The Reinvention Of Rudd Carter. A Western Action Adventure Novel (2 page)

The late afternoon heat was almost unbearable as the evaporation coolers and overhead fans struggled to keep the air circulating in the stagnant barroom. Only the scores of flies hovering above seemed to be thriving as they rode the currents of air created by the fans, like squadrons of World War I fighter planes, landing first on one table and then the next.

Beads of sweat formed on Rudd’s forehead. He thirsted for a cold beer, but he held back from ordering until these three men let him know just what part they wanted him to play in their desert revolution. They hadn’t ordered anything, or taken their eyes off him since he’d sat down. Out of instinct, he displayed his most professional poker face, not wanting them to see his reaction to anything they were saying until he was ready.
You are schemers and manipulators who rely on men of action, like me, to do the unpleasant things, the violent things, to accomplish your aims. I have known men of your ilk only too well. I have dealt with and worked for your kind all over the world. Up until now, you’ve just been sniffing the air, feeling me out, trying to get a sense of me. Now the real dance begins. Pay attention.

“I was in El Paso in nineteen-eleven when you and your El Squadron Del Diablo ran General Navarro’s troops out of Juarez in a rout,” Ben said. “It was very impressive. The newspapers wouldn’t stop writing about it for a week. The people of Juarez treated you as conquering heroes.”

“That’s right.” Rudd grimaced. “The El Paso newspapers made a lot more out of the whole event than it really was, and that El Squadron Del Diablo handle they gave us… I still don’t know where that came from.”

“As I remember,” Ben said, “it was Francisco Madero’s revolution to oust President Porfirio Diaz. Madero had Pancho Villa and Pasqual Orozco under his command. He knew they could get the job done, but not without a lot of people dying. Madero’s people wanted a quick, overwhelming, knockout blow that would scare the hell out of the federal troops under General Navarro and force President Diaz to resign. They hired you to come into the campaign with fifty of the meanest, most bloodthirsty mercenary killers in the world. They came up with that name, El Squadron Del Diablo and circulated fliers all over Juarez for two weeks before you actually went in.”

Rudd chuckled. “They did scare the hell out of everyone in Juarez with those fliers. When we went in, there was hardly any resistance at all. I still can’t believe the battle was as easy as it was. Of course, it didn’t hurt that we had Villa and Orozco’s men right behind us. There were few casualties on our side, just some superficial flesh wounds. They had told us that there was a well-armed garrison with a large number of troops. When it was all over, I counted thirty dead and about a hundred-twenty wounded, which we helped the locals get to the hospitals. We took around one hundred prisoners.” Rudd stopped and shook his head. “And then I got a memo from the great man himself, Villa, suggesting that I execute all the prisoners. What I did was let them go, on the promise that they would join the rebel army.” He shrugged. “They probably all went home. I hope so. We weren’t sent in there to satisfy some bloodlust of Pancho Villa’s. I don’t care how popular he became later on.”

Ben nodded in approval. “The way you handled the fighting, the wounded and the prisoners, along with that Diablo moniker, made you and your men heroes to the people of Chihuahua.”

“I appreciate your remarks, Ben, but that was eleven years ago. What’s that got to do with why we’re here today?” asked Rudd.

Dropping his glasses down on his nose, Ben eyed Rudd and smiled sincerely for the first time. With his characteristic nasal laugh, he nodded his head. “In spite of the incredible reputation that precedes you, you are indeed a humble man, Mr. Carter—maybe the first I have ever encountered.”

Up until this last statement, Rudd thought of the entire conversation as simple flattery intended to soften him into being receptive to the proposals he was about to hear.
Maybe the old man has a heart after all, or maybe not
. He focused his gaze directly on Ben. “Right at the moment, I sense that El Squadron Del Diablo is about to be resurrected as part of the taking of Mexicali for the first and perhaps only battle of this so-called revolt.”

There followed an awkward moment of silence, and then Hoff spoke. “What we have in mind for you and your men is a short and decisive battle about fifty miles outside of Mexicali, in the desert, away from any civilian population. Bill has been in contact with our friends in Hermosillo who are in charge of the Federale army garrison there. Bill, will you explain to Rudd what you’ve been planning with our people in Hermosillo?”

