Disclaimer: ZPI owns anything and everything connected to Zorro. Thank goodness Johnston McCulley created Zorro 100 years ago. If he hadn’t, I would never have any fun.
A/N: I just now realized I never posted my 100 years of Zorro Anniversary stories - oops! Here’s one of them.
The Good Trap
By Linda Bindner
Victoria carefully carried the tray full of drinks to her outside tables ranged on the tavern’s porch, finally setting down the glasses in front of the lancers Don Alejandro was treating. “There you are, four glasses of whiskey, two of water, one juice for Mendoza, and one wine for Don Alejandro. Let one of my girls know if anyone needs a refill. I’m off for the rest of the day.” Her smile showered over them in her excitement.
“Gracias, Victoria,” Alejandro said, taking his wine from her, also careful not to spill. “Taking the afternoon off? That’s not like you. Something momentous must be going on for you to forego work.”
Victoria smiled even broader at his comment, jovially saying, “My brother Ramon is coming for a visit.”
“Ramon’s coming?” Mendoza asked, lowering his juice.
“Yes, he comes on the stage today,” she replied. “I’m sure I told you.”
Don Alejandro said, “I remember when he first wrote to you. That must have been… what was it? Four weeks ago?”
“Six,” Victoria answered. “He said he would arrive on the fourth, and today’s the fourth, so here I am, waiting for the stage.” She shrugged happily.
Mendoza smiled warmly. “You must be so excited, Señorita. Ramon hasn’t been to Los Angeles for…” He let his voice trail into nothing. “I can’t even remember.”
“He was back a few years ago when Father died,” Victoria reported. “But we barely spoke then, and he hasn’t been back since. Now he wants to renew old acquaintances, and he apparently has something to tell me.”
“I wonder what it could be?” Mendoza queried, and took a drink.
Victoria shrugged again. “I have no idea, but since it means he’s coming, I don’t much care. I’ll just be glad to have my brother here.”
Don Alejandro lifted his glass. “Well, here’s to Ramon’s safe arrival!” The lancers and Mendoza all lifted their glasses and drank.
“We just came back from patrolling the stage route, and it looked fine to us,” Mendoza noted, and his fellow lancers nodded. “He’ll get here just fine, you’ll see.”
“Let’s hope so!” Victoria said. “It would be a poor welcome to Ramon for the stage to have trouble today.”
“No worries, Victoria,” Alejandro reassured. “As the Sergeant said, there’s no reason to think that --”
“Señorita, there’s the stage!” Mendoza burst out, pointing down the road leading to town.
Don Alejandro joined Victoria as she avidly peered up the road.
The stage was indeed coming, though much faster than expected. Their anticipatory smiles lasted only as long as it took them to see that something was very, very wrong.
The primary road leading to town snaked through dry, prickly land strewn with boulders. Now the dust of that road billowed behind the coach, coating everything it passed in filth. No driver sat proudly on top of the stage, silhouetted against the cloudless blue sky, but drooped over the front of his seat, clearly dead. More dust flew from under the pounding hooves of the four driverless stage horses running hysterically straight towards town, chased by three men who were also obviously bandits on horseback. Dirty handkerchiefs concealed their faces, held in place by equally dirty hats.
The noise caused by the speeding coach alerted the citizens in the plaza to its impending arrival. Chaos ensued. People screamed and children ran to hide, tangling in their haste with stray dogs and frantically clucking chickens.
The four lancers jumped up and ran forward, shouting to maintain order even as they tried to react in a coherent fashion, tripping over themselves instead. Sergeant Mendoza hurried to the cuartel to rally more men, procure saddled mounts, and even more ammunition. Peons and caballeros and children all quickly scurried out of the way of bandit and soldier and chicken alike. The three men chasing the coach seemed oblivious to the mayhem they were causing, more concerned with the money they hoped to plunder from the stage passengers than the garrison of lancers they were soon to meet.
Whooping loud enough to wake the dead, the bandits further whipped the horses into a panicked frenzy, confident now that the lancers of Los Angeles would pose no threat to a stage that would probably run straight through town and out to the endless land beyond.
But they obviously weren’t counting on the appearance of a fourth outlaw, this one masked, riding a black horse, wearing a sword, a whip, and a thunderous expression.
“Zorro!” Victoria yelped, taking an unconscious step forward on her porch. As much as she wanted to see the stage carrying her brother at long last, catching sight of the black clad hero was even more exhilarating.
“Zorro!” Alcalde de Soto sneered, standing beside the cuartel. One glance was all it took for him to size up the situation. “Lancers! Forget the bandits… get Zorro!”
In seconds, the soldiers had formed ranks, facing the road leading to and from the pueblo.
“Aim!” de Soto yelled. “Fire!”
