ron Goulart - Challengers of the Unknown (5 page)

BOOK: ron Goulart - Challengers of the Unknown
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"Ain't nothing wrong with Juney," Rocky told the president of Ereguay, his big fingers contracting into huge fists.

"A very attractive young woman," smiled Chanza. "But I feel the business of politics, and the political intrigue which goes with it, is business for men only."

"Let it ride, Rock," advised Ace.

While Rocky was defending June's honor, Red and Prof had joined in the sweep of their living room.

"We used to have Easter egg hunts like this at my great-aunt's when I was a boy," said Red.

"So did we," said Prof. "I never found a single egg, though I once turned up a fifth of bourbon my great-uncle had stashed away."

Rocky dropped down on a sofa, causing it to thump. "Them two are a whole lot dopier than June," he said toward Ace. "How come they get to come to this party?"

"Not a party," said the Challenger leader. "Relax."

"Kee-rist," Rocky commented.

Several moments passed, and at last the security men and the two Challengers agreed there were no more surprises in the room. After promising to check out the rest of the house, the security men withdrew, closing the heavy doors.

President Chanza seated himself in a straight-back

chair. "Let me begin by informing you that I know what your real reason for visiting my country is," he said, smiling carefully around at them. "That is, I am aware you are not here simply to aid the attractive Miss Robbins in preparing a magazine story about one of our fabled Ereguayan creatures."

"Wouldn't care to tell us how you came by that information?" said Ace.

Chanza smiled more broadly. "I have ways of learning tilings," he said.

"We really are going to track down your damn monster," said Rocky. "That part's not bull."

Ace said, "Hush up, Rock."

"It is my belief there is more going on in the Lake Sombra region than the rumored reappearance of Zarpa," said the president. "I have long followed your careers, gentlemen. When I was a professor at San James University, long before my dream of helping my country had begun to come true, I followed the accounts of your adventures. You Challengers of the Unknown have dealt with many strange things, have always triumphed. What is equally important, you have remained both modest and honest. This is not always the case with those whose exploits thrust them into celebrity."

"It's part of our deal," said Ace. "We all figure we're living on borrowed time. We've got to put that time to the best use. All of it's pretty simple."

"I have, as you've noticed, a very thorough security detail and a relatively loyal police force," continued President Chanza. "The military ... at the present time they pretend to be more or less on my side. We shall see." He leaned, pressed his hands on his knees,. "Certain things are difficult to follow up, either because I cannot spare the men or because I cannot completely trust those I can spare. Therefore, when I heard of your arrival I was delighted. To me you are a godsend."

"That's not who sent Rocky," murmured Red.

"You have a job you'd like us to handle?" Ace asked the president.

"I do," he answered. "At first glance it may not seem to be anything in your line, yet I am convinced there is a dark, a mysterious side to the matter. If it is not supernatural, it is at least unnatural."

"Details?" invited Ace.

"There is a man I would like you to locate and talk to," said Chanza. "He has information which I am informed he is anxious to unburden himself of. Were things in my country different, I would not impose on you."

"You think," asked Prof, "this chap can tell us something that may tie in with our mission?"

"Perhaps," said the president. "Let me simply say I believe what you may learn from him is important to us. I mean to my country
and
yours. Will you do this thing for me?"

Ace steepled his fingers, eyed the crystal chandelier above his head. "What's his name? Where do we start looking for him?"

"He calls himself Esteban Satara; he supposedly dwells in the
barrio.
Do you know about that unfortunate section of San James?"

"We know," said Prof.

A patchwork city, built of leftovers. Shacks, shanties, huts. Walls made of scrap lumber, rusty tin cans pounded flat, chunks of shipping crates, bits of discarded automobiles. Held together with twisted nails, barbed wire, frayed twine. A disconnected bathtub was leaning against a hut with walls constructed from hammered-out oil drums; an abandoned sink lay with its pipes pointing skyward like the legs of a dead animal. Dirty water went slugging along deep ruts in the weedy ground, collected in lopsided pools. Hollow-eyed children, ragged and crusted with dirt, stood with stick-thin arms folded. Toothless men waited in doorless doorways, old women of thirty were sleepwalking into the chores of the commencing day.

There was still a thin mist hanging over the vast
barrio
sector when Red and Rocky arrived in mid-morning. A few gaunt dogs barked a few times, but soon fell silent.

"Kee-rist," observed Rocky, fists in pockets, "what a way to live." "Not one health food store," said Red.

"Aw, don't be so damn flip about everything. This is serious."

"If I broke down and cried, would it all go away? Would apartment houses bloom out of the garbage?"

"Naw, but I mean—"

"People care in different ways, Rocko." Red halted in a lane that twisted between shacks. A one-armed man was sitting in the dust in front of a hut built mostly of cardboard cartons. The names of American supermarket products still glowed faintly on the walls. "We're looking," said Red in Spanish, "for Paco Martinez."

The sitting man's eyes stayed blank.

Red squatted beside him. "Paco is expecting us," he said. "I'm going to do business with him."

"No affair of mine," said the man.

"Paco tells me everyone in the
barrio
is his friend. That I have but to ask and I'll be guided to him."

"I may be Paco's friend, but I'm not yours." He held out his only hand, palm up.

Red gave him an American dollar. "Where's Paco?"

For a few seconds the man's eyes brightened. After he slipped the bill under his shaggy poncho, his face was dead again. "Straight ahead for a half mile, you'll see a packing box which once held a piano."

"Paco lives near that?"

"Paco lives in that."

Red straightened up, signaled to Rocky and they continued on their way through the shack town.

