Renegade 24, p.1
Renegade 24, page 1
Captain Gringo challenges a gun-heavy Mexican army in the Guatemala jungle!
Footloose in volatile Guatemala City, Gringo isn’t looking for a fight—until a very persuasive widow gets him a commission in the Guatemalan Army His first job: to rid the northern border of Mexican invaders. Nobody tells him, though, that British Royal Marines are steaming upriver in his direction. Leading a mule back regiment, armed with antiquated artillery, Gringo rides into the jaws of war. Soon enough Mexican guns will make things hot for him, but the warm-blooded adelitas in his tent will make the steaming jungle nights even hotter!
RENEGADE 24: GUATEMALA GUNMAN
By Ramsay Thorne
First Published in 1983 by Warner Books
Copyright © 1983, 2017 by Lou Cameron
First Smashwoirds Edition: June 2017
Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book
Published by Arrangement with the Author’s Agent.
Guatemala City seemed a nice enough place for a short visit, but Captain Gringo didn’t think he’d want to die there. So by the time a distant church bell warned him la siesta would soon be over, the tall, blond, wanted man was pacing his hotel rug and muttering nasty things about his sidekick, Gaston.
The plan had called for Captain Gringo to lie low in their hotel suite a discreet distance from police headquarters while the less conspicuous member of the team scouted the railroad depot and, with any luck, picked up a couple of tickets to the coast.
The two soldiers of fortune had completed the mission that brought them to Guatemala in the first place. And they’d even been paid off, for a change. So now it was time to vamoose before anyone important got around to asking what they were doing in the country without the permission or, hopefully, the knowledge of the current government.
Gaston had suggested and Captain Gringo had agreed that the best time to make their way out of town would be smack in the middle of la siesta, when even cops who read reward posters would be goldbricking. But unless both that church bell and Captain Gringo’s pocket watch were wrong, la siesta was almost over, and Gaston had promised to get back before it started!
The tall American moved out to the balcony of their second-story corner suite to see if there was any sign of his often unpredictable little pal. He didn’t see Gaston or anyone else on the steep cobbled calle running down toward the main drag. La siesta had a few minutes to go. So the view across the rooftops belied the facts of life in Guatemala this season.
The country was beset by natural and political disasters that figured to get worse before they got better. But everything in sight looked serene and static as a picture postcard printed in colors a bit too bright to be real.
Guatemala City was well watered as well as cooled by the trade winds climbing the slopes from the northeast. So all the treetops were a bright Kelly green. The rooftops between seemed to be tiled with tangerine peels, and at some time in the past Guatemala City had gotten a real buy on some wild paint. Most of the stucco walls in sight were flamingo pink. Those few decorated by freethinkers tended to be lavender or powder blue. All the exposed wooden trim, however, was the same shade of electric blue. It was supposed to keep the flies and mosquitoes out. It didn’t, but what the hell.
Captain Gringo consulted his watch again as he considered the possible ways a dirty old man could wind up late from school. How long was a guy with common sense supposed to wait for another who’d either met up with an old drinking buddy, a new dame, or the law? If Gaston had been picked up, leaving right now might not be soon enough!
But it was a quarter to three. So in fifteen minutes the streets would start to clutter up with all sorts of people, and other people had posted reward posters on him in all sorts of places! He had money and a few extra rounds for the .38 riding in its shoulder rig under his linen jacket. After that, it got complicated.
The erstwhile Dick Walker of the U.S. Tenth Cav wasn’t called Captain Gringo because he looked like a native down here. He’d learned the hard way that there were local boys who’d give an obvious Yanqui a hard time even if they hadn't seen his face on a reward poster. But if Gaston had been picked up, it wasn’t safe to wait until dark to make his move, and if Gaston had been picked up trying for a couple of lousy railroad tickets, where was there to run to?
Legging it cross-country through terrain he didn’t know sounded almost as risky as staying put and hoping Gaston was just jerking off somewhere. But almost as risky wasn’t as risky as waiting to find out after it was too late to run.
He put his watch away and muttered, “Okay, we’ll give him until five to three. That’ll give us time to get at least a couple of blocks away before anyone here spots us leaving without checking out.”
He was still trying to decide the direction of his planned evacuation when he heard a gentle rapping on the chamber door inside. He didn’t think it could be a raven. It wasn’t Gaston’s knock. That left a chambermaid or a cop.
He didn’t want to shoot or even scare a chambermaid. So he put his hand inside his jacket but didn’t draw his .38 as he stepped back inside to call out, “¿Quien es?” while starting across the rug to the door.
He didn’t make it. Some son of a bitch who’d been lying for him just inside the balcony door dropped an office safe on his head, and the world exploded in clouds of black ink and little pin wheeling stars as he fell ass over teakettle into a seemingly bottomless pit for a thousand miles and a million years.
~*~
Floating forever like a jellyfish in a sea of spit-warm ink wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t smelled so awful. Captain Gringo sneezed and tried to turn his face away from the gagging reek of violets and ammonia. But some dumb dame kept shoving the smelling salts under his nose and telling him he was just fine. So he opened his eyes to tell her she was full of shit.
