26. The Righteous Mr Rikkard Ambrose

"Don't...mphmphmph...don't you think this means that...mphpmphmph...I'm just gonna forgive you for what happened earlier!"

"Certainly not."

"I've merely...mphmphmph...temporarily postponed your punishment in the face of more...mphmph...important matters."

"Definitely. Now..." Glancing at my left hand, which still held the rolling pin while the other was busy shoving the delicious toast into my mouth, he cocked his head. "Why don't you put that cooking utensil down?"

"Ha! In your dreams!"

From behind his back, he pulled out a second ice cream and mustard toast, holding it out to me seductively.

"You...you're evil!"

"As the inhabitants of this country are wont to say, I plead the fifth."

Grumbling, I dropped the rolling pin and grabbed my munchylicious toast. By the time I glanced at the floor again, at the spot where the cooking utensil had landed, the rolling pin had appeared. I glared at Mr Ambrose, who looked supremely, nonchalantly innocent. Sneaky bugger!

I levelled a fierce wifely look at him. "Don't run off thinking that you'll be able to worm your way out of all our future arguments like this!"

"I shall take care to discover different methods."

"Good. You—oy! That wasn't what I meant! I meant you shouldn't try to worm your way out of arguments, period!"

"Indeed?"

"And if you use that word again, I will take one of these pieces of toast and ram it up your backside!"

He cocked his head. "Indeed?"

I met his gaze—then glanced at the toast. The beautiful, delectable, delicious toast. Darn! He knew me too well.

"Next time I'll show you!" I promised, then took a big bite of toast. Aaahhhh...how come I hadn't realized until recently what a marvellously tasty combination ice cream and mustard would make?

"Certainly."

"Harrumph." I took another bite. "So...what now?"

"That depends. I was just about to receive a report from the marshal. Would you be interested in sitting in on our discussion?"

"Does a bear crap in the woods?"

"Would you like my honest opinion from personal observation?"

I blinked, the toast that suddenly didn't seem quite so delicious anymore frozen half-way to my mouth. "You mean you actually watched a bear doing his...?"

"When you spend years digging up gold in the mountains, you cannot help witnessing certain scenes."

"Mr Ambrose?"

"Yes?"

"Remind me to never ask you a rhetorical question again."

"Noted. The marshal?"

I nodded. "Call him in."

Reaching out, Mr Ambrose rang the bell on his desk. A moment later, a nervous yet excited young man stuck his head through the door. I recognized one of the villagers who had first come to ask us for help.

"Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir? What can I do for you, Mr Ambrose, Sir?"

"Send in the marshal, please."

"Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir! Right away, Mr Ambrose, Sir!"

Rushing out, the man skipped down the corridor.

I raised my toast-holding hands to do air quotes. "Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir! Right Away, Mr Ambrose, Sir!"

"Quite satisfactory manners, don't you think? I know a certain secretary who could learn a thing or two from such a polite young man."

"You...!" I aimed a kick at his shin, which he neatly dodged. I aimed another, which he also dodged.

"Two to zero," Mr Ambrose said, sounding not the least bit smug. No, definitely not.

"This isn't a game of footsie!"

"It isn't? I seem to remember us playing a rather similar game at my parental home."

"Well, yes, but—"

"You might almost say," he interrupted, his dark, sea-coloured eyes boring deeply into mine, "that it is our little tradition?"

For a moment, I was dazzled.

That moment was all he needed.

"Ow!"

"Three to one," Mr Ambrose announced, not smiling smugly whatsoever.

"You...! I said this isn't a game of footsie! And even if it is, that isn't a game you keep score for in order to—" Wham! My foot lashed out. "Ha! Caught you by surprise! Three to one!"

"You were saying about not keeping score?"

"Um, never mind. Never mind." I flashed him a grin. "Let's play."

When a certain young man returned five minutes later, he found Mr Rikkard Ambrose and his lady wife sitting at a desk, aiming swift successive kicks at each other's legs.

"Um...Mr Ambrose, Sir?"

