‘Mr Edge! Ain’t you gonna stay for some breakfast? Or coffee, at least?’
‘No, ma’am,’ the half-breed answered, and glimpsed the mixture of anxiety and disappointment which spread across her face before he continued his unhurried progress along the street.
‘Me and Trav wouldn’t say no to some coffee, Mrs Emmons!’ Lee called.
‘You two can go to the same place your friend Wilkes is already at!’ the woman snarled, and banged the window closed to emphasise her anger.
The sun shafted a first ray of warm arid bright light over the crest of the hill to the east of town as Edge reached the front of the Freedom Restaurant and sat down on the sidewalk. He rested the rifle across his thighs and rolled and lit a cigarette. All around him, the townspeople stirred from their beds to start living the new day. Smoke began to wisp from chimneys, windows and doors were opened, pots and pans and cutlery were rattled, babies cried, children shouted, dogs barked and chickens clucked. So that the regular thud of two spades digging into consecrated ground was soon lost amid the general hubbub of more usual morning sounds.
Men appeared on the streets and began to head out of town towards the surrounding pastureland, a few on horseback but most of them walking. Stores opened their doors for business, the owners or their helpers sweeping dust off the sidewalks out front of the premises. Friendly greetings were exchanged, with Edge pointedly excluded for most of the time. And while the bug-eyed man named Tuttle who ran the drug store and the chin-whiskered gunsmith spared curt nods for the half-breed when they saw him seated on the sidewalk, only a fleshy faced, broad-shouldered, totally bald man who banged open the doors of the Sheepman Saloon felt strongly enough to direct an embittered glower across the width of the street.
‘It was Jonas Cochran’s best customer you killed, mister,’ Art Ely said as he halted in front of Edge.
‘Wilkes hadn’t been such a hard drinking customer, he wouldn’t be dead, feller.’
‘I hear Martha bent your ear some last night. That the reason why you plan to eat restaurant grub instead of her fine food?’ He gave an involuntary belch and, in the not-yet-overheated air of early morning, Edge smelled ham and eggs on his breath.
‘Ain’t you got work to do?’ the half-breed asked flatly, gazing coldly up at the silver-haired, black-moustached man.
‘Good morning to you, sir?’ Billings called out cheerfully in his Southern-accented voice as he came down the steps of the Four Aces. ‘And to you, Mr Ely. Are we going to be three for breakfast?’
The blacksmith’s expression changed from a strange brand of sad irritation to angry contempt as he looked back at Edge after a glance toward the broadly smiling hotel owner.
‘So that’s the way the wind blows!’ he hissed between his top teeth pressed against his lower gums. Then he swung away from the rising half-breed and stalked angrily down the street towards his premises.
‘Something upsetting our friend?’ the one-eyed Billings asked.
‘Seems he got the wind up over breakfast,’ Edge answered as a thin, middle-aged, nervously smiling Mexican latched open the restaurant door.
‘Buenos Dias, Señor Billings. And Señor Edge. It will be a great pleasure to serve you. Enter, please.’
The small restaurant was filled with sunlight which flooded in through the open doorway and penetrated with difficulty the dirt-smeared windows to either side. The half dozen tables were covered with food-stained cotton cloths, there was sawdust on the floor and the walls were spattered with countless blotches that were the remains of squashed insects. The air was heavy with the smells of baking bread, brewing coffee and simmering chili.
‘Coffee and hot rolls, Ramon,’ Billings said as he indicated that Edge should sit at the table closest to the door. ‘And for you, sir?*
‘Sounds fine,’ the half-breed answered, choosing the chair from which he could look out on the street
‘Si, right away, señors.’
The Mexican left the room through a bead-curtained arch at the rear and Billings sat down to Edge’s right. The moment he was seated, the gleam of good humour left his uncovered eye and the set of his mouth altered from a smile to a sneer.
‘The privy over at the Four Aces is cleaner than this place, Edge.’
‘I’ve already been this morning, feller.’