“No!” cried Victoria.
Crack!
Smoke puffed into the air, obscuring everything for a moment. Then a breeze sprang from nowhere, blowing it all away, showing Zorro still astride his galloping steed, somehow completely unscathed.
“Reload!” the Alcalde bellowed, lancers scrambling to obey. “Steady, men,” he said, his voice a stream of soothing words. “Steady now. Hold steady. Keep to your training. Hold… hold…” Still the stage drew closer. Every eye in the plaza was peeled to the drama hurtling towards them at breakneck speed. The lancers did nothing to stop the stage, but aimed unerringly for the bandit in black. “Keep it steady,” de Soto said. “Steady… steady… F--!”
Before he could end his final command, the bandits shot their pistols into the plaza, the bullets ricocheting crazily off the adobe buildings, occasionally hitting the random chicken. The others scattered to dive behind anything that would offer an amount of cover, leaving the town virtually unprotected. More screams echoed across the pueblo as de Soto tried again to rally his men. “Lancers! Reform ranks! Fire at will!”
“No!” Victoria yelled again just as quickly. “You might hit Zorro!”
The Alcalde ignored her to scream, “Get him, men!”
More rifles cracked into the dusty air with a dreadful sense of finality.
Zorro paid no more attention to the flying bullets than if they were flowers meant to honor him. He had eyes only for the men on horseback and their runaway quarry.
Urging Toronado to gallop ever faster, he pulled in behind the bandits. The next instant, his black leather whip flicked once in the direction of the nearest bandit.
The sound shot across the sleepy town. The man curled up, then slid right off his horse to lay in an unmoving heap beside the road.
Paying him no mind, Zorro’s whip flashed out a second time to crack the air in two. The sound hadn’t faded away before the second outlaw lay in a bundle on the road, coddling what was clearly a broken leg, cursing vibrantly.
Toronado had pulled beside the careening stagecoach by this time, and Zorro steered him to the final outlaw, but the man was ready. He brandished a pistol right in the masked man’s face, aiming haphazardly from the back of his jouncing horse.
Zorro didn’t give him the time he needed to find his proper aim. In the next breath, he’d plucked the pistol right out of the bandit’s hand and flung it forcefully to the ground. Still at a full gallop with choking dust flying everywhere, his gloved hand reached out to smash the outlaw in the jaw with an aim that was much more practised. The third man crashed onto the road and rolled to the side.
Not slowing an iota, Zorro slapped the reins onto Toronado’s neck and the black horse leapt forward, somehow finding the energy to pull alongside the horses hitched to the stage. Obviously scared out of their minds, the four horses ignored Toronado to run right up the road leading into Los Angeles. More screams and cries lifted on the wind.
Zorro ignored it all to launch himself across the space between his steed and the nearest of the uncontrolled horses. The pueblo drawing ever closer, Zorro hauled hard on the harness, pulling the horse off balance and off course, attempting to circumvent the tiny coastal village.
The horses slowed, but didn’t change course. Zorro renewed his efforts, his muscles straining under the black shirt he wore. Toronado bucked, butting the horse in the lead with his head, neighing loudly, shoving the animal into its companion.
Successfully thrown off balance by the double attack, the bay stumbled. Zorro gave a mighty pull on the harness, and the animals slowed at last to a controlled gallop, then to a trot just as the stage rattled under the sign leading into town. They passed a gaping de Soto and his men, then the mission, and the horses’ trot slowed to a fast walk. With one last pull, the stage drew sedately up to the tavern.
Zorro slipped quickly from the back of his chosen mount to hastily pull the stage door open. “Is anybody hurt?”
One of the stage passengers, a woman in her mid thirties, cradled the head of a man in her skirted lap as she pressed against his left shoulder with her monogrammed white handkerchief. “Yes! This man needs a doctor. He’s been shot.”
The second the news was spoken, Zorro flung the door open wide to gaze more easily through the opening. He glanced once at the man’s face, then pulled up short.
The wounded man was Ramon Escalante.
Z Z Z
Swallowing hard, Zorro calmed his suddenly racing heart. Forcing himself to ignore a strong desire to cry out a warning to Victoria, he pulled the handkerchief aside for a look at the wound.
Blood instantly spurted up to gush through his gloved fingers. He felt the bulk of the bullet under the skin even through the padding of his gloves, which were now slippery with blood. Hastily replacing the handkerchief, he looked to the woman. “Hold this tight on the wound to try to stop the bleeding.” Then he glanced at the others in the coach. “Anybody else hurt?” The group shook their heads, and Zorro gave a single nod. “Don’t move him. I’ll go for the doctor.”
Don Alejandro instantly spoke up. “Dr. Hernandez was heading for the Destano Ranch not half an hour ago. I passed him on my way into town.”
