Citadel of Death (A Captain Gringo Western Book 11) Read online

  He was a well-educated Frenchman who said his name didn’t matter, although the girl, Mimi, kept referring to him as grand-père. He didn’t want to talk about his past life, either, but he’d obviously done something in France one time that had earned him a long stretch on Devil’s Island.

  Like many others he’d served a stiff jolt at the maximum security facilities out on the rock and then been made a trustee, or unpaid slave, of the main colony to serve out the remainder of his sentence.

  Again, like all too many others, the old man had served out his time and, broken, stayed on as a “Colonist” with no place else to go and no way of getting there. With prisoners working for next to nothing, a flat fee going to the prison authorities, there was almost no way for any free white or native to make a living in French Guiana. Those French planters who didn’t want to use prisoners as servants could get a free native for room and board, period. The old man had managed to barely survive as a tenant farmer, as Gaston had surmised.

  In exchange for half the crops he raised, he’d settled down to raise peppers and kids with a creole woman who hadn’t had anything better to do either. Mimi was their granddaughter. All the other children and grandchildren had died or wandered off somewhere. The old man wasn’t making much sense near the end. Gaston had already hauled the dead outside, but when Captain Gringo caught his eye after feeling the dying man’s pulse again, Gaston led the girl outside with some muttered excuse in Creole.

  Captain Gringo closed the dead man’s eyes and looked around for something to cover him. But he could see there wasn’t a scrap of textile or matting that could be spared, so he settled on dimming the oil “lamp to a soft glow and composed the cadaver’s limbs in a more dignified position as he waited for the others to come back in.

  He lit a smoke and had a third consumed when Gaston stuck his head in and murmured, “Dick?”

  “It’s over,” Captain Gringo said. So Gaston brought Mimi in. The little creole girl was stone-faced as she knelt beside her grandfather and made the sign of the cross. But the soft light betrayed the tear running down her cheek. She murmured, “They are dead, too, but it does not help one bit.”

  Captain Gringo nodded and said, “I know. Who were they, Mimi? What were they after, the rent?”

  The girl shook her head and said, “We never saw them before. They were not from our landlord. This season’s crops are not ready for to harvest yet, and, in justice, the planter who owns us has always been willing to wait.”

  “They were after something. I heard your grandfather tell them he didn’t have it.”

  Mimi said, “I think they just wanted an excuse for to abuse us. They said my grandfather was a smuggler. They said he had money and guns hidden somewhere. At first my grandfather laughed, and then they started hitting him.”

  “That’s where we came in, Mimi. I have a reason for asking, so are you sure they had the wrong people? Sometimes men making a little money on the side don’t see fit to tell the women in the family about it.”

  Mimi smiled bitterly and replied, “Look around you! Is this the tenant shack of a rich man? Look at all the peppers my poor old grandfather planted and tended with no sons to help him. Then tell me when he’d have had the time to smuggle guns or anything else!”

  Captain Gringo nodded and said, “We just came through a lot of pepper fields, Mimi. Your grandfather didn’t grow it all, right?”

  “Of course not. We only till five hectares and he was hard pressed to manage that as he got older. When it is light you will see there are other shacks such as this one all about. There are perhaps forty families working for the same planter as tenants on shares.”

  Captain Gringo glanced at Gaston who shrugged and said, “Mais oui, it seems obvious they came to the wrong place if, indeed, any of these poor people have been dabbling in gun running. Some sewer rats assume anyone who bathes regularly is rich and the old man was once a cultivated Frenchman. Frankly, I don’t see how anyone near here could be smuggling anything. We are far down the coast from the border, hein?”

  Captain Gringo said, “Somebody could be landing stuff in a cove of that mangrove swamp from the sea, but you may be right. They could have just been roving thugs who thought anybody can come up with something if you hit him long enough.”

  He saw the girl was taking it well, considering. She’d probably had some practice, living on the edge of famine all her life, and the old man had mentioned burying a lot of her relatives over the years. That reminded him to ask Gaston about the disposal of the bodies and the Frenchman said, “There is another drainage ditch a short distance from here. I kept their guns and the contents of their pockets. They are piled outside.”

