EDGE: Ashes And Dust (Edge series Book 19)

by George G. Gilman

  She distributed the food between two plates and looked hard at Edge as she handed him his meal.

  ‘I’ve been mourning Tom as he was when he was a child,’ she said stiffly. ‘And I’d cry for my worst enemy if he died like that. I choose to recall the good parts of the past, I suppose.’

  ‘Did you hear me complaining, ma’am?’ Edge asked.

  She showed irritation. ‘You never ask any questions!’ she accused. ‘And there are times when everybody needs to talk.’

  ‘Guess I’m different to everybody.’

  ‘You most certainly are!’ she responded, still flaring a little. Then her emotions calmed as he began to eat. Her voice became flat again. ‘I suppose Father must have taunted Tom with what he intended to do with his money. Tom was waiting for me in Dream Creek, so he must have.’

  ‘It figures,’ Edge agreed. ‘It also figures he didn’t trust himself to handle the job alone.’

  ‘And there was a falling out?’ Emma suggested. ‘Perhaps when they divided the money between them.’

  ‘Your brother fell real hard.’

  Silence came between them again, as they squatted on opposite sides of the fire, eating the evening meal. But there was no longer any hint of tension in the absence of words. The crackling of the burning firewood could have been the sounds of the barrier as it was constantly broken down and kept open for further communication.

  ‘You would never kill a man like that, would you, Mr. Edge?’ Emma asked after she had washed the dirty pots and plates and poured two mugs of steaming coffee.

  The half-breed spat into the fire, aware of the grimace this provoked on the woman’s face.

  ‘You do nothing to encourage people to like you, do you?’ She showed sadness again, but not for her dead brother and the manner of his dying. ‘And I think I know why.’

  ‘And I think you’re going to tell me what you think,’ Edge said softly.

  ‘Because you’re afraid. Afraid of human relationships that go beneath the most shadow of levels. And I think that’s terrible.’

  She waited for a response. Even grew physically tense in expectation of a barbed vocal attack.

  ‘Thinking’s free, ma’am,’ Edge replied evenly, setting down his mug to roll a cigarette. ‘Like speech.’

  ‘Not always. It cost Barney Castle a cut lip that would have scarred him for life if he had lived.’

  ‘That was the idea,’ Edge told her. ‘Every time he opened his mouth he would have felt that cut. And if he’d had any sense, he would have thought about what he was going to say. It could have saved his life - if he’d had any sense.’

  ‘No,’ Emma said pensively.

  ‘It was the idea,’ Edge countered again. ‘But it just didn’t work on the kid.’

  ‘I mean, no, you’d never kill a man the way my brother was killed. You have to be all bad to do that. And you’re not all bad, Mr. Edge.’

  ‘If ever I need a character reference, ma’am, I’ll know who to—’

  ‘Like just taking the fifty dollars from Mr. Florin,’ Emma cut in. ‘Oh, I know it had nothing to do with easing his conscience. But you decided it would be poetic justice for the gang’s own money to be used to catch up with them. You only took the fifty though.’

  Edge drew hard against the cigarette.

  ‘With ten grand coming, I could afford to be generous.’

  Emma threw up her hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘All right, Mr. Edge. I’m foolish to keep talking like this. You don’t need to be liked or even understood. And since we will certainly never see each other again when this is over, there is no reason why I have to like or understand you. I will therefore keep my thoughts to myself.’

  The half-breed held his peace as he smoked the cigarette and drank the coffee. Then he unfastened his bedroll and spread it.

  ‘You’re going to sleep already?’ Emma asked. ‘But it’s so early.’

  ‘Makes it easier to get up early,’ Edge answered as he drew off his boots.

  ‘I won’t be able to sleep after what has happened.’

  Edge put his Winchester to one side of the spread bedding and his gun belt on the other, with the butt of the holstered Colt jutting up for ease of access.

  ‘Maybe you will later,’ he replied. ‘When you get tired of talking.’

  He got under the blanket, rested the back of his head on his saddle and tipped his hat forward over his face.

  ‘It takes two to—’

  ‘Dance, like a lot of other things. And I ain’t in the mood for dancing or talking right now. You have anything else in mind, ma’am?’

