Chapter Text
30 JUNE 1941 – TUXTLA, ACULPEC
The clock on the old mission church was just striking the hour as a man rounded the corner into the plaza at the centre of Tuxtla. A man with a push-cart who was sweeping out the gutters looked at him as though he were mad. Or, at least, as though he were yanqui; sometimes the locals didn’t see a difference.
Jack Carson slowed to a halt as he reached the steps in front of the church. Five miles, more or less, just over twenty-seven minutes. Pretty good, he thought, and he didn’t feel like he’d been pushing himself all that hard. Just after eight; hunt up some breakfast first, and then he’d head out to the airfield. Gertrude could be temperamental if she were left by herself too long. The plane and the girl he’d named her after were much alike that way.
He’d been in Tuxtla long enough to find out that Casa de Vitor did a very reliable steak and eggs breakfast, and a good dose of protein would set him up right for the day. He carefully flexed some muscles in his arms as he walked across the square; much as he prided himself on his ability to sleep anywhere almost at will, the local hoosegow hadn’t been the most comfortable of accommodations, and he was still feeling it a little even four days later.
Carson was a little surprised that he wasn’t the only patron this early in the day. At one of the tables closer to the entry was another blanco. He was frowning slightly and scribbling something in a notepad. Modest height; he looked fairly young, but the hair seemed to add years to him. The fellow was going grey very early – unless it was dyed – and swept back from a widow’s peak in an odd-looking pompadour style, almost like a bird’s wings. Carson found a smile. It’d be just plain impolite not to join the fellow, if he were open to company this early in the day.
“Morning, friend. Mind if I join you?”
The other man looked up – evidently seeing Carson for the first time. “Oh. Oh, yes, by all means.” The expression didn’t quite match the words, but the deal was done now.
“Thanks. A good run always works up an appetite.” Carson grinned. “Jack Carson’s the name. Have plane, will travel, go anywhere, do anything. Almost.”
“My pleasure.” But the man sounded wary even so. “Simon Stagg, at your disposal. My field is oil – at least at the moment; things look a little unsettled right now.” He took a sip of his coffee – plain black; Carson approved.
“This is central America, Mr. Stagg. Unsettlement is kind of the name of the game in these parts. I take it you’re usually up country? I gather the strikes were up north.”
Stagg nodded. “You’re very well-informed, Mr. Carson. A place called Salto de Agua. Lovely name – ‘waterfall’ – but you know what they say about oil and water.”
“I’ve seen boom towns a time or two.”
“You have a plane, you said?” Stagg asked. At Carson’s nod, he nodded. “Then perhaps fortune smiles on me a little. I was let down over a deal to ship supplies back to Salto. These thieves don’t have the decency to stay bought.”
“Well, Gertrude ain’t much, but she’s all mine, she’s strong as an ox, and we can get you wherever you need to be.” Carson raised a hand. “It’s okay, we can dicker on price later. I’m not going to gouge a fellow American. In pestholes like this we have to stick together. Your gear’s at the airport?”
“It is. There isn’t a lot of it. Food supplies, some medicines, some chemical containers. I’m doing some research work alongside the strictly petrochemical matters. Little enough of it that the two of us can load it in – oh, a half-hour or so at most.”
“Sounds good,” said Carson as Stagg closed his notebook and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. As he looked around for the waiter to make his breakfast order, he saw a young woman approaching the café. She looked haunted, almost terrified, as she walked along the sidewalk, her eyes flicking from side to side as though she were searching for someone.
In the next moment, she locked gazes with Carson, and she started to run towards the two Americans as though the hounds of Hell themselves were on her tail. As she got closer she almost squealed, “Mi amor! Mi cariño!” and practically threw herself into Carson’s lap, raining kisses on him.
Stagg chuckled, and leaned back in his chair. “By gad, sir! Some men just have all the luck in the world!”
Carson was self-aware enough to know that he was a good-looking man, as men went; he didn’t have much trouble attracting female attention, and to an extent he took that as his due. But this made no sense. “Please, señorita, you must have mistaken me for.,.”
“Just play along,” she hissed in his ear. “The Guardsmen are after me. Let me know when they’ve gone.” Carson looked over her shoulder; there were indeed two men in White Guard uniforms there, looking around for someone. He pulled the woman closer to him, let her bury her head on his shoulder. A casual hand on the neat rump and a gentle squeeze would give the picture more of a veneer of truth. The lady’s surprised squeak just sealed the deal.
Stagg took being cast as Carson’s impromptu wingman perfectly in stride, raising his coffee cup in salute as the Guardsmen gave up the search and hustled themselves away. “They’re gone,” he said. “You can come up for air now, my dear.”
“Thank you.” She extricated herself from Carson’s grasp and sat down alongside him. “I thank you both so much, gentlemen. I had to find some way of shaking them.”
“Absolutely my pleasure,” said Carson with a broad grin. “After all that, I should introduce myself. Jack Carson’s the name. Some people call me Clip. My friend here is Simon Stagg.”
The woman shook briefly, the adrenaline rush wearing off at a guess. “I am Corinna Camasso. I’ve been trying to get clear of the Guard for two days now.”
“Camasso?” Stagg sounded surprised. “As in Esteban Camasso, lately the president?”
“My father. And the reason why I’m being hunted like a fox.” Camasso slumped a little forward. “I’ve been working these last months organizing resistance to the usurper Pirano, and trying to establish where Papa is being held and figure out how to get him out.” She frowned. “Somebody… they…”
“Somebody ratted you out?” Carson finished for her.
“Probably. Don’t know who.”
“Which makes Tuxtla a little too hot for you right now. But I may be able to help you there. Mr. Stagg and I are just about ready to head up country to the oil fields. That’d get you out of the White Guard’s cross-hairs. You’re welcome to come with us. Just as soon as we eat. I’m ravenous, and I’m guessing you won’t have eaten much or that regular if you’re on the run, so it’s on me.”