The Butcher Beyond (18 page)

‘You asked me to report to you if I had discovered anything interesting, my Captain.'

‘And have you?'

Alonso hesitated, as if there were two things he could say, and he had not yet decided which one to choose. ‘I might have something interesting,' he said finally. ‘It all depends.'

‘It all depends! On what?'

‘On what's in it for me.'

López felt a mixture of rage and hope bubbling up inside him – rage that a mere constable should even think of trying to strong-arm him; hope that maybe what Alonso had learned would be well worth whatever it cost.

‘If you have found out anything of use to me, I will see that you are amply rewarded for it,' he said cautiously.

Alonso rubbed his hands together. ‘Oh, it will be of use, my Captain,' he said confidently. ‘I've uncovered a deep, dark secret. And that kind of secret, if handled properly, can be worth a small fortune.'

‘Then tell me what it is, you
hijo de puta
!' López said, thinking, even as he spoke, that his words sounded more like a plea of a desperate man than an order from a captain in the Guardia Civil.

Alonso quickly outlined what he had learned. ‘Well?' he asked when he had finished.

‘It might possibly be of use,' López said. ‘On the other hand, it could lead to nothing.'

But he was finding it almost impossible to keep the excitement out of his voice. Only minutes earlier, he had been worried about landing in the shit. Now the prospect no longer bothered him, because he had just learned that at the bottom of the shit heap was the entrance to a gold mine.

M
itchell looked around the room at the others. Dupont and Sutcliffe were sitting on his bed, and Schneider on the only chair. Roberts was leaning against the wall in the corner.

Mitchell would have liked to sit down himself. Hell, he'd have liked to
lie
down. But he couldn't, because he had to show the others that he was stronger than he looked.

No, he corrected himself – he had to
fool them into thinking
that he was stronger than he looked.

Because the truth was, he wasn't strong at all. The truth was that however hard he fought it, the illness that was eating away at his body was also sapping away what little strength he had left.

It was strange to be Ham-'n'-Eggs again, after all these years. He wondered how the others now regarded their old names.

Did Sutcliffe still think of himself as Moses? It was more than likely, from the way he talked.

Did Schneider ever look in the mirror and see Magic Fingers staring back at him? Did he even
play
the accordion any more?

And what about Dupont? The Catalan socialists had called him Whistling Death, because nobody they had ever met before could handle a throwing knife like he could. Was it a name he still felt comfortable with? Did he feel proud when he thought of it?

And finally there was Roberts. The Gambler. He'd bet on anything – from the turn of a single card to how long it would be before the sun emerged from behind the clouds. He'd
risk
anything – his last peseta,
his own life
– without a second's thought. Roberts's recklessness had landed them in danger more than once, but it had also saved them from certain death in several tight spots. They all owed Roberts, and they knew it, but the only debts he'd ever attempted to collect from any of them had been
gambling
debts.

Mitchell cleared his throat. ‘The reason that I've called this meeting—' he began.

‘
You've
called this meeting?' Roberts said, with an amused smile playing on his lips. ‘Who died and made you leader?'

‘Pete Medwin did,' Mitchell said.

Pete Medwin really
had been
their leader. He'd been a funny little man who, even in his twenties, had been starting to lose his hair – but they'd have followed him anywhere.

Roberts looked uncharacteristically stricken by the reminder. ‘Yes, of course,' he said. ‘I'm sorry … I didn't mean to … It's just so hard to think of Pete Medwin as really …'

‘It's all right,' Mitchell assured him. ‘If you'd like somebody else to take charge instead of me …'

Roberts shook his head. ‘No. You're the obvious choice. You're the one Pete would have chosen himself.'

The others nodded.

‘This is going to be a bit like the old days,' Mitchell said. ‘There are two things we need to do. The first is to assess our current situation. The second is to decide how that assessment will affect our plans. Firstly, our current situation. What do López and Woodend actually
know
?'

‘They know, despite our protestations, that we are not strangers to one another,' Dupont said, speaking in Spanish – the only language they had all once shared with any degree of facility. ‘They know we are bound together by ties which are stronger than steel.'

‘Do you think they know about the Brigade?' Schneider asked.

Dupont shook his head. ‘Not yet. But it is only a matter of time before they do.'

‘What else?' Mitchell asked.

‘They may suspect that we are not who we claim to be, but they have no idea of our real identities,' Schneider said.

‘And since they do only
suspect
, that must mean that they do not yet
know
that our passports are forgeries,' Dupont pointed out.

‘How can you be sure of that?'

‘Because using fake travel documents is a crime in itself, and we are not yet in gaol.'

‘But again, it is only a matter of time before they find out,' Schneider said.

‘Which is why we must take a decision
now
about our future plans,' Mitchell told his comrades. ‘We came here as representatives of the group who survived the massacre on the beach. We had a mission – to try Durán for his crimes and, if we found him guilty, to execute him. We are now faced with two choices. We can leave like curs – with our tails between our legs – or we can go ahead with the operation as planned. Which is it to be?'

‘I vote we leave,' Roberts said.

Mitchell was stunned. He had expected some opposition – but not from Roberts. Never from Roberts.

‘I can't believe what I've just heard,' he said. ‘Your whole life's been a gamble. Why won't you take a little gamble now?'

Roberts smiled again, though perhaps a little sadly this time. ‘There are two kinds of gamblers,' he said. ‘There's the one who relies on blind chance – on random happenings. He will bet on the first bird to leave the tree, because neither he nor the man he is betting against has any real idea which bird it will be. Then there's the other kind – the one who will hold back until he's done his research. When he bets against a man in poker, it's because he knows how that man thinks. When he puts his money on a horse, it's because he has studied its form.'

