why did you not tell me who you were, señores?”

  “We didn’t know who we were, to you, señor.”

  “That makes sense. Nobody had described you to me until just now. I am called Hector Fernandez y Vasquez. With your permission, I shall call myself your friend, for life. I am, as you see, a mere peon, but we value the honor of our women as much as anyone, and my granddaughter has always been most precious to me.”

  Captain Gringo and Gaston introduced themselves to the proud old smith and after they’d shaken on it they drank on it. His pulque was the real stuff, strong and awfully hard to get down without puking. He made them take seconds before he said, “Bueno. Tell me again about this crazy steel fishing rod you need, Captain Gringo. Could you draw it for me on paper?”

  Captain Gringo could and did, using the anvil for a writing desk as he sketched the rough dimension of the blank he needed on brown pattern paper. Old Hector looked it over and said, “No problem. How soon do you need it?”

  “Right about now. But manana will do, if you’re closing soon.”

  “Did I say anything about closing, muchacho? What do you take me for, a weakling who needs sleep, like a chicken? I have some stock that should work up nicely. It is, as you suggested, salvaged spring steel from one of those crazy horseless carriages. The springs did not break. The engine fell apart when someone forgot to put oil in it. I bought the remains for scrap and took it apart. I made more than my money back just by selling the wheels, for carts God meant people to use on our roads around here. Let me think, where did I store the damned springs?”

  “Are you sure you can rework a leaf without losing the temper, viejo?”

  “Jesus, Maria, y José, do you take me for an apprentice? I was forging steel, and tempering it, before you were born, muchacho! Your strange object will be ready before sunrise. You may pick it up any time in the morning and I swear by the beard of Santiago you shall be able for to sharpen it to a point and use if for a fencing sword if you like!”

  “I thought you said you weren’t a swordsmith, viejo.”

  “I lied. I did not know you were as a son to me, then.”

  *

  It was still early. So when Gaston kept insisting he wanted to go home and pet the animals for some reason, Captain Gringo told him, “So go on, for God’s sake, and pet Prunella, too, for all I care. I still want to get the lay of the land here fixed in my head, in case we have to do some broken field running in the near future. If you see Lucrecia tell her I won’t be home for a while and try to stay out of her pants.”

  “Does she wear any?”

  “No, but you know what I mean, you old goat. What was that shit about the livestock out back? Old Prunella’s not enough for you?”

  “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me and in any case I am in a hurry to rejoin her. So adios, for now, but watch your step, Dick. You’ve gotten in enough trouble for one night, hein?”

  They split up, Gaston heading for the house as Captain Gringo went looking for the waterfront. He found it without much effort. Unlike the more lively parts of town he passed getting there, the waterfront, between banana boats, was pretty dead at night.

  A cantina was open, way down the quay, but he wasn’t interested in hearing rough laughter and someone singing “La Paloma” off key as he, she, or it strummed a guitar that needed tuning, too. He passed a ship’s chandler, shut down for the night, and beyond it stood a small red brick machine shop. It was closed, too. No problem. He knew nobody below the rank of major was allowed to mess with him and it only took a few seconds to pick the simple lock. He went in and looked for a light switch. There wasn’t any. Gaston had been right about them being a little out of date in Progreso. But when he struck a match and lit a handy coal oil lamp he saw the power tools were fairly new and electric powered. That prompted him to explore further and, in a back room, he found the answer. A big one-lung internal combustion engine was hooked up to a dynamo. The shop didn’t bother with electric Edison bulbs, but it did have its own power source. So things were starting to look up.

  He consulted his watch, shrugged, and went back outside, locking the door after him. He had to give old Hector at least a few hours before he brought the blank here to machine it down. He’d need at least the action of the Maxim to work with as well in a go no-go cut and fit to size job. So what better way to kill a few hours than with old Lucrecia, this time without the axle grease?

  He chuckled as he headed back across town, softly singing the old hobo jungle ditty that went:

  “Oh the rich man uses butter,

  The poor man uses lard,

  The hobo uses axle grease,

  And gets it jus
t as hard!”

  He realized the tactical error he’d made in singing in English on a dark Mexican street when at least six guys jumped him all at once, from behind, in front, and both sides!

  Fortunately the Mexicans were not only less skilled in street fighting than your average knockaround guy, but there were so many of them they tended to get in each other’s way, while Captain Gringo could swing at anything without worrying about hitting anyone on his side. So that’s what he started doing. He decked one of them right off as, behind him, someone gasped, “Hey, that’s me you’re biting, you stupid cabrone!”

  Captain Gringo reached inside his jacket for his .38 as, at the same time, he felt a healthy head of hair in the palm of the hand he was guarding with and, grabbing a big fist full of it, hung on. He could tell, as soon as he gave a healthy tug on the hair, that he was dealing with a kid or a mighty light man. So he swung the Mexican whatever off his feet and then kept him swinging in a big circle around him, knocking all sorts of people down as the one he had by the hair screamed for his mother, his father, and at least a dozen saints. Captain Gringo let go at a strategic moment, letting his victim crash into one of his few friends still on his feet, and backed into a door niche, gun drawn, as he snapped, “That’s it, kids! I’ve got a gun and the next one gets hurt for real!”

  The confused but still pissed-off gang rallied in a semicircle around him, unwilling to either let him go or move any closer as they reconsidered their options. One said, “Hey, gringo, you really got a gun or is that a fancy lighter? Let me see it, eh? I promise for to give it back to you, amigo.”

  “Back off, Chico. When this thing lights up, your pals will know what it is, but you won’t. I’ve got it pointed at your stupid head.”

  “Hey, is that any way for to talk, gringo? We just wish for to make Mends with you, see? For why are you in our barrio so late at night, don’t your sister want for to fuck you back home?”

  Captain Gringo chuckled fondly and said, “No, I thought I’d fuck yours, unless she’s uglier than your mother!”