EDGE: Death Deal (Edge series Book 35) Read online

  "The killing is easy, boy," the half-breed told the ea­ger youngster in his native language. "It's the living that can be hard. Afterwards. With yourself."

  Satanas thudded the table with his fist. And the sud­den anger which showed in his scowl was heard in his voice. "We speak English! For the sake of our beauti­ful guest."

  He raised the fist, opened it and massaged his fore­head with the food-sticky fingertips.

  "I guess you know nothing of doctoring, uh gringo?"

  "What do you know, mister?" Grace Worthington demanded huskily, still staring fixedly up at Edge's im­passive face. "What are you doing here?"

  "Standing with egg on my face, lady," he drawled. "And that ain't the kind that eases an empty belly."

  Satanas used a Bowie knife to spear a chunk of chili drenched beef and thrust it toward the half-breed. "Eat hearty, gringo. That's what a condemned man is sup­posed to do."

  The Mexican women, all in their early twenties and pretty, laughed with as much gusto as the men. While Edge took the meat and bit into it.

  "Answer me, Mr. . . . whatever your name is!" the American woman demanded, her voice still husky.

  "Edge, Miss Worthington."

  "You know my name!" She snapped her head around to stare at Satanas. "He knows my name!"

  The bandit chief shrugged. "So he knows your name. How long was he watching and listening to us, Nino?"

  "An hour at least, amo. But perhaps he was up on the rim much longer. A man who knows too much, he should die."

  "I said a guard should have been posted," a scar-faced man with a broken nose growled from beside Grace Worthington.

  "In English!" Satanas snarled at the man who Edge recognized as one of those who had been at the stage hold-up. "You are so smart, Jose, you think you are ready to take over from me already?"

  Jose flinched from the power of the chief's anger. Muttered sulkily, "Dispenseme, amo." Then, quickly, "Excuse me, boss."

  "How do we know he is alone?" the American woman posed, her frightened eyes raking their gaze along the rim of the canyon's north wall.

  "I'm alone," Edge said evenly after swallowing a fi­nal piece of the good-tasting meat.

  "But you will die among good company, gringo," Nino growled.

  "You've got a one-track mind, kid," the half-breed told him.

  "And you have a nerve of iron, Señor Edge," Sa­tanas countered levelly, no longer good-humored after the display of anger toward Jose. Instead, seemed in­trigued by the half-breed. "Why are you not afraid of us?"

  "If you scared me, feller, I wouldn't have trailed you from where you held up the stage." Grace Worthington gasped.

  "We did not see you." Satanas was suspicious now. "You weren't meant to."

  Fresh anger glinted in the cunning eyes. "I see you now, Edge," he said tautly. "Why are you not afraid that I will have you killed—perhaps as additional enter­tainment for our celebration feast?"

  "Corpses carry no messages, feller."

  Anger gave way to interest. "Messages, gringo?"

  "Figure you're celebrating a little early." He was confident enough about the curiosity he had aroused in Satanas to reach out and pick up another hunk of beef. "You've got the goods to sell but you haven't made contact with the buyer yet."

  "I am not goods for sale, you cold-hearted sonofabitch!" Grace Worthington flung at him.

  Then screamed as Satanas swung an arm and struck her a heavy, back-handed blow to the cheek. He hit her so hard that her chair rocked and she would have top­pled backwards out of it had Jose not grabbed her. Many of the Mexican women smiled their pleasure at the attack as the rich man's daughter was gripped by a new kind of shock and fear.

  "You are supposed to be a damisela—a fine lady!" the bandit chief snarled, merely glancing at the dis­tressed woman. Then moderated his tone to add, "You would not use such language at your home. Do not use it at mine. Señor Edge, why should I trust you to be my messenger, uh?"

  The half-breed began to roll a cigarette as he chewed a final mouthful of meat. "Because I'm available, feller."

  Satanas waved a hand to encompass the company aligned along each side of the table. "So are many oth­ers. And I know well and trust every man and woman here."

  "I will be honored to do your bidding, amo," Nino offered enthusiastically.

  Satanas grinned broadly. "You see, gringo? Even this boy who crept into our camp unbidden many weeks ago and who has been treated worse than a scavenging dog from that day to this—he is eager to serve me."

