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Authors: Kerry Newcomb

BOOK: The Red Ripper
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One brief moment …
Then the vision continued on her way down a path that led through a narrow gate and into a more secluded side courtyard. The world wagged on, leaving William Wallace to catch his breath.
“She's a fair one,” a voice drawled from a few yards away. A sandy-haired
norte americano
ambled over to the big man. “Her name is Esperanza Saldevar.” He could tell Wallace did not understand. “It is said she has the gift of sight beyond seeing. I don't know about that being a good Christian soul, but the Texicans up north swear by her. They call her Ella anda en las sombra. ‘She walks in shadows.'”
William was surprised to find another Southerner from the States. The reference to Texas fueled his curiosity, awakened painful memories. “I thought I would be the only gringo here,” Wallace replied, finding something oddly familiar about the stranger.
The newcomer chuckled. He made his way through the dust and sunlight with a glass of wine in one hand and tucked a scrolled map under his arm as he held out his hand. “Stephen Austin of—”
“New Orleans,” William finished, recognizing the name.
“Texas … now,” Austin corrected, glancing up at the
americano
towering over him. “Formerly of New Orleans. Do I know you?”
“My brother was a lawyer and used to share a drink with you from time to time. That's how I heard how you were setting up a colony in Texas. Samuel and I had a similar dream.”
“That's it! Samuel Wallace. And you're his brother—Will, isn't it? I thought I placed you,” Austin remarked, a friendly grin reflecting his easygoing nature. “A long drink of water your size is hard to forget. William Wallace.” Austin glanced around. “And how is ol' Sam? Is he here with you?”
“He's dead,” William bluntly replied. Austin's expression grew stern as he listened to the big man's brief account of his brother's murder.
“Juan Diego Guadiz and his sister, Paloma,” Austin
repeated with a wag of his head. “I don't doubt it. All the way down from Mexico City I had the feeling those two could not be trusted.”
“You have seen them?”
“I spent several days in their company,” Austin replied. “Diego is a loyal nephew to his uncle, the governor. I had hoped to sway Diego's allegiance and win his support for Bustamente's policy. But I failed. I fear the governor and General Santa Anna will cook up mischief for us Texicans if either of them ever gets the chance. Fortunately, I am under the president's protection.”
“Diego is here?”
“And his sister. I left them in the side garden. Paloma is a pretty thing, but I'd sooner sidle up to a viper. I warrant she and her brother were born on a dark and windy night and suckled on the breast of a blue norther; that's as cold a pair of hearts as you're likely to come across. You seldom find one without the other.”
“Just so long as I find them,” William muttered. He touched the brim of his sombrero and excused himself from Austin's company and stepped out onto the path that Esperanza had taken out of the front courtyard. The crowd thinned. The music faded as he forced his way along the crowded path toward the entrance to the side garden. If he didn't find Juan Diego, at least he might encounter “She walks in shadows.”
Ella anda en las sombra.
Even the name sang. She had the kind of beauty that could turn a boy into a man and an old swayback into a young stallion. Kings had fought wars to possess such a woman. And she had looked right at him, through him, and with a glance stolen the heart right out of his chest.
William glanced over his shoulder at the pink adobe walls of the governor's palace and considered waiting for Mad Jack. But Wallace was too full of his own purpose
to worry about his friend. Anyway, the old buccaneer had a silken tongue and could charm the nettles off a prickly pear. Why worry about Mad Jack?
 
“Captain Flambeau … I am placing you under arrest. Guards! Escort this freebooter to the stockade. Perhaps a few days on parched corn and water will loosen his tongue.” Governor Guadiz hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his frock coat as beads of perspiration dotted his round, wide forehead. The man's great belly shook as he spoke. “If you do not choose to cooperate, I shall personally introduce you to the jailers in the Castille.”
“Now see here, Domingo; we have been friends a long while. How can you think I would lie to you?” Flambeau purred.
Generalissimo Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna stood with his back to the study. His hands were tightly clasped against his backbone, his shoulders squared and spine stiff in his black frock coat and woolen trousers. “Bring the pirate over here,” he said. His bearing and tone of voice was that of a man who must be obeyed.
Guadiz led his unwilling guest to the double windows overlooking the front courtyard. Santa Anna did not bother to look in Flambeau's direction. His attention was fixed on President Bustamente below. El presidente was surrounded by his fawning admirers. Mad Jack had the distinct impression the general would remember each and every one of Bustamente's supporters.
Governor Guadiz shooed the flies away from a clay pitcher, then filled a tall crystal goblet with sweet cream buttermilk brought fresh for the general's pleasure. He covered the pitcher with a damp cloth and handed the glass to Santa Anna.