"Ehem." The dignified business mogul quickly straightened up and cleared his throat. "What is it?"

"I...came to let you know the marshal is on his way, Sir. He's just doing a last check on the prisoners to make sure they're all secured. He'll be here in a few minutes."

"I see. You may leave."

"Um...yes, Sir! Do you, err...need some balm for your legs, Sir? I could go to old Mrs McDougal and—"

"That won't be necessary. You may leave."

"Yessir! Right away, Sir!"

He raced out of the room, letting the door fall shut behind him. For a moment, silence fell over the room.

"Mrs Ambrose?"

"Yes, dear?"

"We shall not ever discuss this event with anybody else."

"Yes, dear."

"And, Mrs Ambrose...?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Stop smirking!"

"Yes, dear."

It was a mighty struggle. I did, however, not have to fight against my urges for long. Before long, a knock came from the door.

"Enter," Mr Ambrose commanded. And if, under the table, he was rubbing his shins, I'm sure nobody noticed.

The door swung open, and the inconspicuous figure of a certain salesman slipped into the room, a case clutched under his arm.

"Did you bring a sample of Fizzlewiz Fabulous Bruise Cure, by any chance?" I enquired, grinning.

"I'm afraid not, Ma'am," Angleton responded, his voice quiet and serious. "What I do have, however, should be far more interesting."

Placing his briefcase on the desk, he flipped open the lock. I leaned forward curiously just as he lifted the lid, and caught sight of the thickest, most menacing pile of documents I had ever seen in my life. And as private secretary of Rikkard Ambrose, that was bloody saying something!

"Witness reports, signed confessions, bookkeeping records detailing innumerably dirty dealings...it's all here. And we haven't even really started questioning people yet. After your chief of security, Mr Karim, helped us bring them to the prison, they seemed to be positively clamouring to confess."

"Fancy that." I tapped my chin. "I wonder why?"

"Criminals never have true loyalty to their employers," Mr Ambrose said with an honest face. "They are not like us good, righteous people who always do what our conscience dictates."

I nearly spurted ice cream and mustard all over the floor.

"Y-yes. Righteous people," I coughed. "Absolutely."

The marshal gave a sombre nod. "In my line of work, I have to deal with so many people who see laws only as things to be twisted to their own ends. It's relieving to see that there are still people out there who believe in truth, justice, and...Ma'am are you all right?"

"P-perfectly f-fine," I squeezed out, just managing to suppress my urge to keel over laughing. "I feel spiffing, really!"

"I think she is going into shock," Mr Ambrose said in a concerned voice while his concerned foot kicked me under the desk. "She volunteered to participate in this charade, but I should have known it would be too much for a lady's delicate sensibilities."

That got him a kick from me.

"Oh, I am sorry. I should have realized." The marshal bowed. "Would you like to withdraw and rest, Ma'am? I would most certainly understand it."

"No, don't worry. I think my...delicate feminine sensibilities should be able to deal with things just fine."

"If you're sure..."

"Quite sure. " I placed a hand on the table. The one that had previously held the steak knife. "Now, why don't you share what you know?"

"Yes." Mr Ambrose leaned forward, fingers steepled. "I, too, would be interested in seeing the result of your investigations so far."

"Very well." Heaving a sigh, the marshal started to spread out the documents. "Here's what I found out so far..."

And he began detailing the two Spaniards' offenses and misdeeds. I had to admit, even I, who had spent the last several years in the company of Mr Rikkard Ambrose, was quite impressed with the multitude of greedy, semi-legal and downright criminal ways of squeezing money out of people the two of them had indulged in. Charging rent for farms that people were forced to work on at gunpoint? All so that these farms, which just so happened to be placed around a gold mine, could be used by the Spaniards to lay claim to land that wasn't theirs and make them a fortune in gold? Gold which, apparently, would be turned into jewellery decorated with blood diamonds, which then would be used to finance the purchase of several casinos that would be utilized to launder money from various illegal activities in South America that...

Well, you get my meaning.