  Edge nodded as he struck a match on the table and lit the cigarette. "Just trying to stay alive and make a dishonest dollar, feller."

  "There are easier ways to do this than coming to the camp of Satanas, gringo. And I do not think that you came here, like Nino, to offer your services to me."

  The half-breed shrugged. "Took an opportunity that was offered me."

  "To try to take the Señorita Worthington from me." Edge showed a wry smile. "There were just six of you at the hold-up."

  "Kill him and let the fiesta continue, amo!" a man at the far end of the table called. "I am tired of this talk."

  There were sounds of agreement. But Satanas was again troubled by a stabbing pain above his right eye. And he thudded the table with the heel of a fist and glared his men and their women into sullen silence.

  "Indio! You are like Jose, uh? You wish to be the amo? You want to give the orders? You want to start right now, uh?"

  "Dispense usted, Satanas," the tall, broad-shouldered and big-bellied part-Indian responded humbly.

  The bandit chief nodded his satisfaction with the apology and the servile attitude of the rest of his group. Then, as he gently massaged his aching head, he shifted his cunning eyes back to the impassive face of Edge.

  "You know why I did not have you killed right away, gringo?"

  The half-breed smiled with his mouth. Still managing to conceal the ice-cold fear that was concentrated at the pit of his stomach, knowing from experience that the irascible and ruthless Satanas was as capable of blasting a man to death as of slapping the face of a woman—if the impulse struck him. But for now the Mexican's wrath was directed at his own people and the humili­ated Grace Worthington.

  "It's only bad luck that I question, feller." He arced the partially smoked cigarette into the fire and gri­maced. "And that not very often."

  "I think you are a man of considerable courage. Most men . . ." He glowered at the sullen faces of his band. "... would have turned and run when they saw not just six bandidos. Would have abandoned such a dangerous mission. Or have gone for help. You chose to come closer. At great risk. Such a courageous man should not be shot down like a prowling coyote. So I give you the chance to bargain for your life, Señor Edge. If I am not interested in what you have to sell, then I will kill you. Personally. With honor."

  The pain in his head receded and he leaned back in his chair, arms akimbo and with a receptive expression on his good-looking face. While Edge nodded his agree­ment to the deal and decided there was a slim chance of snatching the Navy Colt from the hand of the disap­pointed Nino and putting a bullet into Satanas before his own body was ripped apart by a fusillade of shots from the guns of the other men. It would be a bad way to die, but then, there was no good way.

  "Benteen told me Kane Worthington's a rich man who'll pay high for having his daughter returned to him, feller," the half-breed said evenly. "Figured he'd pay higher if I brought her to him than if 1 just told him where you were keeping her. Greater the risk, better the reward."

  "Si." Satanas drank some wine from a bottle. "But you failed."

  "I stop him," Nino said proudly.

  "Silencio, cuz!" He glowered at the boy then nodded to Edge. "But you have seen that the Señorita Wor­thington is a willing visitor to our camp."

  "It's Kane Worthington's money that interests me, feller. Don't give a damn about his family problems.”

  Grace Worthington scowled.

  "It is his m
oney that interests all of us, gringo. Why should you have a share of what we intend to get?" Satanas showed an avaricious grin. "Fifty thousand dallars, it is a great amount. But the division, it has already been agreed."

  "I'll add my commission on the top."

  "For doing what?"

  "Delivering your demand to Worthington, getting the money from him and bringing it to wherever you want.”

  "You say you saw the hold-up of the stage, gringo.” Satanas answered coldly. "Then you saw me kill a man for insulting the señorita. I think now you insult me My intelligence. When you have the money—fifty, a hundred, two hundred thousand dollars—how can I be sure you will not take it all for yourself? For you have no reason to be concerned for the fate of this lady."

  Edge shook his head. "Better if I double-crossed you by bringing her pa and a bunch of guns here to get the woman back by force, feller. Figure he'd pay me well for that and I'd be able to live high off the hog without! always looking over my shoulder."

  "Si, gringo. You speak my thoughts. And it sounds like you are talking yourself to death."

