Death Squad (A Soldier of Fortune Adventure #09) by Peter McCurtin

Author:Peter McCurtin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mercenaries, vietnam, war stories, freedom fighters, piccadilly publishing, mens adventures, nicaragua national guard
Publisher: Piccadilly

“How can you eat so much steak? I tell you the quapote is not to be equaled in the world. Jim, you must try the quapote,” Moncada said.

We were looking at the menu at the Los Ranchos restaurant a few miles out of Carretera Sur, one of the main drives. It was well into the afternoon and now that there were no more interviews, Moncada was hungry. So was I.

Los Ranchos had the reputation of being the best restaurant in Managua, in all Nicaragua, and I didn’t care about that, but Moncada insisted, saying I was a guest of the nation.

“Is there really such a thing as a boneless fish?” I asked. “I never heard of it, if there is.”

With the cares of the day behind him, Moncada was having an aguardienta of Coca Cola. Ay y C, they call it, and it’s something like a rum and coke.

“Quapote is boneless. It is superb. May I tell the waiter that is what you will be having?”

I nodded agreement.

Moncada had stopped being nervous; the A y C was working its magic. My drink was Jack Daniels. Moncada talked to the waiter, an elderly man who sounded like an immigrant from the original Spain. “It was fine, the way you handled yourself today,” Moncada told me. Like all nervous men, liquor hit him fast. Something that he considered big was happening and he was part of it; he looked at me with a proprietary air. But he frowned after the second drink, and there were creases between his eyes after the third.

Now he laid another cliche on me: “You certainly burned your bridges today, Jim.” It was Jim this and Jim that; it was as if he wanted to cement our friendship by including my first name in every other sentence. Normally this would get on my nerves, but normal circumstances these were not. “Have you considered what that will mean when you try to go back?”

“I didn’t come here to go back, Jake.”

“Yes, that is your feeling now. What about later is what I am talking about?”

“I’m no kid. My feelings don’t change from day to day. What are you really trying to say?”

Nervous for a moment, a swig of A y C settled him down. He looked at me with slightly unfocused eyes. “Have you had much grief in your life, Jim? No, I would think not. To me you seem like a man without many regrets. When something happens that you can’t change you say to hell with it and go on to something else. Am I correct in thinking that? I am just talking. You can tell me to go to hell if you like.”

“Take it easy. The question doesn’t bother me. Yeah, I guess that’s the way I live. What’s the point?”

I knew there had to be a point, and it wasn’t just the booze talk of a guy with a neurotic disposition. There was something here struggling to get out. My rule is always listen to those with access to information even though they have no clear idea what that information means.

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