Ramon reappeared, carrying a tray laden with the breakfast order. ‘Eat hearty, señors,’ he urged with enthusiasm when he had unloaded the tray. In time to paste a mournful expression over his angular features and cross himself as the bell in the church steeple began to toll.
‘Sounds like Preacher Dibble’s planting Wilkes,’ Billings growled as Ramon disappeared out back again. ‘Dirt into dirt.’
Most of the sheepmen had gone out into their fields. The few laggards and the women who were on their way to the stores halted and stood with heads bowed. Glancing out on to the street and seeing this, the one-eyed man made his expression even more sour.
‘Look at them!’ he snarled. ‘Wasn’t anyone except his bosom buddies and Jonas Cochran had a good word to say for Wilkes when he was alive!’
The dead man merited only ten mournful notes from the steeple bell. When the death knell ended, the sounds of Art Ely hammering metal into shape on his anvil clanged through the town.
‘You’re not the most talkative of men are you?’ Billings complained, and raised a ringed finger towards his nose.
Edge swallowed a piece of buttered hot roll and washed it down with coffee. Then he looked at the frowning face of the one-eyed man – who suddenly realised what he was doing and pretended he had an itch on the side of his nose.
‘It was you wanted to talk with me, feller. What do you want me to say about the state of your privy and the way local folks respect the dead?’
The frown expanded. ‘I’m alive, sir! And accustomed to receiving respect from people I can help.’ He moderated his tone. ‘Is money a subject that interests you?’
‘It buys what I need. Fit my needs to my bankroll.’
‘How does a thousand dollars sound?’ He laughed and it was a smirk with noise.
‘Like a lot of money just to buy some respect, feller.’
‘One bullet,’ Billings said softly, his uncovered eye checking that the bead curtain hung still in the arch and that the sidewalk outside the restaurant was deserted. He leaned across the table. ‘You’re a fine gunfighter, sir, who has already engendered bad feeling in our local sheriff. It will be a simple matter to provoke Gould into drawing against you, will it not?’
‘What then, feller?’ Edge asked flatly.
Billings remained in the conspiratorial attitude, smiling in anticipation of a successful deal. ‘I will appoint myself sheriff and Freedom will become a wide-open town.’
‘Just like that?’
The one-eyed man frowned again, perturbed by the half-breed’s unemotional response. ‘Not immediately, of course. It will take time for the word to spread that Freedom no longer has a sheriff who treats every stranger like he was a carrier of yellow fever. Time, too, for me to convince the local people that my plans for Freedom will benefit all.’
‘And you’ll be able to do all that without too much sweat just because Gould’s out of the way?’
Billings had obviously expected a quick close of the deal. And now his impatience came to the surface. But he suppressed it with a long sigh. ‘Look, I’ve already got a number of the local merchants on my side. And there’s a hell of a lot of ordinary people who like Four Aces style entertainment better than the liquor and spit and sawdust kind which is all Cochran offers over at the Sheepman. But in this town there’s a strong strait-laced body of opinion. Solidly behind Gould now. But with Gould gone they won’t be any opposition at all.’
Edge finished his coffee as the eagerness of the one-eyed man came to the surface again. ‘But all that need not concern you, sir. Because you’ll be long gone. Although should you wish to return in the future – when I and my men are in control of what
will undoubtedly be the most wide-open town in the territory – you will be–’
‘Your men?’
Billings made a throaty sound of irritation. ‘Initially Grogan and Leech. You probably saw them in the Four Aces last night. But later it will probably be necessary for me to recruit other deputies. I have no illusions about the problems involved in running the kind of town I envisage, sir. But it should not be too difficult to select the right calibre of men from those who will be attracted here.’ He smiled and straightened up in his chair. ‘The kind of man who, shall we say, will kill for such a simple reason as the fact that his horse is in need of a new set of shoes?’
‘Ramon!’ Edge called.
Billings was perplexed.
‘Si, señor?’ the Mexican asked as he came through the bead curtain.
‘How much the breakfast?’
Thirty cents, señor,’
The half-breed dug for a handful of coins and counted out the required amount. Then he stood up, hoisted the Winchester to his shoulder and stepped out on the sidewalk. There were few men on the streets of Freedom now. Just a pair of old timers killing time until they died. Several women carrying shopping baskets. And a lot of children between five and fourteen converging on the schoolhouse.
