Return to Massacre Mesa - Edge Series 5 (6 page)

‘Edge.’

‘I hope it turns out that I’ll be glad to know you, Mr Edge.’ Russell vented a sardonic chuckle. ‘But don’t you pay no mind to me. If you do break any laws around here, there won’t be a hell of a lot I can do about it. A man like you are and one like I am these days.’ As he struggled to push himself to his feet he showed a series of grimaces but managed to keep in check any vocal response to his discomfort. Then blew out pent up breath when he was finally standing at his full height and needed to lean heavily on the cane to remain so. ‘Damn rheumatics, Mr Edge: the climate out here in the Southwest is supposed to be good for curing them, the way it’s so dry for most of the time. But I’m living proof that ain’t so in every case.’

‘I’m sorry to hear about your condition, sheriff.’ Edge’s even toned response drew a suspicious double take as the lawman checked on the level of sincerity in the glittering hooded eyes and the shape of the wide mouth. Then Russell nodded his approval and acknowledged:

‘Yeah, I reckon you truly are, mister. I’d guess there’s not that much difference in the number of years we got behind us. So it’s kind of a case of there by the grace of God I won’t be going for a while yet?’

Edge tipped his hat and tugged on his reins to wheel the gelding. ‘I got to admit I’ve reached the age when I’m starting to realise I should have taken better care of myself through a lot of those years I got behind me, feller.’

‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’ Russell shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, I reckon I 36

can promise that Sam Tree will take good care of you if you pay your way and don’t break any of his house rules while you’re staying at the Wild Dog. Of which there ain’t so many.’

‘Obliged for the recommendation and advice.’

‘Sam’s the real law around here these days. Ever since the town got bigger than I could handle because of the way I’ve been going downhill health-wise. And I can sure recommend the grub at the hotel. On account of my little girl is the cook there. And she was taught by her mother, God rest that fine woman’s soul. So I speak from long experience. You take care in Lakewood, Mr Edge.’ He swung around, bore down heavily on his cane and was unable to suppress a low groan as he took a first step then made it through the doorway into the building with no other sound of suffering. Edge put his back to the decrepitly ageing lawman and the sparse scattering of people who were out on the sunlit main street of this small Southwest territory town. Back tracked to the front of the Wild Dog Hotel that was in urgent need of serious attention to its unpainted and warped clapboard walls, dirty and cracked windowpanes and sagging roof above the porch that was rotted through in several places. The hitching rail seemed sturdy enough to hold the travel weary gelding for as long as it would take Edge to see if he was going to stay in the hotel. No other animals were hitched there at this time of day. The batwings creaked as he pushed between them and peered into a saloon that was musty with the smells of last and many other nights. A prominent odour in the unmoving air was of stale perfume but he thought the woman of thirty-five or so who looked up from where she sat at a corner table to the right of the entrance was not wearing any kind of scent. He could see for sure there was no paint on her thin but not gaunt face: the clear complexion pallid in contrast to the solid black, mourning-like, high necked, ankle length, long sleeved dress that encased her slender but certainly not boyish body. She had dark eyes, thin lips and straight, short cropped black hair and he wondered idly if this basically attractive woman purposely did not make the best of what nature had given her. The chore that had occupied her and continued to hold her silent attention 37

after she glanced disinterestedly at Edge entailed carefully writing with white chalk on a three feet square blackboard laid flat on the table. The irritating screech of the chalk on the board did not seem to bother her.

‘Is the place open yet?’ Edge tipped his hat toward the taciturn woman and remained on the threshold as he allowed his eyes to adjust to the low level of light inside the saloon with its smeared and dusty windows after the brightness of the day outside.

‘You can buy a drink,’ she answered, still without looking up. ‘But there’ll be no food until noon. The girls are all sleeping though I guess Abby will wake up one of them for you if that’s what – ‘

He cut in: ‘I need a room, lady. Single: I won’t be requiring any company.’

‘Whatever.’ Her voice had yet to be other than a bored monotone. She used the hand holding the chalk to gesture toward the angle of the bar that stretched along the rear and the left walls of the foetid, ill-furnished saloon. There was a part open door in the corner behind it. ‘If you go over there and yell loud enough, Mr Tree will come out from the back to see to you.’