“The president has grown soft and weak,” Santa Anna began. “There is a rebellion in Coahuila. While in Texas, this man Austin continues to bring colonists down from
the north under Bustemente's protection. I do not trust the
americanos,
these Texicans.”
“I will have Diego see that Austin is removed from his hotel and placed under custody,” Guadiz said. “His absence ought to stern the tide of settlers.”
“A new president with a new policy is the only way to deal with it,” Santa Anna quickly retorted. “I can throw Bustamente out of office if need be. But everyone will have to support our effort.”
Mad Jack didn't like the sound of that last remark. The soldiers by the door were hardly comforting. “Unfortunately, I am a poor man—,” Flambeau began. His pitiable reply was quickly interrupted by the governor's laughter.
“Come, come, you old cutthroat. We are not so easily swayed as your Tainos savages. I know you did not declare all of your ill-gotten gain when you bought your freedom long ago. But I didn't mind; half of what you offered was enough at the time.”
“And now?”
“Times have changed.” Guadiz did not wish to be humiliated in front of Santa Anna. The governor was determined to have his way. “Now you will describe what you held back. Is it buried up the coast? Beneath your house? How much can we expect?”
“You misjudge me,” Mad Jack said, retreating into the cool interior of the study. The room smelled of leather-bound books and tobacco. Dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming in through the windows and French doors. “I am a simple man, an honest man, and your most loyal advocate.” He continued to make his way toward the door. “But I will make an inventory of all my possessions. Perhaps some of them can be sold on your behalf. My friends, it is the least I can do.”
He bowed and started through the door that opened into the hall. One of the soldiers, at a signal from the
governor, brought his musket up and struck Flambeau just above the right eye with the butt of his gun. Mad Jack groaned and fell to his knees, grasped his head, and toppled forward to sprawl upon the cool tile floor. The governor sauntered over to stare down at the fallen figure.
“‘The least' isn't good enough,” he muttered and motioned for the guards to gather the unconscious freebooter and carry him to the guardhouse. “Perhaps our bird will sing a different tune tomorrow.”
Santa Anna shrugged. “If not, let it be his last.” He continued to glare at Bustamente from his vantage point above the president. “Enjoy your moment in the sun,” he quietly said. There was a change coming. One day soon he would sweep up from the coast like a hurricane and rattle the walls of the presidential palace, driving Bustamente from power. He paid no heed as the pirate was dragged away. Nor did he notice the redheaded
norte americano
making his way through the dignitaries below. The general's eyes were fixed on the future, and in so doing he failed to see the fly in the buttermilk right under his nose.
“EL DESTRIPEDOR ROJO …”
Paloma, what would I do without you?” Juan Diego purred, his head tilted back against his sister's cushioning bosom, his eyes momentarily closed as her fingertips massaged his forehead. An animalistic sigh of pleasure escaped his lips as pain flowed from the throbbing center of his skull and into the conduits of her hands.
Paloma replied, “Without me, you would be—”
“Lost,” her brother finished. Juan Diego patted her wrist, then winked in the direction of a pair of nubile señoritas who were obviously hoping to catch his interest. They giggled and waved while whispering demurely between themselves. A warning glare from Paloma cooled their ardor. The two women switched their affections to the homely but wealthy son of a local merchant.
Paloma's lips drew back in a tight smile. She stroked her brother's close-cropped black hair, relishing the sense of control she had over her volatile sibling. Juan Diego was quick to anger and as unpredictable as a spring storm, but Paloma stirred the clouds.
“And now the cards,” Juan Diego said, piquing the interest of his entourage. The privileged sons and daughters of Veracruz's own aristocracy and a few of his fellow officers began to congregate around Diego's table. Some feigned indifference, others nervous curiosity. Esperanza's talents had been the subject of much speculation
throughout the morning. Now Juan Diego and his friends intended to judge for themselves whether or not the woman possessed supernatural talents.
The captain of lancers drew a silk kerchief and made a show of nervously patting the moisture from his forehead and cheeks, an act that elicited a round of laughter from his peers. Then pretending to compose himself, Guadiz glanced in the direction of the woman seated across the table from him, cleared his throat, and said, “Señora Saldevar, at your convenience.”
Paloma, standing off to the side now, resented Esperanza for her beauty and, worse, her lack of breeding. Everyone knew the senora came from peasant stock. No doubt Esperanza had bewitched her way into her present circumstances. Men were such fools, always eager to trade position and wealth for the scent of a silken cheek, stolen kisses, or love in the afternoon.
Paloma had no time for the nonsense of courtship. Juan Diego needed her. And what man could compare with her brother? Capt. Juan Diego was destined to accomplish great things. His loyal sister intended to have her share of the spoils, if only she could keep him focused. What was Juan Diego up to? Did he believe the hearsay concerning Saldevar's skills, or, worse, could he actually fancy the senora?