“For years,” Crawford began, “we have been inviting people from all over Northwestern Mexico to visit our casinos, cantinas, restaurants, and hotels. People who we deem valuable to our cause, that is. And by the way,” he said, flashing a sinister smile, “our establishments are stocked with the most beautiful young Asian and Latin American women money can buy. The courtesy cards to our entertainment establishments in Mexicali, Tijuana and Ensenada, as you are about to discover for yourself, include food, drinks, women, and rooms. Everything is complimentary, except the gambling. To our preferred guests, we extend very generous credit at the gaming tables. The result over the last few years is that the gambling debt owed to us by the Army officer staff and government officials in Northwestern Mexico is staggering. We don’t press for payment on gambling debts. We do, however, ask for favors when we need them… favors that go toward eradicating the debts.”

“What Bill is saying is that we are owed a whole lot of money by everyone who is anyone within four or five hundred miles south of the border,” Ben continued with a laugh as if he had just won a poker hand. “We want you to hire fifty of the same kind of fighting men you had in Juarez. And yes, you’re right, we want you to recreate the equivalent of El Squadron Del Diablo—without the name, of course—right here in Mexicali. Only you’re not going to attack Mexicali, you’re going to defend it, about fifty miles out in the desert where no one will really know what happened until we release our version, the version we want everyone in Mexico to believe.”

Ben took a long drag on his cigar and slowly exhaled with an amused expression on his face, as if he were about to deliver the punch line to an obscene joke. “Heh, heh,” he cackled, his nasal attempt at a laugh. “Well, do we have your attention yet? Shall we continue, or have you had enough?”

Nodding and smiling cautiously, Rudd said, “By all means, I want to hear how this plays out, especially who we will be fighting and where in the desert this battle will be taking place.”

“Like we said at the beginning of this conversation,” Ben continued, “we have been making plans for over three years and have been receiving very good tactical advice from our friends in the Mexican military. General Ortega, our man in Hermosillo, the very man who will be ordering five hundred soldiers to Mexicali by railroad to intercept your rebel attack on the city, is the brains behind this plan.”

Hoff started to say something, but Rudd interrupted him by holding up his hand.

He pulled his lips across his teeth in a grimace. “Give me a moment to mull this over, gentlemen. I think I’m beginning to get a clear picture of what it is you want to happen here.” Eyeing each man around the table, the corners of his mouth formed a smile, his best
I know what you’re up to
smile. He nodded his head slowly, hoping to create the illusion of wisdom. “You want me to fire the first shots of the next phase of the Mexican Revolution,” he said. “I can only guess who you really have behind you at the top. The nineteen ten Mexican Revolution has been promoted as Francisco Madero’s revolution. Problem is, every time a major Mexican leader is assassinated and a new leader comes forth, it becomes the next phase of the revolution. How many have there been since Porfirio Diaz resigned in nineteen eleven? Three? Four? Five? This will be the next phase of the ongoing Mexican Revolution, however you care to view it.” Fixing his gaze on each man, he said, “Your task is to convince me that it will be worth my while to become involved in what could turn out to be a big bloody mess.”

Rudd could see that his frankness had stunned the three men. They sat in silence without expression.

“Very good, Mr. Carter, very good, indeed.” Ben broke the silence with his cackle and a wide grin as he applauded lightly with both hands extended in front of him. “I’ve heard from reliable sources that you are very intelligent as well as experienced, and you’re not to be trifled with. I think you have just proved to us that you are indeed the man we want with us in our little endeavor. And you are absolutely right,” he said with a smile, “our task is to convince you that we can make it more than worth your while to come along with us on what could be the most profitable venture of your life.” Ben removed the hat from his knee and placed it on his head. “I know you’re hot, tired and entirely exhausted, so I think we should adjourn this meeting until dinner at eight this evening in the dining room. I’ll have Len show you to your room in the hotel, and we can continue with our discussion later on.” He rose to his feet, nodded politely and said, “Gentlemen.” Turning, he walked to the bar.