‘What do you say, sir?’ Billings asked anxiously as he emerged to stand beside Edge in the warm sunlight.
The half-breed nodded in the direction of the wagon parked outside the Four Aces, responding to a cheerful wave from Willard Clayton who was busily engaged in setting up signs to advertise that he was now in business as a dentist. The smile on the face of the blond youngster was abruptly replaced by a look of deep hatred when the boy saw Billings emerge from the restaurant doorway. But the one-eyed man was too intent upon staring at the impassive profile of Edge to see this.
‘Well?’
The half-breed rested his rifle on a rocker to the left of the doorway and started to take off his coat. ‘Sure, I’m fine, feller,’ he said.
‘You know what I mean!’ Billings rasped. ‘Do we have a deal?’
‘Don’t hold it against you for trying,’ Edge replied. ‘But you made a mistake. Killing ain’t my trade.’
‘I told you, Abi!’ a man snarled. ‘I told you we’d best be on our own!’
Edge had heard the footfalls on the sawdust-strewn floor of the restaurant. But there had been no reason to think it was anybody except Ramon. Until the fast-spoken words were spat through the redolent air. And the man’s booted feet stomped harder.
The half-breed, his coat slid midway down his arms, silently cursed his lack of readiness. And cursed, too, the outwardly calm and peaceful atmosphere of this town in early morning which he had allowed to influence his state of mind.
He whirled, trying to shrug clear of his coat and managing only to draw his left arm free of a sleeve.
As he turned he glimpsed the face of Billings which showed a mixture of shock, rage and fear. Then, pressed against the rear wall of the restaurant to one side of the bead-curtained archway he saw Ramon, the Mexican terrified to a point close to passing out.
Finally, the prematurely bald man with the scar on his jaw who had emanated so much ill-will towards the half-breed in the Four Aces last night. Dressed in the same way as then, except that he had taken off the jacket of his stylishly tailored cream suit. And his eyes were no longer brooding, instead they blazed with green fire to complement the way his lips were drawn back from his teeth in a vicious snarl. The sun-glinting blade of the knife in his right fist was just three feet away from Edge’s chest as the half-breed completed his awkward turn.
‘Grogan!’ Billings roared.
Edge swung his right arm forward, to whiplash his coat towards the thrusting knife. Grogan pulled up short and vented an obscenity as he tried to jerk the knife clear. He did so, but lost time. Enough time for Edge to streak his left hand into the long hair at the nape of his neck and slide out the straight razor.
‘He’s on his own, Edge!’ Billings shrieked.
‘Not for long,’ the half-breed hissed between teeth clenched in a killer’s grin, as he dropped his coat-entangled arm to his side and pushed his right hand forward. At the same time he bent from the waist.
Grogan tried to lean backwards, but his counter was slowed by the shock of seeing the blade in the taller man’s fist. And Edge’s longer reach, combined with the forward cant of his body, was enough for the connection to be made.
So that half the length of the sharply honed razor sank into Grogan’s throat, just beneath the Adam’s apple.
‘Figure he’ll have lots of company in hell.’
Neither Grogan nor Edge had moved their feet since the half-breed completed his turn and the bald headed man halted his forward rush. So that one was still out on the sidewalk and the other was in the restaurant, the lethal thrust having been made across the threshold.
Grogan made a gurgling sound and his gritted teeth were suddenly changed from white to crimson as an outrush of air from his lungs carried blood from his punctured throat into his mouth. His eyes bulged so large it looked as if the balls were in danger of popping from the sockets. Then he dropped his knife, his mouth fell open and a torrent of blood spewed out over his chin and down on to his blue vest. His eyelids moved fractionally and he died, the downward tumble of his corpse pulling his flesh off the blade of the razor.
‘Madre de Dios!’ Ramon gasped, and crossed himself.
Grogan’s kneecaps hit the floor hard and Edge took a backward step as the dead man sprawled half out of the restaurant doorway.