  Captain Gringo nodded and turned back to Mimi, saying, “We have to be on our way, Honey. But we’ll help you get your grandfather’s body to the church or whatever before we leave.”

  She looked blank and replied, “Church? We have no church. We have nothing but the rags on our backs. We don’t even own this shack or the fields around it. If you will help me, I will bury my grand-père in the yard. There is no other ground to be spared, for the price of pepper is low and every bush must stand. May I ask where you gentlemen are bound?”

  “Hard to say,” he said. “If we can get through those mangroves, we had the next settlement up the coast in mind.”

  Mimi brightened and said, “Oh, I have relations in Sinnamary! Will you take me with you?”

  “What about your pepper farm here, Mimi?”

  “Pooh, it’s not my pepper farm. It was not my poor grand-père’s pepper farm. The only thing I own is my body, and if those bad men had friends I may not be able to keep that for myself. Won’t you take me with you, please?”

  Gaston murmured, “Dick?” but Captain Gringo said, “We’ll think about it. Is there a shovel anywhere around here, Mimi?”

  She said her late grandfather’s tools were leaning against the wall outside. So he rose and said, “Stay here while we dig the grave, Mimi. Come on, Gaston.”

  Outside in the dark, Gaston protested, “I admire the body she owns, too, but do we really need more complications, my old and randy?”

  Captain Gringo found two spades, handed one to Gaston, and pick up the other as he said, “Keep it down—she speaks English. It might be more complicated for us if we leave her here. She’s right about another visit, you know. Somebody must have told those guys you chucked in the canal that there are buried treasure here. Even if she’s not in danger, do you really want her gossiping about tonight with the neighbors?”

  Gaston grimaced and said, “Oui, I vaguely remember hearing it was against the law to shoot people in French Guiana without discussing it with the authorities. But do you think that barefoot little thing is up to a fifty-mile romp?”

  Captain Gringo sunk his spade into the red soil near the edge of the yard. “Nobody is up to a fifty-mile romp on foot,” he said, “if he or she can get their hands on a boat. That’s another reason we should take her under our wings. She knows the country and might be able to put us on to some second cousin with a dugout for sale. Are you just going to stand there? Help me dig, you lazy old bastard!”

  Gaston started at the other end of the planned six-foot slit, muttering to himself. The soil was soft under its hard surface crust and cut like cheese. So they were soon knee-deep in the grave. Gaston threw another blade full of dirt on his spoil pile, leaned on his handle, and suggested, “Eh, bien, this is deep enough, if we are all leaving, hein?”

  Captain Gringo hesitated, then nodded with approval. “You’re right. It’s not as early as it used to be and the worms will get him no matter how far down we go.”

  He went inside, moved Mimi gently out of the way, and proceeded to wrap the old man in a straw mat as he said, “Gather your things, Mimi. I’ll take care of your grandfather.”

  “Oh, am I coming with you?”

  “I wouldn’t be using half your furniture if you weren’t. You’d better stay in here, Honey. We’ll call you
when we’re ready to say a few words over his grave, okay?”

  He picked up his surprisingly light bundle and lugged it outside. As he dropped it in the shallow grave he told Gaston, “It’s no wonder he died. The pool old bastard was nothing but skin and bones before he started bleeding. Your countrymen have a lot to answer for down here, Gaston. This prison colony is pretty shitty!”

  Gaston shrugged and said, “One must admit my people can be a bit more practique than Christian. That was my main reason for deserting La Legion. But let us not be unfair to France, Dick. A lot of these prisoners would have hanged in your country.”

  “Oh, shit, even if a guy deserves a hanging there should be limits. They give a guy no way out down here. They work his ass off until he serves his time and then they work his ass off afterward.”

  “Tragique, perhaps, but, to repeat, most of the men sent to Devil’s Island would have been executed by any other government. One does not come here for stealing a chicken, you know. France has quite ordinary jails for petty criminals. I feel sorry for this poor old failure, but he might not have lived to be so old had he spent the time on one of your lovely American chain gangs. Are you suggesting no American serving hard labor has ever been exploited and abused?”

