Several rich merchants in their colorful, fancy clothes and dumb sailor hats walked toward Mac. Unlike the other customers, Mac made no effort to get out of the way. In fact, he waved his cane at the men as he shambled toward them.
Rhino wasn’t deceived by Mac’s ungainly posture or slow pace. He was one of the most skilled warriors in all the islands, and he could fight if it came down to it, even in his present condition. But not everyone seemed to recognize the man.
“¡Fuera, pendejo!” called out one of the merchants.
It was Tomás Mata, telling Mac to get lost and, worse, using profanity to do it.
Mac halted and turned slightly toward the councilman. He tapped his cane on the deck and started to walk over, but Tomás must have recognized him then. The merchant took off his sailor hat and gestured politely to convey that Mac could go wherever he pleased. They exchanged a nod and moved on.
Grinning, Rhino pulled his hood over his head. Mac had a reputation that scared even the richest merchant in the islands. With his features shaded, Rhino made his way down to the next level, which smelled of excrement and ammonia. Hogs grunted, and chickens squawked in their pens while potential buyers negotiated prices.
The next floor down held the indentured servants. Much like the animals above them, they were in cages and being scrutinized by potential buyers. In Rhino’s eyes, they weren’t treated much better than slaves. They were paid something for their labor, but not nearly enough for the scut work they had to do.
He avoided the sad gazes and grimy faces by pulling his hood close. He took a ladder down to the main selling floor. His nostrils filled with the reek of body odor and the oily smell of fish frying in pork fat.
The sweet scent of tobacco wafted to him from the next booth, and he almost stopped at the aroma. It was the one store Rhino would patronize if he were here to purchase goods. He liked a good joint from time to time, but he wasn’t here to get a buzz.
The crowd thickened around him as he moved. Watchful eyes turned in his direction, noting the double-headed spear that he held vertically. The weapon drew stares, and he moved faster, trying not to attract any more attention than necessary.
Several Cazador soldiers, wearing leather vests and pants, patrolled the periphery, but none seemed to have spotted him yet. These men and women were not the best of warriors, which was why they got police duty and were denied the honor of going on raids.
They didn’t worry Rhino, though he was concerned about Vargas’s many spies. This wasn’t the capitol tower, and the ambitious colonel had eyes deployed on this rig and others.
That was why Rhino had waited to come until night, when he was less likely to be spotted. He stood taller to look for Mac in the crowd. The old soldier had wandered away from the main booths and down an alley of grubby shacks and tents.
Rhino hurried through the crowd to reach him before he vanished into the interior of the rig. Unsurprisingly, the shanty shops lining the alley offered all sorts of taboo merchandise. Bottles of eel oil to increase sexual performance, shark’s teeth that, crushed and boiled in soup, were said to boost one’s fighting abilities.
It was all a load of crap, of course, but Mac had always enjoyed experimenting with things like this. Thinking back on the man’s skills as a fighter and his charm with the ladies, perhaps there was substance to the claims for some of these products.
Rhino walked head down along the dimly lit alley. Several patrons talked to shop owners, but Mac kept going, his cane clicking, toward the open hatch at the end of the alley.
“Shit,” Rhino muttered. He walked faster, nearly hitting a man who had backed away from a booth selling “surefire magical charms.” Mac went through the hatch and closed it behind him.
Rhino got there a half minute later. He tried the handle, and it clicked open. He ducked through, into a narrow passageway that smelled like piss.
He had taken two steps when he heard a whisper of noise and stopped to look down at the blade poised inches from his throat.
But he wasn’t the only one with a blade at his jugular.
Mac’s gaze ran from the spearhead under his chin, along the shaft, to Rhino’s grinning face.
“Mac, how you doing, you old wharf rat?” Rhino said.
After sheathing his sword cane, Mac shuffled forward and shook Rhino’s arm. “Aside from getting old, well enough. I heard you made general.”
Rhino looked back at the open hatch. The patrons at the stalls went right on with their business, not even glancing his way. He shut the hatch and motioned for his old friend to accompany him into the enclosed hallway.
A candle sconce at the end flickered over the rusted bulkheads.
“Things are not good,” Rhino said, “and I need your help.”
“Because of the sky people?”
Rhino shook his head. “Because of our people.”
“Brother, our people are from Texas,” Mac said, running his hand over his salt-and-pepper beard, “and don’t you forget that.”
A memory surfaced of that day when the Cazadores had invaded their underground home. The day Rhino, Sofia, and Mac were captured.
“That is true,” Rhino said. “And that’s exactly why you’re the one man left I trust.”
“Anything you need, Nick. I’ve got you.”
“I need your help putting together a strike team and bringing the Barracudas back.”
Mac swallowed. “I gave a lot to that team,” he said, raising his prosthetic arm. “Almost gave it all.”
“I know, and I’m sorry to have to ask you again, but—”
Mac put his hand, the real one, on Rhino’s shoulder. “Don’t be sorry. Like I said, I’ve got you.”
“Good,” Rhino said. “I’m also thinking about asking Isaiah.”
A silver brow rose. “I think he just got back from a fishing trip a few days ago. Might need some convincing,” he said. “You know Isaiah; he likes incentives.”
Rhino reached into his robe and pulled out a bag of silver. He had come prepared. Isaiah was never a Barracuda, but he had helped train Rhino to be the fighter he was today. The old drill sergeant was the best of the best, despite his ripe old age.
Mac took the coins and nodded.
“I’ve got one more man I need to gather before our first mission,” Rhino said.
“What’s our first mission?”
Rhino checked both ends of the passage. A civilian had stumbled in. The thin man with a long and wispy beard came unsteadily toward them. Stopping halfway, he pulled his pants down, turned, and proceeded to urinate on the bulkhead.
“Muévate,” Mac said in Spanish, tapping his cane on the floor.
The man grumbled and pulled up his pants, then stumbled past them, smelling like booze. At the end of the hallway, he stopped again and this time threw up.
“Shit,” Rhino said. He motioned with his chin for Mac to follow him back the way they had come, until they were alone again.
“Remember Colonel Vargas?” Rhino said.
Mac grimaced. “Of course. The bastard was almost as bad as el Pulpo. I still see him here from time to time, when he comes to visit the brothels. He killed one of the girls a few weeks ago. I would have killed him if it weren’t for all his babysitters.”
“Well, now’s your chance,” Rhino said. “I’m going to slit his throat while he sleeps.”
Mac laughed. “You’ll never get that close, old friend.”
“That’s why I need your help. I can’t trust anyone else.”
“What about King Xavier?” Mac asked. “Is he a good man?”
“Indeed, he is. I’ll die for him if I have to, which is why I must kill Vargas.”