“Right,” said Zorro, and whistled for Toronado as he negligently wiped his blood soaked glove on a tavern napkin. Scattering lancers and citizens and chickens out of his way, the black stallion ran to his master’s side where he stood, huffing his breath around the bit in his mouth. Zorro caught the beaded reins with one hand. “I’ll ride to the Destanos - Dr. Hernandez should still be there - but someone else should --”
“I think not!” De Soto stalked to Zorro’s side. “You are under arrest, Zorro, for --”
“A man’s been shot, Alcalde!’ Zorro bit out furiously. “I don’t have time for your nonsense now!” He turned to the tavern owner. “Prepare yourself, Victoria. It’s Ramon.”
“Ramon!” she squawked, pushing her way forward.
His hand on her arm stopped her. “No. Get clean towels, and lots of water. You’ll be more help to him that way.” He flung himself into the saddle of his waiting steed and reined him around. “I’ll be back.” With a touch of his booted foot to the horse’s flank, he was gone.
“I have you now, Zorro.” de Soto yanked his pistol from its holster on his belt and aimed at the retreating form in black. “Soon you’ll be dead.”
That’s when a drink was mercilessly tossed in his face. Spluttering, his aim ruined, the Alcalde lowered the pistol to glare furiously at Victoria as Zorro vanished from sight. “Señorita!”
“What?!” Victoria indignantly yelled, tray in hand, preparing to disappear inside her tavern to gather the items Zorro had mentioned.
The Alcalde pointed at the empty glass in her hands. “Obstructing justice!”
Victoria’s look turned scathing. “I wasn’t obstructing anything! But you were just going to shoot my --”
She cut herself off from saying ‘fiancé’ just in time, keeping what wasn’t public knowledge from becoming the daily gossip tossed between people gathered around the water fountain.
“He’s your what?” De Soto demanded, gesturing wildly with his pistol. “Your lover? Your husband?”
Aghast at what she’d almost revealed, Victoria aimed for her scathing expression again. “Of course not! Zorro’s just a --”
“A man’s been shot, Alcalde!” Don Alejandro stridently reminded, bringing the current events again to the foreground. “By one of your own lancers, no doubt. Surely the governor would want to know how you let three bandits escape while you shot at a fourth who was trying to catch a runaway stage.” He slammed his empty glass onto the tavern’s table, then pulled Victoria to him. “Come, Victoria, let’s --”
De Soto’s white gloved hand shot out to wrap around her upper arm. “She’s not going anywhere except to jail.” He roughly hauled Victoria off the tavern’s porch, sending the glass still in her hands to flying.
“What?” Victoria gasped, having no choice but to follow in the Alcalde’s wake.
He wiped liquid out of his eyes. “You ruined my perfectly good aim at a known outlaw. This is a flagrant obstruction of justice, not to mention aiding and abetting a criminal.”
“Zorro has the fastest horse in town!” Victoria hollered in disbelief. “He’s just going for the doctor. Is that a crime now?”
“It is when he relied on your well-planned distraction to escape once again. You belong in jail.”
“Well-planned?” she incredulously repeated. “I never see Zorro! Just when were we supposed to plan…” Victoria cut herself off with a gulp as the Alcalde gave another vicious yank. “But… my brother!”
“You should have thought of that before dousing me with your drink!” de Soto fumed.
“But I didn’t --”
“Save it! I have a jail cell with your name on it.”
He marched angrily across the plaza, Victoria floundering behind him.
Z Z Z
Toronado flew across the field, effortlessly jumping the fence on its other side. Zorro watched it recede behind them with a hint of satisfaction. Honestly, fencing in an open field like that. What were they thinking?
Free at last, the black stallion leapt ahead. “Good boy,” Zorro praised, his words almost lost on the wind. “Now for Perdito Canyon…”
They reached the canyon before he knew it, the scrub of stunted pines giving way to rocks and boulders and dust. Knowing this was the fastest way to the Destano Ranch, Zorro let the horse have his head. With another light tap of his booted heels, Toronado leaped high, the canyon rushing by beneath them. Zorro had a fleeting glance of the canyon’s bottom a long way down when they abruptly landed on the other side with room to spare. It was as if the earlier chase of the three bandits and the runaway stagecoach had only been a warm up session for now when speed and agility really counted. The masked man once again thanked Providence for his amazing horse.
Five minutes later they had reached the Destano Ranch. Dr. Hernandez and Don Ricardo were shaking hands in front of the hacienda when Zorro pulled Toronado to an abrupt halt.
“Doctor!” Zorro greeted without wasting time. “A man’s been shot in the pueblo,” he managed to impart. “I’m here to take you back.” He reached a gloved hand down for the aging doctor.
