Читать книгу Dead Men Don't Lie - Jackson Cain - Страница 13

Chapter 4

In the cantina Rachel politely removed the major’s arm from her brother’s shoulder.

“He’s not going with you,” she said to Mateo.

Major Mateo Cardozo did not seem upset. Treating her to an affectionate grin, he said: “Sí, I understand completely.” Mateo picked his military hat up from the bar and placed it over his heart. “But on the other hand, there are some hombres muy malos y muy duros in this benighted land, and when two gringos, such as yourselves, come here so far from home, they have need of amigos such as us, no?”

“We have muchos buenos amigos here already,” Rachel said. “We aren’t alone.”

She and Richard both hesitated to say who their parents were. Their ransom would be worth a fortune.

“I am sure you are not, guapa [beautiful],” Mateo said.

“And you aren’t taking him with you,” Rachel said, standing her ground and holding Richard’s arm.

“I really don’t know much about artillery anyway,” Richard said, still trying to backpedal. “I was only spouting off.”

“Richard,” Rachel said. “Shut up.”

Mateo gave them both another captivating smile. “What can I do to prove I love you, that I am a man of trust? How about un abrazo? All you gringos like the abrazo.”

Mateo was a big man—at least six-two—with broad shoulders, and under his tan army shirt, his biceps bulged. Richard, however, was a good six feet four, and had the muscles of a seasoned rock-climber, which was what he was. He’d also boxed, wrestled, and done high-platform diving at West Point. Still, when Mateo wrapped Richard in his big burly arms, Richard felt as if he’d been embraced by a grizzly bear.

“See,” Mateo said, “I give your brother the abrazo. We are amigos—now, siempre [forever]. I will never go back on that.”

A crowd was gathering around them now, which not only made Rachel even more nervous, it seemed to bother Mateo.

“Tell you what,” he said to Rachel. “Let’s you and me go outside and discuss this. Too many ears in here. We’ll work something out. We won’t shanghai anybody. We’re soldados not hombres malos [bad men].”

Apprehensive but still wanting to hear what he said, Rachel followed Mateo out the side door and into the alley.

“Those hombres back there, they aren’t as simpático as me,” Mateo said. “They get ahold of you, they’ll drag you into this alley and rape you so malo-duro you’ll never fuck again. Not me. I’m uno mucho bueno hombre.”

“And I’m una mucha buena mujer [a very good woman]. But you take my brother, and I won’t stop till I kill you. You die, and I’ll carve my name on your tombstone. I’ll harrow hell for your excremento-stinking soul.”

Suddenly, Rachel saw a blur, and Mateo’s big right hand slapped her temple hard enough to ring temple bells and hang stars. Slamming her head against the adobe wall behind her, Mateo grabbed her throat and whispered:

“You watch your mouth, puta. I’ll drag you out of here in shackles and leg irons. I’ll sell your gringa ass into a casa de puta dura bruta [a rough whorehouse]. You’ll die there turning muchos tortuosos tricks [many torturous tricks].”

But Rachel wouldn’t back down. Shaking loose from Mateo’s grip, she began beating on his chest with her fists, ripping his cheeks with her fingernails, kicking his shins with her heavy boots. She about to shout her mother’s name—she was so angry she didn’t care what happened.

“We have connections!” she shouted. “We’re not nobodies. Our mother is one of the most powerful people in North America! We’ll come after you with police, politicians, whatever it takes. Our mother will—”

But she never got it out. In a blind, red-eyed rage, Mateo thundered:

“PU-TA!!!”

Then he hit her in the left temple, not with his fist but with the shot-loaded, whip-spring buttstock of his wrist-quirt—a makeshift blackjack.

She didn’t pass out immediately. She stared at him in what seemed to be wide-eyed wonder.

“What the fuck?” was all she said.

Then her eyes slowly closed. Passing out, she slid down the cantina wall. Rubbing his torn cheek, Mateo stared in shock at her, at what he’d done.

“Lo siento, chiquita,” [“I’m sorry, baby”] he said to her sadly. “I think I maybe killed you, but you got me muy loco.” He studied her for one more long, hard moment. “Aw, fuck it,” he finally said with a head-shaking shrug. “Así es como sucede a veces.” [ “That’s the way it happens sometimes.”]

Heading back into the cantina, he grabbed Richard and dragged him out to their mounts, which were tied to the cantina’s hitchrack. When his men came out with his hat and jacket, he commandeered one of the cantina patron’s horses and told Richard to mount up. Instead Richard started to turn around and look for his sister, but before Richard could go into the alley and find her, Mateo laid the quirt’s leaded stock over the top of his head. Catching Richard on the way down, Mateo hoisted him up face-first and belly-down across the saddle of the confiscated bay. Using a coiled saddle rope to secure Richard, Mateo grabbed the horse’s mecate and swung onto his big horse. Dallying the mecate around his pummel, he led his men and Richard—trussed up, unconscious, and belly-down over the mount—toward the army fort.

“Amigo,” Mateo said to the unconscious Richard, “welcome to the Sonoran rurales.”