"...and to top it all off," he finished, "I just received word via express rider not an hour ago. It appears that De Ravera and De La Fuente missed their court date in New York."

I frowned. "And?"

The marshal's eyes sparkled in a way that, if it appeared on the face of anyone but a dignified law enforcement officer, would have to be called an evil twinkle. "And they were supposed to appear in front of a grand jury to defend themselves against the charges of kidnapping and human trafficking more than a week ago. Which means that, by United States law, they are now fugitives sought by the State of New York. Now that they've been captured, they will be immediately transferred back East, where the noble peers of the Spanish Empire will be the guests of the local penitentiary in solitary confinement, feasting on bread and water."

A grin spread across my face. "Oh dear. How...unfortunate."

"And when you add to that the evidence that has now been accumulated..." He pointed at the pile of documents which by now had reached around a dozen inches in height. "I'd say they'll be locked away for a good, long time."

"Bread and water?" I once more made certain. "Solitary confinement?"

"Yes," the Marshal confirmed. "Except for the time in the communal washing room with big, dangerous career criminals who haven't met a woman in years."

My eyes widened. "You mean..."

"Of course not, Ma'am." The man assured me sincerely, his innocent ears sticking out from his harmless tufts of hair. "I am a US Marshal. I would never hint at anything illegal. Especially not in the presence of a lady."

I made a mental note to never ever underestimate Marshal Angus Angleton.

"I hope you won't be opposed to my hoping their prison sentence is in the millennial range," Mr Ambrose stated. "Unless, of course, it turns out to be very short and ends at the end of a hemp rope."

"No." The marshal's face darkened. "I most definitely am not opposed to that. I must admit, when I received your letter a few months ago, I wasn't entirely convinced you were telling the truth. The idea that foreign imperialists had started to undermine the very institutions of this country...I simply did not want to believe it." He shook his head. "But apparently, the corruption ran even deeper than you had hinted. After arriving here, it didn't take me long to realize that every level of government and law enforcement had been subverted. If not for you, we might never have noticed what was going on here. As a representative of the United States of America, I thank you from the bottom of my heart."

Mr Ambrose humbly inclined his head. "I was only doing my civic duty."

Once again, I nearly decorated the floor in patterns of ice cream and mustard. Then I made a mental note to never, ever underestimate Mr Rikkard Ambrose either. Just now I'd admired the marshal's intelligence, and now my dear husband was feeding him bold-faced lies and succeeding admirably.

Rising to his feet, the marshal bowed before Mr Ambrose.

"My country shall not forget this favour. I will make sure my superiors are informed about this, and you are suitably rewarded."

"No need. A good deed is its own reward."

I wondered, if Mr Rikkard Ambrose would continue talking like this, would his nose start to elongate? I sincerely hoped not. I liked his face just the way it was, thank you very much.

"You are truly an honourable man." Rising from his bow, the marshal collected his documents. "Then, if you would permit, I will return to my work. Preliminary investigations should be concluded in four days, and we should allot another few days for travel preparations. Would it be amenable if we depart towards New York in a week's time?"

"Indeed it would."

"Excellent. Then, unless there is anything else you wish to discuss...?"

Mr Ambrose shook his head. "There is not. You are dismissed."

The marshal performed another, smaller, bow, and left the room. As for Mr Rikkard Ambrose—he leaned back in his chair, luxuriating in his victory and casually looking gorgeous.

God, how I wanted to deck him!

Only...I was fairly sure that in a contest between my fist and his head, his head would come out on top. If only I still had that rolling pin.

Raising a hand—which by now, unfortunately, was toast-free—I pointed a finger at him. "I'm still not letting you off for this!"

In answer, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a bar of solid chocolate.

"You...! You are demonic!"

"Indeed."

"Gimme!"

"You are welcome."

A few moments of munching later...

"You could have told me, you know! Before all the shooting and running and aborted executions."

Mr Ambrose inclined his head. Somehow, he had snuck around the desk while I was concentrating on my treasure of deliciousness, and was now sitting right beside me, his arm around my shoulders.