  “Okay, you got a point. But remind me never to go to a French jail.”

  “Mais oui, all jails are trés fatigue, and if we don’t plant this wilted cabbage and get out of here the discussion may not be as academic, hein?”

  They smoothed the loose soil over the wrapped corpse with their blades and Captain Gringo said, “I’ll get Mimi. Where are those guns and things the gang dropped on their way to hell?”

  “By the door, as I said. On that bench there.”

  Captain Gringo moved to the open doorway and nodded to Mimi, who was tying up a small bundle in a red calico bandana. As she carried it out to the grave with her, Captain Gringo pulled the bench into the light for a better look at the spoils of war. There was a nice brace of single action .45 peacemakers, with the bullet loops filled. So he strapped it around his hips, adjusting the double action .38 under his jacket as he did so. He’d been wondering when and where he could pick up extra rounds for his sidearm. There were some small money bags, none holding more than a few coins. But that could be ammo, too, so he emptied them into his own pocket. He picked up a gunbelt for Gaston and another with a single holster for Mimi. Then he strolled over to join them as they mumbled over the grave. He handed Gaston his extra arms. Mimi was fingering her rosary, eyes closed, so he stepped behind her and buckled the belt around her hips, noticing they were tighter and firmer than the peon skirt suggested. She flinched, then nodded as she got the picture and said, “Yes, I shall never let a man near me again, now that I have a weapon!”

  Gaston grinned and muttered, “Stupid move, my old and rare.”

  The tall American smiled wearily and said, “I hate to rush you, Mimi, but it’s time to go. Do you have any idea where we can pick up a 0031?”

  “A boat? No. Why do you need a boat, ah, Deek?”

  “I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but there’s a mangrove swamp between here and Sinnamary.”

  “Oh, that is no problem, Deek. I know several trails through the mangroves. I used to play in the swamp as a child. My poor grand-père and I often hunted in the mangroves until his shotgun rusted away a year or so ago.”

  Captain Gringo cocked an eyebrow at Gaston and asked, “Still think I’m crazy?”

  Gaston laughed and replied, “But of course. And most favored by Dame Fortune, too. Never have I seen such a fool for luck. Any other man would have drowned us in the swamp, or at best made it around in a boat. But regardez, you have to find a beautiful woman who can lead you through it dry shod!”

  Captain Gringo glanced up at the sky and said, “Moon’s rising at last. You’d better take the lead, Mimi.” So the Creole girl did, setting a good pace through the peppers. The light was improving rapidly and as he followed close behind he noticed she had a very nice walk indeed. She didn’t wiggle it like a cantina gal showing off at the paseo to get whistled at. But a man could tell it was all there. She walked with the graceful strides of a barefoot woman used to carrying parcels on her head. A lot of high-toned society girls back home tried hard for such a dignified, albeit, seductive walk. She came to a cross path and moved west, looking back over her shoulder as she asked, “Are you still coming with me, Deek?” and he said, “I sure hope so.” But of course she didn’t get it. He hadn’t intended her to. He knew the smart thing would be to drop her off with her relations as soon as they could, and he knew how relations down here could cloud up and rain all over a stranger who’d messed with one of their womenfolk, too. But damn, if only he’d met her some other time and place!

  They were about a mile from the old shack when they heard hoof beats and Gaston snapped, “Down!” before Captain Gringo could. He saw Mimi didn’t know the form, so he lunged forward, grabbed her, and dove into the peppers with her, clapping a hand over her mouth as she started to scream.

  For a moment Mimi struggled, confused, as he lay half atop her amid the crushed peppers, saying, “Quiet, someone’s coming!”

  She nodded, eyes wide in the moonlight through the overcast and he let go of her face as she huddled closer, stiff with fear. He could smell her musky unwashed flesh, spiced with the tang of hot pepper, and he knew she was aware he was a man, too. So as he slid his hand down between them he whispered, “Don’t take this the wrong way, Doll. I’m after my gun!”