  ‘Insufferable!’ Emma exploded, and snatched up the dirty coffee mugs to wash them. Then she bedded down, taking off only her boots and hat. She ended another long silence, talking with low-voiced anger, as if to herself. ‘I don’t know why we have to make such an early start, anyway. We can’t even be sure the men came -’

  ‘E-L-P-A,’ Edge recited from under his hat.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your brother figured they were heading for El Paso.’

  She sighed. ‘Oh, you’re so smart!’ she rasped, making it sound like an insult.

  ‘It’s getting a full night’s rest that does it,’ he muttered sardonically. ‘And keeping my mind on my job.’

  ‘Don’t you think my mind—’

  ‘Ain’t your mind that’s trying to get on my mind, ma’am.’

  ‘Oh, you beast!’ she exclaimed. ‘You mean my body!’

  She lapsed into silence after that, recalling the horror of the assault on her. And, after awhile, the regular breathing of the sleeping man had a lulling effect on the turmoil of memories in her mind. She slid into her own kind of, much deeper, sleep.

  It took a further three days for them to reach El Paso and during the entire time, Emma Diamond made a conscious effort to speak only when it was strictly necessary. And, particularly at night camp, she went out of her way not to be provocative. They reached the adobe-built, dusty town in the early evening and, as they dismounted in front of the Bella Cantina in the Mexican quarter, she touched his arm.

  ‘Thank you, Mr. Edge,’ she said.

  ‘What did I do?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing, and you know what I mean. Thank you for that.’

  ‘Can’t say it was a pleasure, ma’am,’ the half-breed rasped. ‘But we could have a long way to go still.’

  She didn’t get angry as he eased the Winchester from the saddle boot and turned towards the lamp lit, arched entrance of the cantina. ‘I have a very good reason for denying you that pleasure, Mr. Edge,’ she said as she hurried to join him inside, casting apprehensive glances at the men, out on the street and inside the building, who were eyeing her with unconcealed sexual interest. ‘But I prefer to keep it to myself.’

  ‘I noticed that,’ Edge said evenly, and nodded to a nervously smiling Mexican behind the short length of bar.

  ‘Hi, senor, the bartender greeted.

  ‘Yeah, it sure smells that way,’ Edge rasped. ‘But the lady and I’d still like a room here.’

  The Mexican, who was middle-aged and had a squint, failed to understand the criticism of the cantina. Perhaps he had worked there so long he failed to notice the smell of the place any more. The atmosphere was fetid with dirt, greasy cooking, spilled liquor, cheap tobacco and unwashed bodies. Two lamps burned on low wicks, as if to conceal most of what caused the bad odors.

  ‘A room you may certainly have, senor,’ the squint-eyed man offered. ‘But you should know that elsewhere in El Paso there are places more suitable for the Americano senora.’

  ‘I think there has to be, Mr. Edge,’ Emma whispered after raking her nervous eyes around the small, hot cantina. There were a dozen men drinking in the place. Two young Americans and the remainder Mexicans, spanning a twenty to seventy age scale. Their expressions as she clashed eyes with each man ranged from wistful to lip-licking lust. ‘I’m not going to like it here.’

  ‘But I figure she’s gonna g
et it here, Luke,’ the red-headed young American said with a laugh, his voice purposely loud.

  ‘Reckon so, Johnnie,’ his stockily built companion replied in the same amused tone. ‘Specially since she ain’t his senora, on account she calls him mister.’

  ‘The room?’ Edge asked the bartender.

  The Mexican shrugged and reached for a row of four keys hung beneath a shelf behind him. ‘One dollar, senor. All I claim for my place is that she is cheap.’

  ‘Reckon he’s gotta make the same claim about her, Luke!’ Johnnie taunted. When he spoke fast, the liquor could be heard in his voice: causing it to slur.

  Emma had grabbed hold of Edge’s upper arm again. She felt the flesh become taut beneath her fingers. ‘They’re drunk!’ she whispered tensely. ‘Let’s get to the room or go to another place. Please?’

  ‘Si senor,’ the suddenly frightened man behind the bar urged. ‘I think one thing or the other would be wise.’