“Señora Saldevar
?” Juan Diego repeated her name. But the woman appeared dazed or distracted. For whatever reason, her eerie silence had an unsettling effect on the people around her.
“Card tricks and fortune-telling are nothing but slick pretense. Why waste your time?” Paloma remarked, filling the void left by the woman's silence. Her comments went unnoticed. Maybe there was something to the rumors after all. The world had its share of mysteries. Paloma scowled; she had no use for the supernatural, or for anything that was beyond her ability to control.
Juan Diego glanced around, confused. He shrugged, then leaned forward on the sandstone table and studied Esperanza Saldevar's brown oval features, her full red lips, black eyes, and pert nose. She was a beauty all right. He indulged his own fantasies, undressing her in his mind, and impatiently gulped the last of his wine.
Esperanza seemed to be daydreaming, her eyes focused on the worn deck of cards in her hands. It was her own fate, not Juan Diego's, that held her entranced. She was haunted by the image of a man, a rugged real face in a crowd of pretty strangers. Sensing his presence yet again, she lifted her gaze and saw him duck beneath the arched entrance to the side garden.
Who was this red-haired
norte americano
towering in the shadows beneath flame vines, a figure of raw power in repose? And why this sense of kinship? He seemed so out of place. An innocent glance bridged a gap between strangers and left her with the disturbing premonition life would never be the same.
Madre de Dios,
maybe she really did have a gift.
“So, woman, I have heard of your talents,” said Juan Diego, clearing his throat. “Come and show me. Walk in the shadows and see beyond seeing and tell me what you find.” Diego glanced from his sister to his circle of friends, bluebloods one and all. Sunlight glinted off the medals dangling from his blue jacket and the plumed helmet he had placed on the table. He shrugged and sipped wine from a long-stemmed crystal glass. “Sergeant Obregon, perhaps you should nudge the señora with your saber and see if she is still with us.”
Cayetano Obregon, the captain's subordinate, grinned and rolled his eyes as if to indicate the woman must have taken leave of her senses. A burly, balding old warhorse, the sergeant was a familiar sight hovering protectively around Juan Diego and his sister. Obregon mopped the moisture from his bald pate; beads of sweat
collected in his brushy black sideburns as he stared at Esperanza. Despite the carnal hunger etched in his pockmarked features, the sergeant was loath to disturb the young woman. Obregon came from peasant stock and carried a healthy fear of the unknown. The soldier had heard enough rumors concerning Esperanza and was not about to test her powers by openly antagonizing the woman. The sergeant shifted nervously, rattled his saber, but remained alongside the twins.
Juan Diego slapped the tabletop.
“Señora!”
The young woman jumped where she sat, startled from her reverie, jolted back to the present. The eighteen-year-old mystic tore her gaze from Wallace and focused on the gathering of men and women who had come to see the “shadow walker” ply her trade. Their doubts were plainly visible. Was she a fraud or was there something to the cards and the powers she had inherited from her mother? She didn't care whether or not they believed, just so long as they feared.
“What do you see in the shadows for me?” Diego asked, leaning forward. His black hair was swept back from his angular features. His mustache was a mere suggestion, a dark line tracing his upper lip. Eyes like chips of obsidian judged her every move. Rare was the woman who did not swoon over the governor's eligible nephew and fantasize being swept off her feet by the swaggering captain of lancers. No officer was more daring in battle or dashing on the dance floor. And yet Esperanza Saldevar was immune to his charms. She wasn't fooled. In her judgment, Juan Diego and his twin sister were like ravens—sleek, disdainful creatures to whom most people were so much future prey.
Esperanza studied the faces of the people gathered around her. They wanted a show. She would give them one. Taking up the gypsy cards that had been her mother's legacy, Esperanza stood and slowly made her
way through her audience. She expected the disdain in their eyes, but there was also misgiving, a primal fear of something beyond their ken.
She paused before Sergeant Obregon and blew softly on the deck. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she began to softly laugh, in a voice that seemed not her own, deeper in tone and issuing from another's throat. Obregon gulped, derision faded from his expression, and he blessed himself with the sign of the cross.
“I am she who walks in the shadows between what is and what will be.” She spun on her heels and passed the deck beneath the very noses of those who had come to be amused. “Would you know the very hour of your death? Draw a card and I will number your days. What of love or betrayal? Ask, place your hand upon the cards, and all will be opened unto you. Seek and you shall find.”
The colorful array of gentlemen and their ladies shrank back from Esperanza's outstretched hand. No one wished to play. Suddenly the afternoon's diversion had lost its appeal, the basking sun its warmth. The chill of the grave clung to the shadows of the madrona trees. Insects and birds avoided the side garden altogether. The woman focused on Juan Diego. She glided toward him over the stone-paved path.