Unafraid at being thus accosted by a known outlaw, Hernandez switched his black medical bag to his other hand and grasped the one offered by Zorro. “Put my horse in the barn,” he instructed Don Ricardo, not wasting precious time with niceties. “I’ll send someone back for him.”
“Wrap your hands around my waist and hang on,” Zorro instructed. Wheeling Toronado around, he headed back to the pueblo. “I’ll have to take the long way around; not even Toronado can jump Perdito Canyon carrying two on his back.” He lent the horse some speed by leaning slightly over his neck, knowing that seconds counted now if Ramon was going to live. He only hoped they were in time.
But Toronado fought the reins. He grabbed the bit forcibly between his teeth and yanked the reins right out of Zorro’s grasp.
“Toronado!” cried Zorro in surprise. He’d never known the great horse to act like this. “What’s gotten into you?” He tried to regain control of his mount as Hernandez tightened his grip on his waist, but Toronado was adamant. When they reached the turn to go around by way of the road, Toronado refused to take it. Zorro tugged on the reins again. Again Toronado refused.
“Hope you know what you’re doing,” Zorro muttered, giving the horse his head at last. “Hang on, Doctor!” He felt the man’s grip on his waist tighten again just as the edge of Perdito Canyon came into view. Giving in to the inevitable, Zorro slapped the leather reins against the horse’s neck and considered praying. But there wasn’t time.
The unspoken prayer gave way to eyes squeezed shut tight behind the mask as with a mighty leap, horse and riders left the ground. For a split second, nothing but the sound of soaring wind whistled in Zorro’s ears. Then they landed with a jolt on the other side, barely room to spare this time. Pebbles plinked under Toronado’s shoes to disappear into the depths below, but the horse and his riders were long gone. They heard nothing but the pounding of their hearts in their ears, the rushing of blood through throbbing temples. They tore off towards the pueblo, dust flying, one horse, one doctor and one astonished masked man.
Zorro idly wondered, Will Toronado ever cease to amaze me?
Z Z Z
Completely unaware of the drama they had missed in the pueblo, Zorro urged Toronado to gallop right up to the tavern where the stage was still resting, coming to a halt in a spray of pebbles, dust and dirt. Doctor Hernandez slid to the ground with no more urging, and had already begun a quick examination of Ramon before Zorro had even managed to jump from the tooled leather saddle.
“Help me move him into the sunlight,” Hernandez tersely instructed.
Volunteers instantly lifted the barely conscious Ramon from the coach to the waiting arms of Zorro and Don Alejandro, who moved him onto the tavern’s nearest outside table.
“Where’s the Alcalde?” Zorro asked, his tone curt as they carefully settled Ramon. “Better yet, where’s Victoria?”
Don Alejandro replied, “The Alcalde threw her in jail again, if you can believe it. Something about obstructing justice. He thinks you’re her husband.” He glanced sharply at him as Hernandez went back to examining Ramon. “You aren’t, are you?”
Zorro grimaced and stepped off the porch in order to give the doctor room to work. “Of course not,” he said to Don Alejandro. “Though it’s not by choice, thanks to our Alcalde.”
Relief shot through Don Alejandro’s eyes. “I didn’t think so. You’ll do right by Victoria, I have no doubt. My concern is only for her.”
“As is mine,” Zorro assured. “But what could possibly give the Alcalde the idea we were married?”
Now it was Alejandro’s turn to grimace. “Something Victoria said… or almost said… about how the Alcalde was going to shoot her… then she stopped herself. De Soto, in all his infinite wisdom, leapt to conclusions.”
Zorro angrily muttered, “Will that man ever stop harassing her?”
Alejandro steeled himself. “Not until she marries someone other than you.”
That commentary surprised Zorro. “Do I detect a note of criticism there?”
“Not criticism,” Alejandro hastened to say. “But I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that half the pueblo wonders how someone in your position can ever love or marry anybody.”
Zorro had to concede he had a point. “The idea is that I won’t always be in this position.”
Alejandro snorted a laugh. “You’ll remain an outlaw as long as de Soto stays in office.”
“That’s what worries me.” Zorro glanced around, half expecting a call for his death. Or at least his arrest. “It’s too quiet. Where is everybody?”
“Sergeant Mendoza’s inside the tavern, collecting the traveler’s tax from the stage passengers. The lancers are collecting the bandits you brought down while chasing the stage. The citizens are huddled in the mission, still too scared to move. The Alcalde is in his office, surely threatening to hang Victoria at dawn if she doesn’t tell him who you are.”
Zorro gave a grim smile. “He can threaten all he wants; Victoria doesn’t know a thing.”
Alejandro heaved a sigh. “I’m not sure he doesn’t plan to carry out his threats no matter what Victoria does or does not know.”