Rudd noted that Ben, although apparently having lived many years in the Southwest, carried himself with the air of an old Southern gentleman.

You bear keeping an eye on, old man.

Later That Evening

As Rudd shaved and bathed in preparation for dinner, he ran the afternoon’s conversation through his mind.
Don Hoff and Bill Crawford are intelligent, informed men who are obviously important to the operation we’re discussing, but after all is said and done, it’s really Ben Mosier’s project. He’s the man in charge. All others are advisors, including myself. Ben is the Commander-in-Chief, and all involved will do well to never forget that fact. So far, there has been no mention of compensation. I wonder exactly what they think my services are worth.
Pulling on his boots, Rudd went downstairs for another go-around with Ben Mosier and his two cohorts.

Rudd entered the restaurant from the cantina, and was astonished by the eastern elegance of the room. In place of the traditional red Mexican tile, the floors were covered with plush, thick, tight nap, dark blue carpeting. The dining tables were sheathed in white linen, and the chairs were imitation Louis the XIV with light blue upholstered backs and seats. Young Mexican waiters, dressed in tuxedos, buzzed about the room.

A lovely young hostess in a chic black evening dress approached him.
Ben’s giving his high rollers some class for their money, how nice!
“I’m Rudd Carter, a guest of Ben Mosier,” he said to her.

“Welcome to the Viennese dining room, Mr. Carter,” she said with barely a trace of an accent before leading him to Ben’s table. “The waiter will be right with you, Mr. Carter.” She smiled sweetly and left.

It was 7:30, and he realized that he was thirty minutes early. He decided to have a drink, get comfortable with the environment, and prepare himself for whatever came next.

The promised waiter arrived, and Rudd ordered a whiskey and water. The moment the waiter left his table, a tall, thin, auburn-haired woman entered the dining room from the cantina. Dressed in a white long-sleeve blouse and an ankle-length black skirt, she wore black low-heeled shoes and carried a violin case. She proceeded to a small stage in the center of the back of the room. Rudd watched as she seated herself in front of a music stand and began to remove her violin from its case.

With wide-set hazel eyes, a straight narrow nose, and a flawless ivory complexion, she was the most attractive woman Rudd could recall seeing in years. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She reminded him of someone—someone in the distant past, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it at the moment. Completely mesmerized by the vision of this lovely, graceful, young woman as she moved about the stage putting things in order in preparation for the evening’s entertainment, he continued to watch her.

He sipped his drink for the next few minutes, experiencing feelings he hadn’t felt for many years. He felt like a schoolboy; of course, she reminded him of Elizabeth, his first great love. Elizabeth, who until a few moments ago was not even a memory, had been suddenly dredged up from his subconscious.
Elizabeth… another life, another time best forgotten. Thirty years of buried feelings of ecstasy and pain brought back because of this vision of a lovely young woman on a small stage in a restaurant in a dirty little town in Mexico.

Soon, the other members of the music ensemble arrived. The pianist, another attractive woman he guessed to be in her late thirties, was dressed in the same manner as the first woman. She stepped onto the stage and sat at the piano. She placed her music on the rack of the solid oak upright grand piano, while carrying on a lively conversation with the violinist. They were two American women, not often seen south of the border, working in a restaurant adjoining a Mexican bordello.

The drummer, a young man probably in his twenties, followed by the trumpet player, a handsome man looking to be in his early forties who seemed to be paying a lot of attention to the pianist. Both the drummer and the trumpet player wore tuxedos with black bow ties.

Rudd’s hosts entered the room just as the trumpet and the violin players were tuning with the piano before playing the first selection of the evening. Rudd stood and received each one with a handshake, and they seated themselves.

“I see you’ve already spotted the young lady with the violin,” Ben said. “She’s a real American beauty, isn’t she?”

“I’ll say,” Rudd said, his eyes riveted to the stage.

“She’s caused quite a stir since she’s been here. The problem is, she carries herself with such an air that she seems unapproachable, at least to me,” Ben said with a chuckle.

At that moment the music began, something light and classical. Rudd returned his attention to the stage.
I’m not afraid to approach her. I can’t wait for the opportunity.