‘And which one are you?' Mitchell asked.

‘I have been both in my time,' Roberts said. ‘You all know that.'

‘Well, then?'

‘Both kinds of gamblers would tell you what I'm about to tell you now. We can't rely on blind chance, because our opponent has foreknowledge. Durán knows we are here – Pete Medwin's death is all the proof we need of that. And if we weigh up the odds, what do we find? Durán probably has a private army he can use against us if he needs to. But he probably won't even have to – because he has all the apparatus of the state on his side. The pack is stacked against us, my friends. The odds against us succeeding are astronomical.'

‘What do you think, Magic Fingers?' Mitchell asked – using the old name deliberately, to try to conjure up the old spirit.

‘We came here because of crimes left unpunished,' the German said. ‘We came to see justice done. And now there is more blood on Durán's hands than there ever was. Are we to let him get away with that? Is that the lesson we are to leave him with? That the mistake is not to murder – it is not to murder
enough
?'

‘So you'll stay?'

‘I will stay.'

‘Dupont?'

‘Me, also.'

‘Sutcliffe?'

‘For the Lord my God is a mighty God!' Sutcliffe said. ‘He will not be mocked, nor will He be denied!'

Mitchell coughed awkwardly. ‘Does that mean that you're with us?' he asked.

‘I am with you. For am I not His right hand – the sword with which He will wreak His revenge?'

Mitchell breathed a small sigh of relief. ‘Then it's still possible,' he said. ‘With four of us, it's still possible.' He turned to Roberts. ‘Perhaps you're right, old friend. Perhaps our enterprise is doomed, as you calculate. You may be the only wise one amongst us.' He gestured towards the door. ‘Leave now. There's no one here who will hold it against you.'

Roberts's smile had turned wistful. ‘I remember a visit I made to a dog track, years ago,' he said. ‘I was desperate for money, and if I lost my stake that night, I would have nothing. But there was no reason why I should lose, you see.'

‘Why not?' Mitchell asked.

‘Because I knew in advance that the race was fixed, and a certain dog was going to win. Then, as I was standing there in the paddock, I saw this other dog being led round. He was smaller than the rest, and even at a distance I could see he didn't have the right build to ever become a true champion. Even if the race hadn't been nobbled, he wouldn't have won. But I could tell, just by looking at him, that once the traps were open, he would put his heart and soul on running as fast he could. I placed all my money on him.'

‘And you won – against all the odds?' Dupont asked.

Roberts laughed. ‘What a romantic fool you can be, sometimes,' he said. ‘No, of course I didn't win. I lost – just as I'd expected to.'

‘Then I do not see …'

‘But I felt better for having bet on that dog – for backing his spirit with my cash. And now I look at you four. You won't win the race – but when you lose, I want to be there supporting you.'

They slapped him on the back. They told him he was the bravest of the whole bunch of them. It was a good feeling they had, sitting around in that small hotel room. It was almost like being back in the old days.

T
he
Alcalde
knew that something had gone seriously wrong the moment López entered his office. There was a swagger in the way the man walked – a look of insolence in his eyes. Only that morning, the Captain would have got down on his knees and licked the boots of the future Provincial Governor if he had deemed that to be necessary in order to get on. Now there was no evidence at all of his former subservient attitude. Now he looked very much as if he thought he was the man in charge.

López strode over to the visitor's chair, and sat down on it without being invited to.

A bad sign, the Mayor thought. A very bad sign.

‘I think you forget yourself, Captain López,' he said aloud.

‘And I'm sure there are a lot of things
you'd
rather forget, Your Excellency,' the Captain replied. ‘It is a strange system which governs us, is it not? The Generalissimo is reputed not to take bribes himself – why should he, when he can have all he needs simply for the asking? – but he is not averse to others doing so. Government ministers accept millions of
duros
worth of such “gifts”. I myself can be bought for a few hundred. You, I would think – as someone who is less important than a minister, but more important than a humble police captain – fall somewhere in between.'

‘This is outrageous!' Durán said, though his heart was sinking too fast for him to be able to infuse the comment with any real anger.

‘Most people would never dare to order a captain in the Guardia Civil out of their houses,' López said, ‘but you are the
Alcalde
, and you have the power to get away with it. So if you're as outraged as you claim, why
don't
you tell me to go? Better yet, why don't you have me
thrown
out?'

Durán felt a chill run through his corpulent body. ‘I will hear what you have to say,' he told López.

‘The point about the corruption in our country is that it is
permitted
corruption,' López continued. ‘The
Caudillo
does not sanction every bribe that a captain takes, but he
knows
that we do take bribes, and he does not mind. But Franco is still a soldier down to his bootstraps, and disobeying orders is the worst crime he can conceive of. His men raped in the war – but only when he said it was all right for them to rape. His men stole in the war – but only with his approval.'

‘Get to the point,' Durán said.

But López was enjoying himself too much to do that quite yet. ‘This morning, you were visited by a Francisco Ruiz,' he said.

‘You have been watching my house?' Durán demanded.

‘That much is obvious. How else could I have known that the man came to see you? But to continue. Ruiz was a homicide detective before the war. Now he makes a sort of living as a private detective for the poor and downtrodden. You are neither poor
nor
downtrodden, so what did he come to see
you
about?'

‘That is none of your bloody business!' the
Alcalde
protested.

‘But it is,' López contradicted him. ‘You made it my business – you made
everything
you do my business – when you started telling me how I should conduct my murder inquiry.'

‘The course of action I suggested was for your own good,' Durán said weakly.

‘The course of action you
ordered
was for nobody's benefit but your own, Your Excellency. But in the light of my recent discoveries, none of that really matters any more.'