She laughed. He didn’t see what was so funny. As his throbbing head began to clear enough to matter, he saw she was a nice-looking but hard-eyed Spanish Creole, apparently dressed for a funeral. The big moon-faced mestizo looming behind her was dressed in black, too. He was covering Captain Gringo with a Mauser pistol. That seemed needlessly dramatic when Captain Gringo tried to move and couldn’t. They’d placed him on his own bed after knocking him out. His wrists and ankles were lashed to the brass rails at the head and foot of the heavy bedstead. The spooky brunette was seated atop the covers with him. Her hip was against his rib cage and she held a carpetbag in her lap. As she put the smelling salts away in it, he noticed the gleam of nickel plate and knew where his .38 had gone as well.
She closed the snap of her bag and said, “Bueno. To save the usual fencing, your compañero, Gaston Verrier, is not coming back to rescue you, Captain Gringo. We are holding him in another part of town. As you see, you are completely in my power.”
Captain Gringo tested the slack in the latigo thongs holding his wrists above his head as he grimaced and said, “When you’re right you’re right. You sure suckered me good with that old chestnut. Let’s see if I’ve got it right. You sent your tame ape, there, in through Gaston’s adjoining room so I wouldn’t hear him pick the cheap hotel lock. Then you tapped coy as hell on the other door and—”
She slapped his face hard and snapped, “We shall ask all the questions here, Captain Gringo! To begin with, who are you working for, the Cabrera faction or the Barrios family?”
He frowned up at her and replied, “Neither. Never heard of either bunch.”
She slapped him again. He called her a stupid cunt in English before repeating, in Spanish, “Señorita, I don’t know who in the hell you’re talking about. Gaston and me didn’t come up here to mix in local politics. We were hired by an international insurance company to locate a client they were worried about. We found her, dead. We came here to report to them. They were happy to know they didn’t have to pay off a double-indemnity policy, so we all parted friends.”
Her eyes were cold as she smiled down at him and told her moose like sidekick to wait in the next room, adding, “I work better when friends are not watching, Paco.”
Paco, if that was his name, said, “The Yanqui is very big, and they say he is very tough, Señora Pantera!”
But the panther lady, if that was her name, insisted she wanted to be alone with Captain Gringo. So in a very few moments they were.
Neither said anything for a time as they studied each other. He wasn’t too inspired by his view. The dame was pretty enough, save for a faint mustache and the way her eyebrows sort of met in the middle above those cold dark eyes. She placed the carpetbag on his chest and rose to fork one leg over his, lifting her long skirt daintily to do so. She lifted it high enough for him to notice, over the top of the bag, that she wasn’t wearing anything under it. She sure was hairy as hell down there, too.
Not knowing what to say, Captain Gringo simply watched, bemused, as the weird woman unfastened his belt and pulled his pants down between her naked thighs before moving up on the bed to settle her open groin teasingly close to his own exposed privates. She stared down thoughtfully and said, “I see you are still soft. Don’t you think I’m pretty?”
He grinned up at her wryly and replied, “I think you’re loco en la cabeza, too. But if this is your idea of refined torture, I’m game.”
She repeated, “Which side are you working for?” as she unsnapped the carpetbag between them again and reached inside, adding, “I must warn you that if your story does not match that of your friend, Gaston, it will go hard with you.”
He tried to shrug but couldn’t as he said, “It’s already starting to get hard. But I don’t know what you’re talking about, Doll. The only Guatemalan rebel faction we ever heard about was some nut called Caballero Blanco, and he’s dead. Those other names don’t mean a thing to me.”
She took out a jar, opened it, and began to smear his dawning erection with the contents as she purred, “You will have to do better than that.”
Her skilled hands felt great as they slithered up and down his shaft. But the grease she was rubbing on it had to go! He winced and said, “Jesus H. Christ! What the hell are you using for lubrication, doll?”
She said, “Oil of eucalyptus with red pepper juice. Does it burn?”
“You can say that again! It feels like my pecker’s on fire, and I still don’t know anyone up here named Barrios or Cabrera, you bitch!”
She inched her bared vagina closer to his now-throbbing erection as she insisted, “Of course you do. You have to be working for one or the other. So tell me, and maybe we can be friends, eh? Would you like to have it in me, Captain Gringo? I would like very much for to take your nice big thing inside me to the roots, but if you persist in being so uncooperative—”
“Honey, you’ve no idea how cooperative I feel right now! Could you, ah, stroke it some more?”
She laughed coyly and said, “Oh no, we would not wish for you to have an orgasm just yet. But, as you see, the hot salve keeps it most hard, no matter how else we stimulate it. I’ll bet you could come right now with one or two strokes, no?”
“I sure could. Listen, why don’t you go back to just smacking me in the face a lot, Pantera? I think that might confuse a guy less.”
She purred, “I am sure it would,” as she moved the bag aside to give him a better view. She reached down between them and began to play with her own privates as she observed, calmly enough, considering, “You are well known all over Central America as a man who machine-guns people for money. Naturally, you were recruited to come here and work for one side or the other during the current crisis. Nobody but the Cabreras or the Barrios have the money it would take to hire such expensive outside help. Surely you can see that, Captain Gringo?”
