That brought a murmur from the crowd, more than a few of them regarding Kidd with curiosity or frank suspicion. They were skeptical of change, and with good reason, since most alterations in the daily lives of outlaws brought them to a jail cell or a rope. A few of them were also wondering which woman he had chosen for himself, Kidd knew, and calculating how his choice would slash the list of wenches otherwise available to the community at large.
"The woman I've selected is the captive known as Stacy," Kidd announced. "We'll marry in accordance with the laws of our community, and life will go on as before, except with prospects for an heir."
No one among Kidd's audience suggested that the woman might have anything to say about the union; that wasn't an issue in such cases, when a pirate chose himself a mate. Still, some of them were muttering, and Kidd paused, biding his time, waiting to discover if a man with courage would reveal himself among the crew.
"What's that leave for the rest of us?" a harsh voice challenged Kidd from somewhere in the ranks. He didn't see the man who spoke but thought he recognized the voice.
"Who asks me this?" Kidd scanned the rows of faces, waiting for the one outspoken buccaneer to show himself.
A tall man shouldered through the press to take a stand in front of Kidd, perhaps ten feet away. As Kidd had thought, it was scar-faced Rodrigo, standing with his feet apart, hands fisted on his hips. Kidd knew without having to check that Rodrigo was wearing a dagger sheathed on his belt, behind his right hip, where he could reach it swiftly as the need arose. He was no mean hand with the weapon, either, if memory served.
"I ask it," said Rodrigo. "And I wager that I'm not the only one who's thinkin' it."
Rodrigo glanced around to see if anyone would second him, and while a number of the others stared at Kidd, as if expecting the performance of a special drama for their entertainment, none was forward enough to support him in words.
The shortage of support didn't appear to cow Rodrigo. If anything, he seemed emboldened as he turned once more to face his captain, fists still planted firmly on his hips. Had the pirate's right fist edged closer to his knife?
"It is a captain's right to choose his mate," Kidd told Rodrigo and the rest. "Who would dispute this time-honored law?"
"I would," Rodrigo said without a moment's hesitation, "if it means a shortage for the rest of us, where nookie is concerned. I, for one, have been going without long enough."
"You've not been idle with the other hostages from what I hear," said Kidd.
Rodrigo frowned and cleared his throat. "That's neither here nor there," he blustered. "Whether these curs will 'fess up to it or not, I'm speaking for the lot of them. We want the redhead shared out with the rest. When we have wenches enough to go around, then it'll be time enough to think about your wedding plans."
Kidd smiled and clasped his hands loosely behind his back. "And is there aught else on your mind?" he asked.
Rodrigo hesitated for a moment, glancing back to left and right once more, then nodded to himself. "There is, indeed," he said. "This business of an heir is something some of us don't hold with absolutely, either. Any pirate's law I ever heard of called for captains to be chosen from the brotherhood, by challenge. When did we start breedin' 'em?"
"A question worthy of reply," Kidd said. Behind his back, the fingers of his right hand curled around the grip of a .38-caliber revolver, which he wore tucked into the back of his stout leather belt. In one smooth motion, Kidd drew the side arm, thumbing back the hammer, and thrust it out in front of him. The three-inch barrel was on target before Rodrigo knew what was happening, and Kidd squeezed the .38's trigger a heartbeat later.
The bullet struck Rodrigo squarely in the middle of his forehead, flattening on impact and toppling him over backward in the dust. Before the echo of the shot had died away, Kidd had another challenge for his men.
"Who else disputes my right to choose a mate?" he asked in his most reasonable tone.
When there was no reply, Kidd slowly lowered his revolver, turning back in the direction of his quarters. Offering his back to any coward who would take the chance, hoping that he would not be called upon to kill another of his men this afternoon.
Behind him, as he walked away, he heard the ancient Oriental's high-pitched voice. "Clear trash away!" he said. "Wash filthy hands and come to eat!"
The only one who dared speak was a senile old man-that brought a chuckle to the lips of Captain Kidd.
CARLOS RAMIREZ TAPPED the ash from his cigar into an ashtray fashioned from a jaguar's skull. It was illegal to hunt jaguars, since they had been registered as an endangered species, but such laws meant little to a multibillionaire who earned his living from cocaine.
"Another boat," Ramirez said. "Our friends are having busy days."
"They take too many risks," Fabian Guzman said.
"Life is a risk," Ramirez said.
"These locos thrive on danger," Guzman argued. "They are not normal businessmen."
"What's normal?" asked Ramirez. "The Jamaicans? The Italians? The Chinese? We have enough trouble with enemies, amigo. Do not borrow more by picking quarrels with our friends."
"Suppose they are discovered?" Fabian went on, insistent. "Do you think that they would hesitate to tell the Coast Guard or the DEA who buys the boats they steal?"
"I doubt that they would let themselves be taken," said the cocaine lord of Cartagena. "They are loco, as you say, and hate the law more than you do. Also, they seem to lead charmed lives. A padre told me once that God takes care of fools and children."
"They leave witnesses," Guzman replied.
"You mean the women? What is that to us? These locos need some entertainment on their little island, no? Is that so terrible? The women are not yours, amigo."
"I am told they let one get away."
Ramirez took a long pull on his prime Havana cigar, savoring the taste of it, slowly expelling twin streams of smoke through his nostrils. He had heard the story, too, about a Yankee woman who was fished out of the ocean, telling tales of pirates and the foul indignities she suffered at their hands, but nothing had been done about it so far. With no positive response from the authorities, Ramirez thought there must be one of two solutions to the riddle. First, the story might be false, one of those rumors that came up from time to time, without apparent origin, and got some people overheated while they sought in vain to track it down. The other possibility was that a woman had escaped the pirates, but that she could give no useful information to the law. She could be dead by now, perhaps deranged from her experience, or simply ignorant of where she had been held.
In any case, Ramirez told himself, no problem. Unless...
Carlos Ramirez had survived this long in a treacherous business, while others fell around him, because he left nothing to chance. His dealings with the pirates led by Thomas Kidd had amply benefited both sides, and he had no wish to sever the connection if there was a means of keeping it alive. Security came first, however, and he wouldn't sacrifice himself, the empire he had built from his estate outside of Cartagena, in the interest of some loco pirates who weren't even from Colombia.
"What are you thinking?" he inquired of his lieutenant.
"Simply that we must be cautious in our dealings with these people, Carlos. They are not part of our family-they never will be. When I talk to them and look into their eyes, it is like talking to-" Guzman dropped his voice to a whisper, though they were alone "-like talking to Jorge."
Ramirez looked at his lieutenant sharply, surprised at the breach in etiquette. Jorge's name was not to be mentioned.
"I say this," Guzman stated carefully and seriously, "so that you will know what I am thinking. If I am right, then we need to do something about it."