  He got to the .38 between them, but it was a tight fit and the nipple he’d brushed with the back of his hand was aroused. Probably just nerves, he told himself. The hoof beats came closer, then stopped. Mimi buried her face against his chest and fought not to sob aloud as he held her tighter to comfort her. He had no idea where Gaston was. He wasn’t about to ask. A distant voice called out, “See anything?” and another replied, “No. But the little cunt couldn’t have gotten far!”

  Captain Gringo was aware that somebody was pissing in his lap, and he didn’t think it was him. Mimi sobbed, “Please, Deek, save me!” and he whispered, “Easy, Honey. The man just said he didn’t know where we were!”

  They heard the hoof beats fading and he called out, softly, “Gaston?”

  “I am here, smeared with crushed peppers, merde alors! Someone seems to be wondering why their wandering boys failed to come home to supper, hein?”

  “Yeah. Let’s get out of here some more.” He sat up, looked around, and seeing nothing but the tops of more peppers, started to help Mimi to her feet. She was bawling like a baby. He patted her on the shoulder and said, “It’s okay. They’re gone and the mangroves can’t be far, right?”

  “Oh, Deek, what must you think of me?”

  “I think you were scared. Welcome to the club.”

  “But … I went pee pee on you! I am so ashamed! How can I ever face you in the light again?”

  He laughed, gently, and said, “I won’t tell if you won’t. I didn’t think you did it to be mean, Honey. These pants need pressing anyway. Let’s just forget it, okay?”

  “How can either of us ever forget such a disaster? Nice girls are not supposed to go pee pee!”

  “Oh, hell, Queen Victoria must have, at least once. We can worry about it later, Mimi. Right now I’m more worried about your path through the mangroves.”

  She turned away and started trotting, holding her skirt away from her legs with her hands. As they staggered after her, yelling for her to slow down, she started bawling again. After she’d run a quarter mile she stopped, dropped to her knees and covered her face with her hands to cry in earnest.

  Gaston sidled up to Captain Gringo and whispered, “What’s wrong with her, Dick?”

  “She pissed her pants back there and she seems upset about it.”

  Gaston chuckled, “I doubt if she’s ever worn pants. But that’s the trouble with growing up in poverty. When dignity is all one has, one tends to overdo it, hein?”


  It sounded reasonable. But Captain Gringo wasn’t sure. He’d learned on the run to frisk the Bluebird of Happiness for concealed weapons and Mimi was a mélange of presumably peasant Indian, Spanish, and French. He’d always thought the lower class French took pissing more casual than Hispanic peones, and Hispanic peones didn’t get this excited about having to take a leak. He bent and hauled Mimi to her feet as he said, “Come on, Doll. This is getting silly. Don’t you want to get away from those horsemen after all?”

  That seemed to straighten her out. She gasped, “Oh, they called me a bad thing!” and headed out again through the moonlight. Captain Gringo let her take a longer lead, now, since he could see her better and wanted a word with Gaston. Gaston was starting to frisk bluebirds, too. He said, “Dick. I think those others came to the right place, don’t you?”

  The American answered, in a low voice. “Yeah. I’m not sure she knew the old boy was guiding smugglers through the swamps, though. He told her his gun was rusted out and stopped taking her with him into the mangroves a while back. That was probably shortly after someone contracted with him to lead more important woodland romps.”

  Gaston nodded. “She’d have told them if she’d known where the old man hid his gold. But he must have been a determined miser indeed to hold out as he did.”

  The tall American shook his head and said, “I don’t think he had anything worth the beating he took. Nobody’s that tough. He couldn’t have been more than a local guide, paid off in peanuts. The oil lamp and one of the shovels back there were new. Some wise asses just used an old exile as a guide, tipped him a few francs, and moved on with whatever those other guys were after. The thugs were from a rival gang, or maybe neighborhood bullies who’d just noticed the old man’s modest prosperity and decided to shake him down.”

  Gaston patted the gunbelt he was wearing and opined, “I like a rival gang better, Dick. These are new well-kept weapons—not the sort of thing one usually sees in the company of the bush league bandito. Their friends had horses, too. From the hoof beats I heard I would say they were well shod and spirited saddle mounts, too.”