“And you, sir, your heart's desire is an open book.” Esperanza paused for effect, a trick of her mother's, then flipped a card or two upon the table. One image was that of a drake rising from a wellspring; the next, against a backdrop of a star-filled night, that of two nudes draped in garlands emptying a cornucopia upon plowed earth. A third card depicted a majestic stag standing upon a ridge and, below the beast, scattered bones.
“What man does not hunger for wealth and power, for all life's riches, and glory, too?” Esperanza continued.
“Señor Guadiz, your ambition soars. Abundance awaits you. A triumph where others fail.”
“Well spoken, señora, but I could have—”
“But every victory has its price,” the woman continued, cutting him off. “All things are possible. Draw the final card and see for yourself. There is always a card between you and your desires. Fate is the prince of tricksters. Tempt him, if you dare. Draw the last card and see for yourself what must be overcome. Beware, though. Once it is drawn, the card can never be returned.” Esperanza blew gently on the deck. The governor's side garden fell silent. All eyes were on Juan Diego. The governor's nephew licked his lips, ran a tongue around his dry mouth, and tried to swallow. It might be a good thing to know what to expect. And yet the woman intimated that by drawing the card Juan Diego could set in motion a disastrous chain of events he might come to regret.
Esperanza's eyes were mere slits. Her hand never wavered. The deck was an extension, almost a part of her, but with a life of its own, a serpent waiting to strike the man foolish enough to risk disaster. Knowledge carried a high price.
He reached out, hesitated, stared at the deck, then withdrew his hand. Leave well enough alone. The cards on the table were enough for him. Wealth and power and glory were his for the taking. And nothing was going to stand in his way. He glanced around at his friends and then, smiling broadly, applauded.
“Bravo, señora, a most enjoyable performance. But the future is in my hands, not yours. And right now”—he held up his long-stemmed glass—“it needs more wine.”
A chorus of relieved laughter filtered through the crowd. Juan Diego motioned for his friends to follow him back into the main garden. Turning, the captain of
lancers almost blundered into the
norte americano
blocking his path.
Wallace stared at his brother's killer, waiting for some glimmer of recognition to alter the captain's expression. Guadiz hesitated for a brief second, then brushed past the redheaded stranger without so much as a “by your leave.”
“Señor Guadiz,” Wallace blurted out. The officer swung about. William's hand, on reflex, dropped to his belt, where a knife or pistol might have been; then, altering its course, he reached out and snatched the top card from Esperanza's grasp. He showed her the image, then held it face out to the officer. “You forgot your card.”
Juan Diego was taken aback by the impertinent stranger. He advanced with Sergeant Obregon and cautiously eyed the faded image stolen from the hand of fate by the redheaded stranger. The card held the likeness of a man, bathed in crimson flames and brandishing a lethal array of knives. Other blades littered the ground at his feet, thrust into the earth like so many grave markers.
“It is the Prince of Daggers,” Esperanza solemnly intoned. “El Destripedor Rojo … the Red Ripper. A difficult card to ignore. Be wary, Captain.”
Juan Diego ignored the woman and the card. His eyes turned stone cold as he studied the man towering over him. “Who are you?”
“He is no one,” said Paloma, dismissing William with a flick of her wrist. She caught her brother by the arm. “A waste of time that could be better spent enjoying our uncle's wine cellar.”
Juan Diego nodded, gave Wallace a last lingering look, then with a great sweep of his hand motioned for his party to follow him off toward the main courtyard. As they passed beneath the arch and entered the throng
of well-wishers, Juan Diego motioned for Sergeant Obregon to approach him. It was a struggle to be heard above the din.
“Cayetano, have the gringo followed. Learn his name and who invited him to my uncle's celebration. I think later tonight we may need to teach the impudent rascal to respect his betters.”
“With pleasure, my captain,” said Obregon. A cruel grin crawled across his features. Now this was something he could understand.
 
William watched his brother's killer saunter out of the garden, then stared down at his empty, trembling hands and wiped them on his coat. It wasn't supposed to have happened like this. For months he had envisioned an encounter with Guadiz, grabbing him by the throat, wringing the life out of him. The moment had come and gone without incident. But there was comfort in the fact Juan Diego was in Veracruz. Let night fall and the soldiers drink themselves into sweet oblivion. Juan Diego would not live to see another sunrise. William glanced in Esperanza's direction. Damn, it was hard to keep murder in his heart while in the company of such a pretty señorita.
“Who are you?” the woman asked. “And what business do you have with the captain of lancers?” She returned the cards to her deck and tucked them away inside an ornately beaded bag of white buckskin brushed soft as a baby's cheek.

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