“That’s not all I can see! You’re not rubbing that hot salve on your own clit, are you, Pantera?”
“Si; it feels most stimulating. If you would only be a good boy I would show you how nice it feels for to screw a woman with eucalyptus oil all over everything! It feels hot and spicy going in. Cold and minty coming out. Would you like for to shove it in and out of me very fast, querido?”
“Right now I’d be willing to screw a busted bottle! It’s driving me crazy!”
“It’s supposed to. Tell me who hired you and we can come together. I confess I feel most stimulated myself now. But you can’t have me until you tell me all you know!”
“What happens then? You leave me here with hot grease on my dong and a bullet in my brain?”
“Perhaps, but don’t you wish to enjoy the orgasm of your life before you die? Why are you teasing us both this way, you naughty boy? You know you will tell me sooner or later. So why not make it sooner, and perhaps I will let you come in me twice before I … leave.”
He tried to shrug again. He noticed she paid no attention to the way he moved his bound wrists. She was breathing sort of funny as she strummed her old banjo, and if only he could gain some time ...
He said, “Look, I don’t know the details. But that one name, Barrios, rings a bell.”
“Aha! So you are working for those stuck-up bastards, eh?”
“I’m not sure. We were recruited by a guy called Klondike. A Yank, like me. Ever hear of him?”
“No. Should I have?”
“Guess not. Suffice it to say he’s a well-known knock-around guy down here. You can check that out if you like.”
He knew she couldn’t, even as he saw that she was making a mental note on a guy Captain Gringo knew for sure was dead, having shot the son of a bitch himself. She inched even closer, so that his turgid shaft was pressed between the open lips of her own greased opening as she moved her aroused clit up and down it, asking, “Which of the Barrios brothers did this Klondike say you’d be working for?”
“There are brothers?” he replied, as he tried to move enough to satisfy his own tortured flesh. She let him, enjoying his frustration, as she said, “Do not play games with me, querido. You know there are many Barrios in Guatemala. I must know which of them saw fit to hire a private machine gun crew.”
He started thrusting frantically with his hips as she rode him cruelly, obviously enjoying what he was doing for her teasing clit while she left him out in the cold. He knew a dame could come that way. He knew a dame ready to come might not be paying much attention to anything else a guy might be up to. So he made his move.
Pantera tried to scream as the hand he’d worked loose from the latigo thongs whipped down to grab her by the nape of the neck. But Captain Gringo’s hand was big enough to work a thumb into her voice box before she could call for help. So the struggle was silent, savage, and sort of interesting toward the end.
As he choked her unconscious, Pantera tried to rise from the bed but succeeded only in moving up a bit as, either accidentally or in an attempt to make friends in a hurry, she settled down on his shaft to the roots.
She was right about how wild it felt, he saw, as her convulsions moved her over spiced interior up and down his raging erection. He came in her, hard, and might have done so again had she not suddenly gone limp and just lain there atop him. It still felt great, but with a guy in the next room about to bust in any minute with a Mauser, he had more important things than sex on his mind.
He rolled the unconscious Pantera off him and fumbled the .38 out of her open bag on the bed before he risked going to work on the thongs binding his other wrist. The knot was a pisser, or he’d have had two hands to choke the bitch with. But he got loose at last, topside, and bent to untie his ankles, with the .38 on the bedspread between them.
He got one leg free. Then the door started to open. He grabbed for his .38 as a familiar face appeared in the doorway. He gasped. “Jesus H. Christ, Gaston! What are you doing here? I almost shot you just now!”
Gaston nodded and said, “So I noticed. The species of mestizo you were no doubt expecting was trés slow of reflex when I walked in on him just now. Who is your lady friend on the floor, Dick?”
“Just cover her while I untie my ankle, dammit. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on here, either. Is her pal next door likely to come to in the near future?”
“Merde alors, when I use my knife, they never come to,” said Gaston, moving over to stand above Pantera as he reached for his own .38. The girl on the floor moaned and opened her eyes. She blanched as she saw Gaston looming over her. Although, in truth, Gaston didn’t loom nearly as much as most men.
The old Legion deserter was one of those small gray men who, at first glance, don’t seem to rate a second glance. But both men and women dismissed Gaston at their own peril, for he was as deadly as a cobra and as horny as a billy goat. He was stronger than he looked and could move like spit on a hot stove. So, many a man and more than one woman had wound up dead, or laid, before they’d known what had hit them.
Captain Gringo rolled off the bed and ran for the adjoining bathroom as he held his .38 in one hand and his sagging pants in the other. Pantera propped herself up on one elbow to rub her own over stimulated crotch with her free hand as she stared up at Gaston and said, “I do not understand. My friends were supposed to pick you up at the railroad depot, Señor Verrier.”
Gaston smiled down at her and replied, “Merci; I was wondering who I was playing tag with during la siesta. The intended ambush at the depot was trés league of the bush. But the idiots would persist in following me as I beat my hasty mais discreet retreat. Naturally, I did not consider it wise to come back here to the hotel until I had taken care of them, one by one, in various alleyways of your beautiful city.”