‘Oh, my God!’ Billings croaked.
Edge stooped down to wipe the bloodied blade on the silk back of the dead man’s vest, shaking the coat sleeve free of his arm as he did so. To the corpse, he muttered:
‘Nobody can say you never had a prayer, feller.’
Chapter Six
‘Señor, he made me silent with fear when he came through my kitchen!’ the trembling Ramon blurted.
‘I swear I didn’t know anything about what Grogan planned–’ Billings said, speaking so fast his words ran together.
A woman crossing the street towards the restaurant saw the blood-run face of the dead man between Edge’s booted feet, dropped her shopping basket and screamed:
‘Murder! Another killing!’
In the few moments it had taken for Grogan to launch his attack and for the half-breed to kill him, the morning routine of Freedom had continued on its course. Nobody on the street – except for Willard Clayton – paid the least attention to what was happening under the sidewalk awning in front of the restaurant.
But as the high-pitched words were shrieked through the hot air they triggered a period of silence that began at the suddenly immobile woman and spread outwards like ripples from the centre of a pond. Across and down the street, through the buildings and even out into the hilly grazing land beyond. So that not even the bleat of a sheep could be heard. A frozen scene under glaring sun.
Then: ‘Hold it right there, stranger!’ the black-clad Huey Gould yelled, powering out of his office and coming to a halt on the sidewalk. His right hand was draped over the butt of his holstered Colt.
The silence came back. Harder and deeper than the one which had followed the shouted words of the shocked woman. As all eyes were wrenched away from the unperturbed form of the tall, lean half-breed to sweep their gazes towards the lawman. But this time the stillness was shorter lived, shattered by an awesomely loud sound. Deep-throated. Twin reports merged into one as both loads of a double-barrel shotgun sprayed through splinters of glass from the law-office window. They tore off the flesh from the back of Gould’s head and sent him staggering on dead legs; down from the sidewalk and out to the street. A corpse with a shredded brain pouring out of the massive hole in his skull to splash down his back – moved by the spasms of a dying nervous system, off the patch of building shade and into the harsh glare of the sun.
The screams of horror, cries of terror and shouts of rag
e began before the lifeless form of the sheriff impacted against the ground to raise a cloud of dust. People fled in fear of their own lives or lunged forward to protect the youngest and most bewildered children.
‘It’s all right!’ a man yelled from the shaded interior of the law office. ‘We done it, Abi! Me and Grogan, we done it without no help! You tell the people they got nothin’ to fear if they just–’
He showed himself in the framework of glass shards at the shattered window. A thick-set, pale-faced, thirty-year-old man with a mop of black curly hair, thick eyebrows and eyes as blue as those of the half-breed. The man who had been seated with Grogan in the Four Aces last night. Now holding a broken-open shotgun which he snapped together as he saw Edge standing beside Billings, and made to bring it to the aim.
‘No, Randy!’ the one-eyed man shrieked, and stepped into the line of fire. ‘Enough’s been done!’
‘That’s the feller named Leech, I guess,’ Edge said softly. And made no move to step from behind the shield of Billings’s body. As the shocked man in the law office became as motionless as everyone else who had witnessed the blasting to death of Sheriff Gould.
‘I swear they cooked it up without telling me,’ the one-eyed man implored, with nervousness in his voice but the start of a new-born confidence in his bearing as he swung his head to left and right: surveying the effect of the recent killings on the townspeople.
‘But, Abi, we got it buttoned up!’ Leech yelled. ‘Look to the hotel!’
He set the example. Then, everyone in a position to do so shifted their gaze in the same direction. In time to see the five upper-storey front windows pushed open. So that the two whores at each of them could thrust the barrels of Winchester rifles over the sills. While, down below, Rose Pride pushed through the batwings, a similar weapon levelled from a flaring hip below her nipped-in-waist.
‘It was Grogan’s idea, darling!’ the beautiful green-eyed blonde madam called. ‘And we all went along with it because we were tired of waitin’ for your plans to–’
EDGE: The Frightened Gun (Edge series Book 32) Page 6