‘Much obliged.’ He weaved between the score or so of scarred and stained tables, disarrayed chairs and tarnished spittoons. The bar top was littered with unwashed glasses and uncorked, empty or near empty bottles.

‘Damnit, Sam, I ain’t the only one that lives here!’ a woman snarled as Edge got to where the two lengths of bar counter met. ‘Just what the hell do you think you’re – ‘

‘Sure you live here, Abby!’ The man was also angry but kept his temper in better control than she did. ‘Best if you didn’t. Maybe then I’d get me a woman who don’t like to live like a damn pig in a stinking pigsty!’

‘What you saying, Sam?’ Her voice was shriller. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean? What are you calling me, you big oaf? You saying that I’m a – ‘

‘Have you taken a gander at the saloon yet? Seen the state it’s in out there? Or 38

ain’t you even managed to shift your lazy ass further than the kitchen to feed your face?’

‘No I aint! On account of I just got out of bed, damnit! Just had time to pour myself a cup of coffee. You mind if I drink it before I go clean up the mess you and your buddies made in there last night?’

‘Those buddies of mine are customers, Abby!’ the man contradicted sourly. ‘Men who pay hard-earned cash for my liquor and your girls: cash that buys you the clothes and the trinkets and the paints and powders you like so much!’

Edge looked toward the woman who was chalking on the blackboard and she interrupted her work briefly to glance up with a scowl of disgust. Then he raised a bottle and was about to bang it down on the bar to attract attention from out back when Abby whined:

‘All right, all right, damnit! I’ll get down to the cleaning chores right now and you can – ‘ Her voice had gotten louder as she approached the doorway behind the angle of the bar. Then she broke off with a gasp of surprise when she saw Edge, his face impassive as he set the bottle down gently and raised the same hand to tip his hat.

‘Lucy! Why on earth didn’t you let us know there was a customer here in the saloon?’ She was on the wrong side of forty, a green eyed, pale faced blonde who, much like Lucy, obviously did not look at her best just now. Her hair was dishevelled, her face was smeared with last night’s make up, her eyes were puffy from not enough recent deep sleep and her overweight body was encased in a grubby silken red dressing robe that had maybe cost a lot of money a long time ago. She glared angrily toward the woman with the chalk who briefly eyed Edge with almost scornful appraisal as she rose from the table, carried the board to the end of the bar along the side wall and answered as tonelessly as before:

‘It seemed to me he was a man big and mean enough to make his presence known whenever he was ready to do that, Miss Cross.’

Abby patted her disarrayed hair ineffectually, sent another glare toward Lucy then 39

smiled wanly at Edge. ‘Don’t mind Lucy Russell, mister. It’s just her way. She only cooks for the hotel, so mostly she‘s not out in the saloon where the customers are. We got lots of much more friendly ladies working at the Wild Dog.’

Edge looked at the uncongenial daughter of the rheumatic lawman who had called this full-grown woman
my little girl
. She was hanging the blackboard by a length of chain from a peg on the wall and he now saw that in a neat hand she had chalked a list of the food that would be available in the saloon from midday until two. The menu sounded good: and the way the curves of the woman’s slim body were outlined by the taut fabric of the black dress as she reached up to straighten the board appealed to another of his basic appetites. She moved with an easy natural grace as she walked behind the length of the side run of the bar and went out through the doorway where Abby had emerged.

A man drew back to let her pass before he stepped on to the threshold and greeted cheerfully: ‘How you doing, stranger?’ He patted Abby on a shoulder and showed her a forced smile without drawing a similar response then suggested: ‘Why don’t you go get yourself dressed up nice for the day, honey? And I’ll attend to this gent’s needs. Then I’ll make a start on cleaning things up some, uh?’

Sam Tree was sixty, with a solid looking, six feet tall physique and a handsome, square featured face dominated by dark brown eyes. Because he was freshly washed up and shaved and dressed in neatly pressed blue pants, a recently laundered white shirt and a smartly knotted black, white spotted necktie, he made the woman beside him look even more of a morning mess.