“What?” Zorro said, alarmed.
Grimness also settled on Alejandro’s features. “I don’t think you understand just how much that man hates you. He blames you for keeping him here in Los Angeles, far from Spain. He hates Victoria by extension. I’ve already argued with him to let her go, but you know our Alcalde… refuses to listen to reason.”
Zorro’s face hardened. “Then I’ll make him.” The outlaw turned towards the Alcalde’s office, but Don Alejandro stopped him.
“Zorro --”
“He’s lost too much blood,” Doctor Hernandez said then, interrupting them. “The bullet is too close to his heart for me to remove it. There’s nothing more I can do.”
Zorro and Alejandro instantly stopped their conversation, turning in tandem to the doctor, both looking crestfallen at the news.
“He’s asking for his sister,” Hernandez continued.
“She’s…” Alejandro gestured helplessly towards the Alcalde’s office on the opposite side of the plaza.
Ramon coughed suddenly, arresting the attention of all three men. “Must tell… Victoria… tavern!”
Alejandro quickly leaned over the wounded man. “Ramon, it’s Don Alejandro. Remember me?”
But Ramon only grew more agitated. “Victoria!” he demanded. “Must --” More coughing cut him off. Blood seeped out of the corner of his mouth. Alejandro gently wiped it away.
“Not much longer now,” Doctor Hernandez quietly informed them.
“I’ll get Victoria,” Zorro said.
Hernandez stopped him. “No time, I’m afraid.”
Zorro turned back to the table where Ramon lay, coming to a fast, reckless decision. “Step away, please,” he ordered the two men on the porch with him. “I’ll deal with Ramon.”
Mystified, Don Alejandro nevertheless backed off the porch, Hernandez joining him.
Turning his back on them, Zorro leaned close over Ramon. “Ramon, it’s Diego,” he said in an extremely low voice, counting that Ramon would remember him. “We were good friends as children. We still are today. How can I help?”
At least Ramon instantly knew who he was. “Victoria!” Ramon said, and grabbed Zorro’s shirt in a steely grip. “Our Father… in his will… deeded tavern… to me… male heir. Victoria must… husband.”
“It’s all right, Ramon,” Zorro said, praying that no one would blame him for his next lie, least of all this man’s sister. “I’m Victoria’s husband.”
A smile ghosted across Ramon’s lips. “Then... I deed… tavern… to you.” He thrust a much folded and yellowed piece of paper into Zorro’s hand. “The deed. Give tavern to… Vict….” Red bubbles of blood burst from his lips, cutting off his words. He tensed, seizing, then his arm fell with a thunk to his side as all his muscles drooped at once. His eyes fluttered shut, he huffed a long breath, then went still.
The three men stood silent, the quiet of the plaza penetrating the scene. The sun beat down on the pueblo, and only a bird called overhead. It was as if the world had come to a stop with Ramon.
Z Z Z
Zorro blinked back tears, unashamed of his emotional reaction. Though he hadn’t seen Ramon for years, he’d just lost what he still counted as a good friend. He slowly straightened up, the deed to the tavern clutched in his gloved hand.
The three men stayed gathered near the dead man, completely silent, hardly daring to breathe.
Finally Zorro shook himself, resting his hand lightly on Ramon’s uninjured shoulder. “I’ll tell Victoria.” He couldn’t stop himself from thinking that yet another member of her family had become a victim of the Spanish government. Her mother, her father, and now her brother Ramon. She only had Francisco left, and last Zorro knew, Francisco was wanted by the Spanish military for aiding a known criminal. Victoria’s family had in effect been all but destroyed by her own country.
“That won’t be easy,” Alejandro warned softly. “De Soto --”
“Don’t worry about him,” Zorro said, his voice momentarily emotionless, shocked by what had just happened.
“Remember Victoria,” Alejandro immediately cautioned. “Don’t do anything you might later… regret.”
Zorro smiled sadly. “I’m not going to kill him,” he promised. “Though it’s often tempting.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Alejandro stood at Ramon’s side. “I’ll see he gets to the mission.”
“Thank you, Don Alejandro,” Zorro said. “Doctor, I owe you a great debt.”
“There’s no debt,” Hernandez quickly assured. “Just take care of that horse of yours.”
Zorro nodded. “That I can promise.” He stuffed the deed to the tavern safely inside his shirt. Then, too stunned to carry out his more typical act of simply vanishing, he walked across the plaza towards the Alcalde’s office, outwardly calm but a mass of turmoil beneath the smooth black mask.
Uppermost in his mind was to wonder how Victoria was going to respond to this latest personal blow. The loss of another family member like this… he wasn’t completely sure he wanted to find out. But it would be cowardly to avoid telling her this news. Resolute, he continued crossing the plaza through his own haze of sorrow.