"A wild-goose chase," said Rocky. "I mean, relying on some stiff you meet in a bar last night."

"Don't knock my expertise, Rock. In the days before I joined the Challengers, I did a great deal of research in the saloons and bistros of the world," Red told him.

"I assure you I know how to find the kind of bar where a guy like Paco Martinez hangs out. In any big city there are bars like that one, and guys like him."

"Con job artists."

"Nope, guys who make it their business to know all kinds of gossip and scuttiebutt. This Paco is a sort of walking almanac of the underground and fringe sections of society. If anybody can locate this Satara the president tipped us to, it'll be Paco."

"A stool pigeon; that's even worse than, a bunco artist."

"Give me money."

"Huh?" Rocky gazed around, then down.

A small, still relatively chubby little girl of six was walking beside him. "Money. Like you give Romero."

Rocky stooped, saying, "You're a cute little squirt Don't you know it ain't polite to ask for dough?"

"Money," repeated the little girl.

"Sure, okay." Rocky's enormous fist emerged from his pocket. He dropped several coins into the dirt-smeared little hand. "That's local dough; got some this morning at a bank."

The little fingers snapped over the money; the child scooted away.

"Somebody ought to fix things so kids don't have to beg," said Rocky. "Kee-rist, she didn't even have no shoes."

Red nodded at a shack on their right. "This must be the place." _

A piano crate was the basis of the hut. It had been expanded by the addition of sheets of warped plywood. From out of the structure stepped a small man in a spotless white suit. He was fixing a red carnation to his lapel. "Good morning,
senor,"
he said to Red.

"Morning. Any luck?"

"I always get my man," replied Paco. "I saw a policeman in a United States film say that once. He wore a red coat and a strange hat."

"Satara is living in the
barrioF'

"Only scant minutes away," the Ereguayan said. "If you will produce, and discreetly pass over to me, the remainder of my fee, I'll lead you to him at once."

Red grinned at him. "Your whole and entire fee was paid to you last night, Paco."

"Ah, no,
senor.
Apparently you misunderstood. That was my hiring fee merely," explained Paco. "Today you must reimburse me for my actual labors, which will come to twenty dollars American. Shall I draw you up an itemized bill?"

"Not necessary." Red slipped him two tens. "Now lead on."

"Stickup artist," muttered Rocky as they moved farther into the vast, sprawling shack town which bordered the city of San James.

"Our subject is a very interesting man," said Paco. "Well-educated, if I am any judge, and with considerable more experience in the great world than the average resident of this miserable slum. I would venture he's fallen from some higher station in life."

"You don't know anything about his background?" asked Red.

"Little beyond what I have surmised. He is almost certainly a university man. For an additional fee I will gladly—"

"We'll talk to him first."

"Very well," agreed Paco. "We shall do that in another moment, for there is the shack in which Satara resides."

The hut was built mostly of scrap wood, with a roof made of halved oil drums.

"Good, I'd like—"

Boom!

Kaboom!

"Flat out, Rocky!"

"I'm ahead of you!"

The shack was coming apart. The roof rose straight up, the walls flew out sideways. There had been a yellow flash and now there was an abundance of gritty gray smoke. The fragments of Satara's shack came tumbling down again, smoke went swirling up, the twisted heap of wreckage started burning.

Shouting, screaming, cries of surprise and fear.

"Go easy, buddy," Rocky cautioned, getting to his feet and dusting his bulk off.

Red sprinted ahead. "Satara?" he called.

A black shape was crawling out of the burning scraps. A black shape haloed with flame.

Red pulled the burning man clear, whipped off his own jacket to smother the flames.

The man's skin was blistered, cracked. His eyebrows were now only smears of soot, his hair scattered tufts of crinkling black. "His name . . . new name," he said in a croak of a voice,". . . new name . . . Escabar . . . Escabar ... in Tierra Seca . . . Fortaleza . . . Escabar knows . . ." He stopped. Stopped talking, stopped living.

Red rose away from the dead man, after spreading his jacket over the face and torso.

"Was that poor guy Satara?" asked Rocky.

Paco shivered. "I don't like to see people die. It's very unpleasant. Horrible, terrible . . . What was it you asked me,
senor?'

"Is that Satara?"

"Very difficult to tell, he's so horribly . . . No, I don't want to dwell on this. I shall return to my home."

He turned away, was caught by Rocky. "Well, yes, I believe it is Satara, from what I've seen of him."

Several of the nearby residents had come running with water, in buckets and dippers. The fire was gone. An old woman in a black shawl was standing close to the dead man, ticking black rosary beads through gnarled fingers.

Red circled the black remains of Satara's hut. "Nothing left in there," he said to the approaching Rocky. "Nobody else was with him. When it cools off a bit, we'll look for the remains of whatever it was caused the explosion."

"Will the local cops like us doing that?"

"I doubt," said Red, "they do much investigating hereabouts."

"This whole mess keeps getting spookier," observed Rocky. "I mean, we're coming to see this poor bastard and he ups and has an accident, too."

"More thorough accident than ours," said Red. "They didn't want him to talk to us."

"Nobody knew we was heading here, except the president and . . ." He spun, noticing Paco was no longer there.

"We'll talk to Paco again for sure," said Red. "I suppose it's possible he set this up, or tipped someone."

"You don't sound like you believe that."

"I don't," admitted Red.

Rocky glanced over at the blackened body. "He was mumbling something to you. Didn't make any sense, did it?"

"But it did," answered Red.

BOOK: ron Goulart - Challengers of the Unknown
9.24Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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