The Consummata Read Free Page A

us.”
    Well, Sherlock Holmes had his Baker Street Irregulars. Now Morgan the Raider had his own little Cuban pirates to thank.
    I shook my head. “How in the hell do I find a way to say gracias , Pedro? For what you and your people have done?”
    That shrug again. “There is no need. You may thank us by not being caught, and by remaining an inspiration to a beaten-down people...and perhaps to keep in your mind that there are such people, and that they need you.”
    “They can look up to me if they like. There’s no accounting for taste. But there isn’t much chance of me helping anybody out. A guy in a hole has enough trouble digging himself out.”
    “But, señor , people in the premature grave, they...what is the expression? Perhaps they should stick together. It is a thought, no?”
    Now it was my turn to shrug. “If it pleases you.”
    He stared at me a long moment, then said, “Tell me, Señor Morgan, is it true you stole forty million dollars from your government, and have it hidden in some safe place?”
    I chuckled. “That would buy a nice little invasion army, wouldn’t it, Pedro?”
    He laughed, too, shook his head, and finally sipped his own beer. “A very nice army, possibly even a successful one...but we are content to raise our own funds through our own efforts.”
    “If you’re not asking for a handout, from that forty mil, why do you bring it up?”
    “I am a curious man, señor .”
    Apparently he hadn’t heard about the cat.
    “Sorry, Pedro, I hate to disappoint you. It’s true the... militia...thinks I pulled that job. But I never did. Hope it doesn’t spoil my image, buddy.”
    His teeth gleamed brightly under his mustache. “I wouldn’t have believed you, señor , if you told me that you did do this thing.”
    “Why not?”
    “ Señor ...surely you know the stories about you, they say you are the robbing hood.”
    I almost choked on my beer. “Yeah. I’m a robbin’ hood, all right. I never took any spoils from anybody who didn’t have it coming. Criminals, bad people in general with money and jewels and other goodies that they didn’t earn or deserve...I took it from them.”
    “And gave to the poor, señor ?”
    “Well...sort of. At first, I was poor, remember. But no,Pedro, I’m no saint. I’m the raider they say I am. I just don’t knock over solid citizens, much less Uncle Whiskers.”
    “Uncle...?”
    “Uncle Sugar. Uncle Sam?”
    “Ah!” He pointed at me. “He wants you!”
    “Doesn’t he, though.”
    He stood. “We will serve you a meal now, señor , if you will so honor us.”
    “That growling you hear is my stomach thanking you in advance.”
    I got up and stuck my hand out and he shook it. Stood there just looking down at this little guy who was, as far as I was concerned, seven feet tall.
    “After we eat, Señor Morgan, we must prepare you for your departure. The militia are still about, so you will remain here until we are sure it is safe for you to leave.”
    “You’re sticking your neck out pretty far.”
    “That is not a new experience, señor ,” he said with his smile turned sideways. “Your accommodations will not be lavish, I am sorry to say—simply a secret space off the bedroom of my wife and me...but quite safe. They have already searched there twice and have not found it. And it will be more spacious than your other hiding place.”
    That wouldn’t be tough.
    “Mind answering me something, Pedro?”
    “Most certainly.”
    “Why the necessity for all these hiding places?”
    For a moment he said nothing—he had his own secrets.
    But then he shrugged again. “We, too, are fighting anenemy. We are not pursued, and yet, in our way, we are fugitives.”
    I nodded. “Chased from your homes.”
    “Our homeland has been ravaged, our properties confiscated, friends and relatives executed. Even in this country, the enemy has ways of getting to those it considers a threat. At such times, señor , a hiding place is most necessary. The