Edge: The Loner

The girl returned to the hallway, pulling the door closed and Edge realized he could have been wrong, but just as her face disappeared from view, it showed a flicker of concern. Alone, he grinned and flicked through the five hundred, enjoying again the feel of the crisp new bills. Getting paid to do something he had intended to do anyway was unexpected and added flavor to the experience. It didn’t make him anymore determined to succeed but it added fullness to the anticipation. After the sound of shuffling feet in the hallway had diminished, he spent thirty minutes cleaning and oiling the Henry and the Remington, polishing the blades of the razor and knife until they gleamed. Then he climbed out of the window onto the roof of the porch and prized back the board to add the five hundred to his capital.

The town was almost silent, with nothing moving on the street, and everywhere in darkness except the Rocky Mountain Saloon, from whence came the only sounds. These were of conversation, pierced by occasional laughter, and the clink of bottle neck on glass rim. Edge’s footfalls on the wooden planking sounded like thunder and he spent a few moments removing his boots. Then he moved forward again, testing each step before he took it, searching for planks that creaked.

A sound down the street caused Edge to freeze and he peered down, saw a large white dog dart out of an alleyway, skid to a momentary halt and then run in a wide circle with a bark of joy. Edge saw the sheriff’s head swinging from its slavering jaws.

“Guess you just lost your head, sheriff,” Edge murmured as he stepped across the narrow gap that separated the hotel porch from that of the saloon.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE saloon had just two stories and, like the hotel next door had rooms facing the street with windows that opened out onto the porch way. There were four such windows, none of which showed light as Edge stood quietly, listening to the sounds from below. Although he could not distinguish the words being spoken, he could differentiate between the male and female voices and recognized the nasal twang of Forrest’s accent. He stood like that for perhaps a full minute and thought he heard two other men talking but could not make out who they were. Nor could he be sure that all of the men were still downstairs, two of them remaining silent, drinking or doing things with the saloon girls that required no conversation.

Then he moved and the first window he came to was open a crack at the bottom, enough for him to push his fingers under it and ease it upwards, an inch at a time, ready to stop at the first sound of a squeak. But it slid up smoothly and soundlessly and when Edge put his hand into the room he could hear even, regular breathing. He remained immobile at the window for several seconds, allowing his narrowed eyes to become accustomed to the darkness, until he could see the dresser and the wooden bed, the form of the sleeper rising and falling regularly with breathing upon it. He lowered the Henry in first, then his boots, finally threw a leg over the sill and climbed inside. A floorboard made a tiny sound as it took his full weight, did not disturb the figure on the bed.

He left his boot where they were, carried the rifle across the room. It was a woman in the bed, a large, ugly woman with a face streaked by run mascara, and enormous breasts that hung down on each side of her chest, made naked by the blanket which she had thrown back in her sleep. Edge assumed she was the madam of the establishment, taken to her bed when she discovered Forrest and his men were in no frame of mind to talk terms for the favors they sought.

Edge upholstered the Remington, raised it and brought it down with a swish of air. It thudded into the sleeping woman’s temple with a dull sound. She whimpered, her breathing missed a beat then became suddenly deep. Even in the darkness Edge saw the skin swell and begin to discolor.  He went to the door and cracked it, put his eye to the opening to peer into the hallway. A candle flickered at each end, leaving a pool of darkness in the middle. Nothing moved except the two small flames, dancing in the draught he caused as he stepped out of the room and closed the door softly behind him. There were four doors on each side of the hallway, and the stairs at the end.

“You’re a cute little broad and make no mistake,” he heard Forrest say with a laugh, the words coming up the stairs and along the hallway with perfect clarity.

“And you’re the kind of man I like,” the object of his attention replied. Then she squalled. “Hey, that hurt.”

“But you still like me?”

“You bet.” Pained.

“I had enough to drink,” another man said. “Let’s go join Billy and the others.”

“Yeah,” agreed another. “This little girl’s got the hots for me and I don’t want to waste what’s left of the night.”

“You’re a naughty boy,” a girl said, her voice brittle. She sounded as coy as a mountain lion.