  "Or into a job. The Benteens saw that you and your men were Mexican." He shrugged. "Now I don't know what kind of a set-up there is at the Worthington spread. Or how hard it is to get to the big man. Or how much he knows about his daughter's feelings toward him."

  The half-breed knew he could be talking himself up a blind alley but he continued along the same course, because he was committed to practicing the theory that while there was talking there would be no killing. Knew, also, that there was not a single solid reason why

  Satanas should not kill him. Unless the Mexican was close to being as ignorant of the Indian Hill Ranch set­up as was Edge himself.

  "My father has no idea in the world that I am a will­ing kidnap victim!" Grace Worthington blurted. "He dotes on both May and myself. Kill him, Felipe! He will ruin every—"

  The man at the head of the table banged down his fist again. Directly in front of her, causing her plate to bounce. And the woman flinched away from him. "I do not allow my men to tell me what to do!" he roared. "You will hold your tongue, damisela! Or I will cut it out and send it to your rich father as evidence that I mean business!"

  "But Felipe—"

  "Satanas! My name is Satanas!"

  A heavy silence followed his thunderous words. Edge broke it.

  "I don't know what kind of a man Kane Worthington is, feller. Maybe he's sitting at home right now, sweat­ing with worry about his daughter. If he is, you got no use for me. You or any of your men will be able to ride right up to the house and fix up the deal. But men who get as rich and powerful as I hear Kane Worthington is, they ain't usually the kind to sit still and hope in a situ­ation like this."

  "That gringo is one mean bastard," Satanas growled. And took a swallow of wine, smashed the bottle on the table and yelled, "Necesito tequila!" A bottle was brought to him by one of the women and he demanded of Edge, "Tell me what you have in mind, uh?"

  "I look more American than Mexican, feller. And the Benteens can vouch that I took off on your trail after the hold-up. I figure I can get to Worthington without any trouble."

  Satanas took a long drink of tequila and growled, "Then what?"

  "I'll ask for the fifty thousand you want. Plus two grand for myself. And I'll bring it to wherever you plan to make the exchange."

  "La Hondonada." He waved the bottle toward the north. "The canyon beyond this one. But why should not Jose, or Indio, or Ricardo, or Esteban, or even Nino do this? For I do not believe that Worthingto will refuse to see anybody who has news of his daughter. Mexican, American, or anybody. And he will pay to have his daughter returned to him. No matter if he hates her as much as she hates him. A man as powerful as he, it is a matter of principle."

  His men grunted their agreement. Then all eye raked to the face of Edge and it was obvious to the half-breed that all the Mexicans—and Grace Worthington—considered he had failed to talk himself out of the life-or-death corner. So he voiced the clincher this would decide his fate—and maybe, if he was fast enough—that of Satanas, too.

  "Okay, feller. Seems you've thought this this through pretty well. But there's always a weak point in any kidnapping of this kind. You have to get a message to the man with the money. And unless you use the mail or the telegraph, you have to send a messenger. You send one of your own men, you risk having him become just as much of a hostage as the woman."

  Moon and firelight illuminated faces that abruptly showed concern. And worried eyes shifted away from the half-breed to gaze quizzically at Satanas. For a moment the man at the head of the table was disconcerted. Then his bristled features formed into a pensive frown.

  "He's talking nonsense!" Grace Worthington ex­claimed. "If there's a chance of getting me back un­harmed, father wouldn't dare risk—-"

  "Silencio," Satanas cut in, not harshly. And waved a hand to indicate that his command was directed at everyone. Then, after stretched seconds of thought, he asked of Edge, "I say again, why should I trust you when you have the money, gringo?"

  "Kane Worthington will take care of that, feller.

  When he gives me the money, he won't just wish me good luck and wave me goodbye."

  The Mexican nodded, his face still furrowed by the thoughtful frown. Then, abruptly, he set the bottle down on the table and nodded. "You have a deal, Señor Edge."

  "But—" Grace Worthington blurted. And the rest of what she had to say was swamped by a burst of loud-voiced Spanish protests. Then the din was abruptly cur­tailed by another scream of pain from the American woman and the sight of Satanas grasping a handful of her hair, jerking her head to the side and lashing out with a knife.