Once he’d reached the building housing the jail, he skirted the Alcalde’s green office door, going around the side of the building instead to creep under his office window to the building’s corner. There he vaulted onto a convenient rain barrel and climbed nimbly onto the roof. Cautiously stepping across the red tiles, he kept one eye trained on the crumbling clay underfoot and one eye on the lancers still dealing with the bandits on the outskirts of the pueblo. So far they hadn’t spotted him, nor had Sergeant Mendoza, still inside the tavern. He wanted to avoid dealing with the garrison just now if at all possible.
Conscious of where he placed each foot before taking a step, he crossed the roof, fairly certain the Alcalde was only just below him. On cat’s feet he crept to the cuartel. If Mendoza chose that moment to come out of the tavern and call out to him, this stealth would be for nothing. But Victoria deserved to hear the most recent news concerning her brother without De Soto or any of his men interfering.
To that end, Zorro quietly entered the jail through the empty cuartel.
There Victoria was, sitting dejectedly on the cot in the far cell, leaning against the stone wall behind her, eyes fixed on the floor. He was almost standing at her cell door before she even noticed him.
“Zorro!” she whispered, jumping up.
“The Alcalde?” he asked, glancing around. It wouldn’t do for the man to be listening from a concealed corner.
“In his office,” Victoria whispered, then hurried to ask, “Ramon? Is he --?”
Zorro felt his face become stony. “I’m so sorry, Victoria, he’s dead.” His sad voice barely pierced the silence invading the jail. “I brought Doctor Hernandez as fast as I could, but he’d lost too much blood. I’m sorry.”
If he’d expected Victoria to drop to the floor in an anguished heep of grief and misery, he was disappointed. Her face did crumple for one minute, then with a visible effort she smoothed it out, brushing furtively at her eyes. “I thought that’s what had happened when I saw the look on your face.” Taking a deep breath, she pushed her emotions aside with the strength typical of a victim of frequent tragedy. “I’ll have to get a coffin, plan the funeral, and --”
“Don Alejandro is taking care of that. I have something else to tell you.”
Victoria glanced up, interested in spite of herself. “What?”
“Years ago your father deeded the tavern to Ramon in his will as the only male available at the time to inherit the family business.”
Confusion crossed Victoria’s face. “He couldn’t have. I own the tavern.”
“That’s what we all thought. But Ramon --”
Victoria shook her head. “I paid off the mortgage. It belongs to me.”
“Maybe you own the land the tavern’s built on,” Zorro suggested. “But Ramon gave me the deed to the tavern.”
A silent moment passed as Victoria digested this news, then slowly asked, “Why would he give it to you?”
Ah, now for the uncomfortable truth. “I… uh… told him… uh... I’m... your husband.”
Victoria choked. “My husband!”
“Sh!” he warned. “The Alcalde.” She subsided instantly, so Zorro could go on, “Actually, he thought the real me was your husband.”
“The real you,” she woodenly repeated. A blank stare met him when he dared look at her again. At last her eyes widened in full understanding. “The unmasked you.” Those eyes suddenly narrowed. “Why would he think that?”
Zorro couldn’t look at her anymore. “Um… because that’s what I... told him.”
Victoria’s eyebrows rose to her hairline. “So Ramon knew… before he died?”
Zorro’s voice was barely a whisper. “Yes.”
The full implications of this confession finally hit her, and she squeaked, “You told him… but not me?”
“Um…” This was getting really uncomfortable. To distract them both from what he’d chosen to tell to whom, Zorro drew the deed from his shirt. “This is the deed to the tavern. He instructed me to give it to you.” He held it out to her through the bars of her cell.
But she didn’t take it. She didn’t even move towards him. She hardly breathed. She did stare at the tavern deed, though, grimacing, her face once again crumpled in sorrow, as if she was wrestling with a new and extremely unpleasant idea. Several silent moments crawled by as she did nothing but stare. At last, her eyes slid up to his masked face, her own wrinkled in sadness. “It’s never going to end, is it?”
Was she talking about what had happened to her family as a whole, to Ramon in particular, to Los Angeles? “What do you mean, Señorita?”
A half-hearted wave encompassed his tall frame. “You. Your cause. The need for Zorro. The Alcalde’s obsession to capture you, to end you. All of it.”
Sudden prickles erupted under the black mask. Their conversation was quickly become far too personal. Zorro slowly withdrew the deed to the tavern. “It’s been like that for years, as you well know. Why is it a problem now?”
Watery tears swam in her crinkled eyes. “It will just go from one mad scheme meant to capture you to the next. I’ll be jailed so often as bait for you, I might as well set up shop here.”
It was as he’d feared; her often dangerous connection to him - the death of Ramon - it was finally too much for her to handle. “What are you saying, Victoria?”