"Indeed, I could have. I could have explained everything to you the day we set out." Pausing, he sent me a look with those deep, dark, sea-coloured eyes of his. "Yet that would have meant your honeymoon wouldn't have been half as interesting."

"You...!"

That son of a bachelor! He...he was...

...right.

Dammit! How come he knew me so well?

Eyes narrowing, I stared at him. "Am I supposed to believe that you orchestrated a Wild West adventure with shootouts, saloon brawls and prison breaks simply to provide me with an entertaining honeymoon?"

Capturing my cheek in one hand, he drew me closer until his unfathomably deep eyes were only inches away from mine. "Certainly. What other reason could there be?" And, leaning forward even further, he brushed his lips against mine. "After all, I love you."

Not fair!

"Y-you're not playing fair!"

His thumb stroking across my cheek. "Why would I? Playing straight never wins you the greatest prize. And the greatest prize," he breathed as his lips once more touched mine, "is often the sweetest one."

"Th-that's just the chocolate," I mumbled, feeling heat rushing to my face.

"Really?" Mr Ambrose cocked his head. "I don't really think so. Let me verify."

And, snatching me up in his arms, he proceeded to do so. Thoroughly. Next to the desk. On top of the desk. On the chaise longue in the corner. He was very thorough, and did a lot of verifying.

When, finally, we lay cuddled together on the chaise longue, filled with blissful afterglow, I leaned over to gaze into his eyes.

"So...we've won."

"Indeed." His arms slid around me, holding me close. "The Spaniards are done for. Now, all we have to do is take a trip back to New York, where we can enjoy the sea air, see the sights, catch up on paperwork and watch two corrupt criminals be sentenced to death."

"Aww...you say the most romantic things."

"I do my best, Mrs Ambrose."

And then he drew me close, locked his lips with mine and started doing some more verifying.

***

Hours later, when the darkness of the night had fallen like a blanket over the land, a shadow moved towards the towering form of the newly rebuilt and reinforced prison. It glided along the wall noiselessly until it reached a certain window.

"You took your time!" came a hiss from inside. "Why didn't you make a move earlier? Were you just going to watch while sey shot holes srough me?"

"My apologies, Señor." The man bowed. "I wanted to act, but there were too many people present. Armed people in particular. And that marshal..."

A curse exploded from the interior of the cell.

"Don't mention sat cabrón to me! Not unless it is to tell me sat you have his head on a silver platter, or better yet, have captured him alive! I want nosing more but to estrangle se very life out of him!"

"I shall do my utmost, Señor. But before sat, should I attempt to free you? It will probably be difficult, but I might..."

"No. No, wait." There was a momentary pause from inside the jail. "Do you know what se osser side's next moves are?"

"I listened in on seir plans, Señor. Sey plan to..."

The black shadow hesitated.

"Plan to what?"

"Plan to transport you eastward to...stand trial and be incarcerated."

Another flood of curses erupted from the interior of the cell. The dark shadow outside made the wise decision not to mention anything about communal wash rooms and sex-deprived career criminals.

"...bastardos! Sey will die! Sey will all die a death sat shall make torture seem like a pleasure cruise!"

"Yes, Señor. So...do you wish me to attack sem?"

A moment of contemplation. Then...

"No. Oh no. I have somesing different in mind for sem."

"What can we do?" another, much weaker voice came from beyond the iron bars. It sounded like the voice of a man who had been broken by life's heavy burdens—or the voice of a man who had nearly been shot earlier today and was still busy pissing his pants. Either would be an apt description. "We have already used every single legal mesod we could possibly get away wis."

"Exactly." De Ravera sneered. "Every legal mesod." Heavy breathing came from within the cell, then, slowly, as if from the very depths of hell, came the voice again. "Hear my orders: tell Sanchez to call in se...'special reinforcements'. It's time to get serious."

----------------------------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Oh my oh my. Do you think Lilly and Mr Ambrose will be able to weather the storm that is coming?

Yours Truly

Sir Rob