‘Real kind of you, Sam.’ Her tone was caustically sarcastic and there was a matching look in her emerald eyes as she swung around to return through the doorway. The man attempted to slap her playfully on the rear: but she expected it and scooted forward as she directed a withering glower back at him. He laughed and told Edge: ‘The Wild Dog’s the best place to be at night in this town, mister. But come morning, there ain’t hardly anybody around here is at their best. So you’ll have to excuse Miss Cross, who ain’t normally so like her name. Get you a drink? Or maybe 40

you’re looking for some other kind of pleasure? Lucy’s chow won’t be ready until noon, but we got some other ways to satisfy a man’s needs if food ain’t what appeals to him at the time.’

‘I’m looking for a room is all, feller. Nothing else for now.’

‘There’s no problem there. My name’s Tree, by the way. Sam Tree.’ He extended a hand. ‘Two bucks a night is the room rent at the Wild Dog short or long stay. All other services at the hotel are extra.’

He shook the big man’s hand. ‘Edge: just the one name. I saw there’s a livery across the street from the law office. But maybe you got your own stables out back of here?’

Tree shook his head. ‘No, mister: I don’t take care of horses and Brod Goodrich over at the livery don’t provide any of the services me and Abby Cross can supply here at the hotel. Business is a little slow right now so you got plenty of choice. You want a room at the front or the back?’

‘Where’s it best to be for a man to get some peace and quiet when the saloon’s the best place for other fellers to be?

Tree guffawed, his weather-beaten face crinkling with good humour that seemed unforced now the aggrieved woman was not present. ‘Room ten at the rear of the hotel will suit you, mister. That’s right above where Abby and me bed down. And I’m like you, mister. Need to have me a little peace and quiet sometimes.’ He nodded in agreement with himself. ‘Yeah, I can recommend room ten for peaceful sleeping. As well it’s close to the top of the outside stairs. And the foot of the stairway ain’t too far from the privy at the side of the building.’

Edge said: ‘We got us a deal.’

Tree produced a key from beneath the counter but his hand back sharply when Edge reached for it. ‘No offence, mister: and it ain’t because room ten’s so close to the outside stairway. It’s the same rule for everyone who makes use of any of the facilities here at the Wild Dog. Anything you buy, you have to pay for in advance.’

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‘No sweat.’ Edge dug into a hip pocket, peeled a pair of dollar bills from a roll and exchanged the money for the key. ‘I’ll pay for just the one night for now. Until I figure out what my plans are.’

‘Sure, that’s no problem, Mr Edge. And anything else we can do for you here, you just let us know. I take care of letting rooms and serving liquor and beer. Stamp down on any threat of trouble. Abby runs the girls and sometimes she does the cleaning chores. Billy Russell’s daughter cooks like you already know. You be sure to have a nice stay with us.’

‘Much obliged.’

Edge crossed the saloon to the foot of the stairs that angled up the right side wall. And was aware that Tree studied him surreptitiously for a few seconds before he went into the rear of the premises, no longer so good humoured now he had successfully checked in a new guest to the hotel. A man, Edge guessed, he had seen on his best social behaviour: who was probably capable of acting at the other extreme when the need arose or his mood dictated.

At the top of the stairway was a balcony that duplicated the line of the bar along the walls at the rear and far side. Doors gave off this: also the start of a passageway that he followed and by logical numerical progression arrived at the doorway of room ten. The smells from down in the saloon reached up to taint the air of the upper floor, but they were less pungent here.

Inside the cramped back room the atmosphere was stale from being shut up for so long. The meagre, poorly made and ill-used furniture was layered with dust, as was the inspirational watercolour above the bed. But the linen on the bed was clean if no longer crisp. There was a dead fly on the pillow, but if any other creatures, dead or alive, were in the bed they were not large enough to show on the whitish sheets and pillowcases. There was a single small window hung with a moth eaten lace curtain above a dresser on which stood a ceramic jug of dust filmed water in a mismatching basin. He forced opened the window in its warped frame to displace the foetid trapped air and grunted his qualified satisfaction that this was a place where he was willing to 42