Some hint in his voice must have alerted her to the depth of his concern, for she gave a watery grin. “I don’t mean I want to put an end to… us. But fighting… using force… maybe there’s another way.”
This was something Zorro hadn’t considered before. “What do you suggest?”
Victoria rocked on her feet, a thoughtful contrast to her mean surroundings. “You’ve done so much… for so many… and not killed anybody.” At the soft grunt of disagreement from him, amended, “As far as I know.”
“I’m surprised you don’t blame me for Ramon’s death,” he whispered, voicing the horrible thought that had coalesced in his mind on his way to the jail. “There’s a good chance he’d still be alive if I hadn’t interfered with…”
“You know I don’t think that!” she fiercely hissed.
“I bet you’re the only one who doesn’t.”
“It doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks,” she flatly stated. “At least, not about this. In fact, I would think they’d all be too ashamed to say anything.”
“Ashamed? I’m afraid you lost me, Señorita.”
“I’ve heard them in my tavern when they think I’m not close by. They’re all only too willing to complain about the state of the pueblo, and the high taxes, and the Alcalde, and to say they hate the way things are, but can’t do anything about it...” She blinked and raised her head to gaze steadfastly at him. “You prove them wrong every hour of every day.”
This still didn’t make sense. “Prove them wrong… how?”
“There is something they can do. But you’re doing it for them.”
“All right… I suppose I can see that… but..?”
Victoria heaved a sad sigh. “But you won’t complain… and will never be free of this…” she gestured at the black outfit and mask, “because there will always be bad people who will try to oppress others for… well, forever,” she said more loudly in her normal voice. “It will never end!”
“Sh!” he again cautioned. She bit her lip and gazed at the Alcalde’s office door, but it remained shut. So he continued, asking her, “Are you saying the people..?” What was she saying? “They’re taking advantage of me?”
Victoria shrugged and whispered, “You’re the only one doing anything! Well, you and Don Diego with his newspaper.”
For one wild moment, he considered telling her he was Diego, that the words that often broke though the silence of corruption in the pueblo were his, but she spoke before he could even open his mouth.
“You’ll never be free, I’ll never be free, there will never be an… us.”
Like him, she had obviously often been consumed with worries as to their future. “What do you suggest I do?” He’d thought so much on this subject that he felt paralyzed by it. If there was a way out of this trap of goodness he’d created for them, he couldn’t see it.
But she could.
Z Z Z
Hardly able to believe he was actually doing this, he pulled the door to the Alcalde’s office open five minutes later and walked right in.
“Alcalde,” he greeted, scaring the man so much he almost fell out of his desk chair.
“What are you doing here?” De Soto spluttered, hastily shuffling papers on his desk, glancing at the closed door leading to the plaza, out the window to the tavern were Mendoza was no doubt eating dinner, to his desk drawer where he often kept a hidden weapon, looking for any way to escape.
“I apologize, Alcalde,” Zorro said energetically. “I had no wish to startle you.”
De Soto sneered, looking more like his typical self all the time. “You don’t startle me, Zorro.” One move later, he’d jumped up, drawn his sword, and pointed it at the outlaw. “Drop your sword!”
But Zorro had drawn his own sword at the same time as the Alcalde and effortlessly pushed it aside. “Shut up and listen, Alcalde, and I’ll forget you did that.”
“Don’t give orders to me!”
Zorro let his sword fall to his side. “I’m willing to disarm myself if you’ll listen. I have a proposition to make.”
That at least piqued De Soto’s interest. He also lowered his sword to stare assessingly at Zorro. “All right, you have five minutes.”
“First, we each relinquish our weapons, agreed?”
De Soto waited until Zorro had placed his saber on his desk. Only then did he set aside his own sword. “Agreed.”
Zorro gave a dramatic tsk. “I said all our weapons.”
Without taking his eyes off the Alcalde, Zorro reached into the inside of his right boot and withdrew a knife, setting it beside his sword on the desk. Not dropping his gaze from Zorro, the Alcalde pulled a pistol from the top drawer of his desk, and set it aside. He continued to stare at Zorro, his eyes full of loathing. “All right, talk.”
Zorro sighed his disappointment. “I said all our weapons,” and he pulled a second knife out of his left boot to set aside.
De Soto grudgingly opened the shallow drawer in the middle of the desk and set aside his letter opener. “I suppose you would call this a weapon. Isn’t everything a weapon to an outlaw?” Without waiting for an answer, he announced, “I’m unarmed. What’s this proposition.”
“Alcalde,” Zorro chided. “You sound like you don’t believe me.”
De Soto groaned. “I’m a busy man. Get on with it!”