  He stared hard at the half-breed’s face and, despite the low level of light, he saw the ice-cold anger in the glittering eyes and hovering at the abruptly tightened mouth line. He mouthed an obscenity in his own language and moved sideways along the bar.

  ‘Back off, ma’am,’ Edge told Emma.

  The woman did not have to look so long and hard at the half-breed. For she was familiar with this facet of the man called Edge. Barney Castle had died when she had last seen it. ‘Please don’t,’ she begged, but she released her hold on him and sidestepped along the bar.

  Chair legs scraped on the dirt floor and footfalls thudded as the Mexicans who had been in the centre of the cantina hurried to get to the sides.

  ‘You want to apologize to Miss Diamond, feller?’ Edge asked.

  ‘I don’t like talkin’ to a guy’s back, mister!’ Johnnie snarled.

  The Winchester was still canted to Edge’s shoulder. He lowered it a little, to rest the stock on the bar top. When it was held rigid, he worked the action. The friction of metal against metal sounded very loud. The noise of El Paso beyond the arched doorway seemed to come from a great distance.

  ‘Johnnie was just funnin’, mister!’ Luke excused. He could carry his liquor better than his drinking companion. He was clear-eyed enough to see the expressions of dread on the faces of the squinty Mexican and the woman. And clear-headed enough to realize what they meant.

  ‘But I can get real serious!’ Johnnie added harshly.

  ‘Maybe even dead serious, feller. Apologize to the lady.’

  As he spoke, his voice incongruously even in the tension-riddled atmosphere of the malodorous cantina, he turned to face the man who was taunting him. Slowly, but keyed-up to power into a whirl.

  ‘I sure am sorry, lady,’ Luke said quickly, rising from his chair and almost stumbling in his haste to leave the table.

  Johnnie rose, too. But his pace was as measured as Edge’s had been. The table was just inside the entrance, to the right. He stepped away from it, facing the half-breed across three deserted tables. As if the scene had been carefully stage-managed, both men were standing in the cones of light from the ceiling-hung lamps. The flickering illumination showed Johnnie to be about twenty-five: well-dressed and freshly washed-up and shaved for a night on the town. Two holstered guns hung from his expensive-looking belt. And he held his manicured hands in position for a fast draw.

  ‘She’s here, so she ain’t no lady!’ he rasped. He had shrugged off the effects of the liquor now. But if he regretted starting the trouble, he showed no outward sign of it. He looked across at the taller, leaner man with a cool, steady stare.

  ‘Please settle this matter outside, senors,’ the man behind the bar pleaded.

  ‘Matter’s settled,’ Edge replied thoughtfully. ‘This lady’s a lady. Only one loose end to tie up.’

  ‘Senor?’

  ‘Don’t kill him, Mr. Edge!’ Emma begged.

  The half-breed turned his head to the side - away from the woman. And spat. ‘Do it your way, ma’am,’ he said.

  Then his head snapped to face front. The Winchester whipped down to slap into the cupped palm of his free hand.

  ‘Oh, Christ!’ Luke yelled.

  Emma threw up her hands to cover her face.

  Johnnie drew his matched Navy Colts.

  The Winchester exploded and Johnnie screamed. His fingers squeezed the triggers of both revolvers. But the bullets spewed by the barrels angled up at the ceiling as the man was hurled backwards. Then the guns dropped from his hands as he crashed full-length across a table top, sending a bottle and two glasses crashing in the wake of the guns. A great splash of blood appeared at the crotch of his pants and spread down his thighs and across the shirt that was taut over his belly.

  Luke made to move towards the injured man, but then froze as Edge worked the action of the rifle and started forward.

  Whispered conversations were virtually still-born as all eyes followed the unhurried progress of the half-breed. Johnnie slid to the floor and did not move. But a low whimpering from his bloodless lips evidenced that he was still conscious. And the cone of light from the overhead lamp showed the defiance shining through the pain in his eyes as he stared up at the towering figure of Edge.

  ‘She ain’t no friggin’ lady, mister!’ he croaked.

  ‘Johnnie, you’re askin’ to get killed!’ Luke warned hoarsely.

