Edge: The Loner

It was good but beginning to fall off as the hours slid towards midnight. When Edge had entered there had been perhaps twenty men and women scattered around the fifteen tables. But he took his time, relishing the inch thick steak, the beans and deep fried potatoes, savoring the apple pie with thick fresh cream, only sipping the hot, sweet coffee. Gradually the diners finished their meals, paid their checks and left, treating the waitress named Gail with courtesy, which she acknowledged with gentle smiles and invitations to return to Honey’s.

The restaurant was situated in mid-town Peaceville and appeared to draw its custom from both areas. But there was something about the standard of the food, the friendliness of its service, the eastern decor of checkered tablecloths, elegant cutlery and fine china that created an atmosphere in which good manners became a matter of course to all those that entered.

“Who’s Honey?” Edge asked as Gail closed the door behind a departing, middle-aged couple, and he and the waitress were alone in the dining room.

She flashed her gentle smile. “The cook and the owner,” she answered brightly, nodding towards the kitchen door. “He has some unpronounceable Mexican name that has a bit in the middle that sounds like Honey. People started to call him that and it stuck. You new in town?”

She arched her eyebrows and looked at Edge with unashamed interest. He wondered momentarily if he should feel flattered, decided she was the kind of woman who would be interested in everybody and everything.

“New tonight. Heading for Warlock and didn’t know I’d arrived ‘til the Sheriff told me you’d changed the name.”

She laughed, a light, tinkling sound. “Nice thought, wasn’t it? The war being over like it is. Trouble is, not much has changed except some signs. Most of the people just used it as an excuse to throw a weeklong celebration. You’ve arrived for the tail end.” Her expression dulled into distaste. “You missed three shootings and an attempted lynching and so many fights nobody kept tally.”

“Add one more,” Edge told her, handed her his cup and indicated more coffee.

She filled the cup to the brim from a jug, unsurprised by his revelation. The meal had calmed Edge, the good food nudging him into a mood of quietude that relaxed his body and face, so the girl saw him simply as a tired, travel stained man with nothing on his mind but the prospect of a long rest, with time for maybe a little conversation. She sat down at an adjacent table.

“It’s a good town,” she said with feeling. “There are a lot of decent, hard working people in Peaceville who hope it will live up to its name. And at this end, it mostly does.”

She sighed and Edge felt a stirring of desire as he watched her breasts rise and fall.

“But you get the trouble makers in here as well as peaceable folk?”

She nodded and smiled again. “Yes, we do. But they behave themselves in the restaurant. Sheriff Peacock sees to that.”

Now it was Edge’s turn to show surprise, and it drew another smile, lighting up Gail’s regular features.”

“I take it you’ve met him. He tries to have a word with every stranger who rides in. He may seem a bad choice for authority, but he’s right for this town. He recognizes the need for what’s downtown and so he lets it be. Any trouble up this end and he shows how mean he can be. We respect him and they fear him–most of them.” Gail yawned. “Excuse me,” she said as the cook peered outside again and heaved a sigh when he saw the restaurant was almost empty.

“We close after this gentleman has left, Honey,” he said.

Edge finished his coffee at a swallow and stood. “How much do I owe?”

“Dollar, sir.”

Edge gave her two. “Obliged. It was worth double, so I’ll pay double.”

“You don’t have to ...” she began, but Edge had put on his hat and reached the door in three long strides.

“That’s a mean looking man,” Honey said as the door banged shut.

“Oh no!” Gail exclaimed, staring at where the lace frill on the door still swayed from the sudden movement. “That’s a man, Honey.”

Honey shrugged as he untied his apron, muttering: “Women.”

Out on the street the subject of this short disagreement was heading towards where Peaceville was showing no sign at all of giving into the thickening darkness of night, the noise and light raucous and blazing, as if throwing out challenges to the insistent demands of the passing of time. Edge sensed the steely stare of Sheriff Peacock upon him as he unhitched his horse from in front of the New York Hotel and led her along to the livery stable.

The man inside was very old, perhaps as much as eighty years, which was a considerable achievement in that part of the country. He sat cross legged on the straw littered floor, using a hay bale as a table on which he was playing himself a two-handed game of five card draw. All the stalls seemed taken and he looked up without enthusiasm at the prospect of new business.

“Filled right up, mister,” he said, showing a toothless mouth, the loose skin of his cheeks rippling as he spoke.