“Very well. My proposition is this: you want to go back to Madrid, a hero. I want to stop this endless cat and mouse game we have before innocents are killed. I suggest we simply… stop.”
The Alcalde barked a derisive laugh. “That’s it? That’s the best you have to offer?” He shook his white hair. “I don’t have time for --”
“In exchange,” Zorro loudly interrupted, “I train your lancers to catch the many banditos this area has to offer... and you don’t arrest me. Or Señorita Escalante. And she won’t charge you with the murder of her brother.”
“She won’t..?” De Soto’s barking laugh of incredulity sounded throughout the office again. “I’m sorry her brother’s dead, but…”
“I doubt that.”
Irritated to the point of fury, De Soto ground his teeth. “Be that as it may, it might be difficult for her to prove as there’s nothing --”
“Dr. Hernandez just described a revolutionary new method that can prove a bullet comes from one particular type of weapon over another,” Zorro lied, hoping that the Alcalde wasn’t much up on recent improvements in the medical field. “It’s being turned into a crime fighting tool as we speak. And as only rifles were fired today, by your men, on your orders, and as the outlaws carried pistols, and as Hernandez can prove the bullet that killed Ramon Escalante was from a rifle...” He let De Soto reach his own conclusions.
De Soto sneered. “I don’t believe you. Improvements in crime fighting my foot!” He pulled a tiny pistol out of his sash. Pointing it at Zorro, he ground out, “Your five minutes are up. You hang at dawn.”
Eye on the small but deadly pistol, Zorro commented, “I thought you said you were unarmed.”
The Alcalde scathingly retorted, “I lied.”
In one swift move, Zorro pulled the dagger from the right side of his right boot to flick the pistol and send it flying. “So did I.” He placed the dagger on the pine desk.
De Soto’s gaze followed his pistol’s flight into the corner. Zorro also watched the arc of the weapon.
De Soto chose that perfect moment to pull a second pistol from his pocket. “As I was saying, you h --”
Zorro reached behind him so swiftly to pull a fourth knife from a back holster that the Alcalde barely reacted when he flipped the second pistol to follow in the path of the first. “As I was saying…” The two men stared fixedly at each other. “Are we both finally disarmed now?”
Trying to show how this didn’t bother him one way or another, the Alcalde shrugged. “I am if you are.”
“You better hope I’m not lying again,” Zorro stated.
“You better hope that I’m not.”
Zorro heaved a sigh of annoyance. “I told Victoria this would never work. But she always thinks the best of people.”
De Soto waved his hand in a hurrying motion. “I haven’t got all day.”
Zorro quickly explained, “I train your men in the art of criminal… catching. Your garrison catches an impressive number of banditos. Our game ends when I disappear. You go back to Madrid a hero. I can get on with my life. Do we have a deal?”
The Alcalde immediately narrowed his eyes. “And if we don’t?”
“Just because I’ve chosen not to kill anybody… on purpose… so far doesn’t mean I won’t start with you. You might be heading back to Spain no matter what, this time in a pine box.”
The finality of the threat clearly rattled De Soto. He even took a step back. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“I don’t trust you, either. But if we don’t do this, we’ll be caught in this game until we kill each other, or die natural deaths of old age. It’s your choice.”
De Soto stared hard at Zorro once again, gauging his sincerity. “Pine box, you say?”
Zorro’s lips curved in the famous cocky grin. “I promise.”
When another silent moment had gone by, Zorro stuck out his hand. “Should we shake on it?”
The Alcalde looked at the black gloved hand as if nothing could possibly revolt him more. “Don’t push your luck.” Zorro laughed. “Deal.”
A nod, a smile, and Zorro agreed. “Deal.”
Z Z Z
In all the following months he spent training the lancers while De Soto pretended to look the other way, Zorro never told anybody, including Victoria, the truth as to his identity. She never asked, either. Nor did Don Alejandro, Sergeant Mendoza, Padre Benitez, Doctor Hernandez, or Alcalde De Soto himself. Perhaps none of them figured it out. Perhaps they all did, and nobody ever said anything about it.
Yet she knew, and he knew she knew. If any of the others knew, they never gave any indication whatsoever that the greatest secret of that generation had been revealed, uncovered, unmasked. For all intents and purposes, Zorro simply… vanished.
Z Z Z
One year later:
“I can’t believe the Alcalde’s gone,” said Don Alejandro one day in the tavern. “As is Zorro. It’s just as you predicted, Diego. How did you know?”
Diego shared a meaningful look with Victoria as she stood behind the blue counter in what was indisputably her tavern. He cast a nonchalant glance at that tavern’s ceiling. Then he lethargically blinked and said, “Intuition.”
Z Z Z
One year after that:
Diego and Victoria’s first child came into the world red-faced, screaming, and female. They named her Ramon.
The End