  Edge pursed his lips and glanced at the still-expanding blood stain with the bubbling hole at its centre. ‘Figure that’s just what he’s doing,’ he muttered. ‘But I got all I need from him.’

  ‘I ain’t savin’ I’m sorry, you bas—’ He groaned as a fresh wave of pain hit him. He gritted his teeth. ‘She’s no more a lady than I am.’

  Edge canted the rifle to his shoulder and eased the hammer to the rest. ‘You don’t have to say anything, feller. I can see what I wanted.’

  ‘See what, senor?’ the squint-eyed owner of the cantina asked in confusion as the half-breed returned to the bar and picked up the room key.

  ‘All a matter of sex,’ Edge replied lightly as he nodded for the trembling Emma Diamond to go ahead of him through a doorway into the back of the place. ‘Wanted an apology for the lady. Got an apology for a man.’

  Chapter Eight

  THE Bella Cantina was a single-storey building with adobe outer walls, a dirt floor and a roof of timber. The sleeping accommodation behind the bar-room was formed into separate rooms by canvas partitions. There was no way to block the room entrances and inside each there was a large cot covered with straw and a blanket. Nothing else. Light was from the moon shafting in through a small, glassless window. The smell of old patrons clung to the rooms. The fresher odors of the barroom filtered through into the back of the cantina.

  ‘It’s disgusting and it’s filthy,’ Emma gasped. ‘And there is only one bed.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Edge agreed curtly, and sat on the blanket-covered straw of the bed. Cockroaches made scuttling noises as they got out from under him.

  ‘So what are we doing here?’ she demanded. She was standing at the window, staring out into the alley that ran behind the building, allowing the last grains of tension to drain out of her.

  But suddenly she spun around. ‘You didn’t really intend that we should—’

  ‘I didn’t and I don’t!’ he cut in coldly. ‘You’re a lady, lady. I figured I made that point pretty plain out there just now. Same way you’ve made it plain my pay’s going to be in dollars and nothing more.’

  ‘Well, in this pigsty it seems you can only work for one thing!’ She stared distastefully at the evil-smelling bed.

  Edge rose with a sigh and began to amble about in the restricted space. Emma softened her expression and her voice.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Edge. But you saw what happened to me when that man ... And I’m not very familiar with men...’

  ‘You can say that again,’ the half-breed muttered.

  ‘But if you’d only tell me what you plan to do, then I wouldn’t keep thinking the worst.’r />
  He resumed his seat on the bed and rolled a cigarette. The tobacco smoke did something to mute the stench of the room.

  ‘Are we going to stay here all night?’ she asked, a little shrilly.

  ‘We’re waiting, is all.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘The local lawman.’

  ‘That’s something, at least,’ she said with a sigh. ‘What then? I have a right to know. After all, I am paying.’

  ‘No law against the lady putting up the cash,’ a man said from the open entrance of the room. ‘And I ain’t no prude personally. But shootin’ folks is something different.’

  As he stepped into the room, the moonlight from the window struck his badge of office and his eyes. The eyes looked harder than the metal of the star.

  ‘The other man started it, Sheriff!’ Emma defended.

  There was something lazy about the lawman, who was tall and broadly built and wore clothes that seemed a couple of sizes too small for him. The tight-stretched fabric of his pants and shirt contoured a lot of muscle. He seemed on the point of leaning against the wall, then realized the canvas would not support him.

  He touched the brim of his plainsman’s hat. ‘There’re a dozen eye-witnesses to back that up, ma’am,’ he drawled. ‘Including Luke Danvers. Self-defense right enough. But I still think that sassy Johnnie Cash got hit in a mighty bad place.’

  ‘Johnnie Cash?’ Edge asked.

  ‘That’s his name.’

  ‘Didn’t his Ma tell him not to bring his guns to town?’

  ‘Forget him, mister!’ the sheriff said, hardening his tone. ‘I have. Just here to tell you El Paso’s got its fair share of troubles and don’t want no more. You shoot anyone else and I won’t forget it.’ He tapped the butt of the revolver in his holster. ‘And this ain’t the only law gun hereabouts.’