  "Here," he said coldly, thrusting the severed locks toward the half-breed. "You will take this to Kane Worthington. And you will tell him that if he does not give you fifty thousand dollars to bring to La Hondo­nada at noon the day after tomorrow, I will send him the head from which it comes."

  "Satanas, esto no me gusta!" a man protested, leap­ing to his feet as Edge took the fistful of hair.

  "Sit down, Ricardo," the bandit chief instructed in the same cold tone as before.

  'No, està loco—"

  Satanas sighed, as if in resignation. But under cover of this attitude he drew the Army Colt from his holster, cocked the hammer before the gun showed above the table and shot the small-of-stature Ricardo in the heart. A difficult shot over a range of ten feet as the man and woman flanking Ricardo scrambled to get clear and the victim himself made to twist away from the aimed re­volver.

  Perhaps Ricardo was still alive when he sat down in the chair. But he was dead a moment later, folding for­ward to sprawl across the table, knocking plates and bottles aside.

  "Anybody else wish to question my decision, compadres?" Satanas asked, as he cocked the Colt and then blew into the white muzzle smoke that drifted across his face.

  Shocked eyes were shifted from the inert corpse to the bandit chief. There was a question on every lip, but it remained unspoken as fear took an icy grip on evey man and woman seated at the table.

  "Amo, yo—" Nino started.

  "Silencio," Jose advised softly.

  "I figure they all want to know why, feller," Edg said.

  Some of the Mexicans glanced at him, resentful afraid that the remark would stoke the fires of Satanas' cold anger. But then, as their chief eased forward the hammer and slid the Colt into his holster, tacit relief became as tangible as the previous fear had been.

  "That is two questions, gringo," the man at the head of the table answered evenly, and got to his feet. "Why did I kill Ricardo? I killed him because he disobeyed my order and questioned my authority as leader. It not the first time I have had to take such action. But is many months since such an example was set."

  He bit the end of a cigar and allowed his dark eyes rake across every face at the table before he struck match and lit the tobacco. He nodded his satisfaction with the way that none of his men o
r their women were able to hold his unblinking gaze.

  "The second question concerns why I have decided to make use of you, gringo. It is not necessary for a leader to explain his actions to his men. But this time, I make an exception, uh?" Now he grinned at the mem­bers of his band. "To show that while I am prepared to kill anyone of them…" He clicked a finger and thumb. "... like that, I also have great respect for them."

  He left his place at the head of the table and moved to where the half-breed's Colt and Winchester lay. He picked up both guns and handed them to Edge, holding them by the barrels. A few gasps accompanied the ac­tion.

  "The Señorita Grace Worthington did co-operate in coming into our hands, gringo," he went on, speaking the words harshly through teeth clenched to the cigar.

  "The whole thing was my idea, Felipe—Satanas!" the American woman blurted.

  "Jose?" The chief made a gesture with a clenched fist. And grunted, "Uh?"

  The man with the broken nose and a scar on his right cheek merely had to half turn in his chair to send a short but powerful punch into the side of the woman's jaw. She was unconscious before she could utter an­other sound and she toppled from her chair and became an untidy heap on the floor.

  "She is correct, gringo. But I am the leader and I take orders from nobody." His teeth showed white in the firelight, displayed in an expression which could be either a grin or a grimace. "Nor do I share money with anybody but my own men. You will get the fifty thou­sand dollars from Kane Worthington, gringo. And you will bring it to La Hondonada at the time I said. You will do this, or I will kill the damisela." Another snap of finger and thumb. "Like that. I think, perhaps, that she means even less to you than to me, gringo. But money, that means as much to you as to me. You have ridden far and taken a great risk to obtain money. And how much to get for your trouble—the amount you charge Kane Worthington—is your own affair. I re­quire only fifty thousand dollars. You will go to get that for me. Now."

  Edge held up the Colt and the Winchester and said, "Obliged," as he slid the revolver into its holster and canted the rifle to his shoulder. Then glanced at Nino to say, "A warning for you, kid. You ever point a gun at me again, try to kill me before I kill you. Two times is one too many."