Ten Grand (17 page)

Edge grinned. “Luck of the draw.”

“My eyes are not so good as they once were,” Manuel said, and held out the ring. “Here, Ramon. Tell me what is carved in the metal.”

The younger man crossed the room, took the ring and held it to the light, twisting and turning it, his face showing an expression of disgust for its tawdriness.

“It is worthless,” he said. “Metal junk.  A trinket, that’s all.”

“The design!” Manuel said with harshness, licking his lips so that they shone through his white whiskers.

“A snake,” Ramon said with a shrug. “Too badly formed to identify.  A jararaca, maybe. Or perhaps a cascabel.  I do not know.”

Now the old man’s eyes shone, as well.  He shook his head. “It does not matter.” He looked at Edge. “Where did you get the ring, señor?”

“My business.”

This did not discourage Manuel.  “From an old man, perhaps?  Old like me? A Mexican?”

“Close enough.”

Manuel nodded his satisfaction. “There is a story, señor.  Of many bandits who stole much money from the army of the United States.  Long ago.  Many of the bandits were killed and only three were left when they arrived at Montijo.”

Ramon was suddenly interested, looking from his uncle, to Edge, to the ring.  The last was suddenly no longer worthless.

“I heard something like that,” Edge allowed evenly.

Again the nod. “In Montijo one of the bandits was killed.  The other two captured. The money was never recovered.  The two survivors went to prison.  And soon the story died, for the sentences were long and few can survive long terms in the prisons of Mexico.  But later, the story re-emerged as something of a legend and there were many romantic tales attached to the legend.  One such was that when the three men were captured—one being killed, as I said—each wore a ring and these rings provided the clue to the hiding place of the stolen money.”

“How much money?”  Ramon asked with a breathless tone.

Manuel’s tongue flicked out once more and his voice was soft. “The legend has it, ten thousand, American.”

Both Mexicans eyed Edge for confirmation.

“Close enough,” Edge said.

Ramon gasped. Manuel sighed.

“Much money,” the young man said. “Not so much when split three ways.”

Edge now took hold of his rifle, but the muzzle continued to point at a blank wall. 

“I ain’t greedy,” he said.  “I came south to get back two and a half thousand that was stole from me. I had it and then had to let it go again.  I’ll be happy with something near eight hundred dollars profit from the trip.”

Manuel nodded, tugged at the shirt sleeve of his nephew. “This is not Mexico City, Ramon,” he said sagely.  “To have something more than three thousand three hundred American dollars in Montijo, makes a man very rich indeed.”

Ramon considered this point for several moments and finally nodded his assent.  But, in the spluttering oil lamp, Edge saw that the young man’s greed had not diminished: merely retreated behind a thin veneer of pretense.

“We don’t know where the money is hid yet,” Edge pointed out.

“The ring?” Manuel requested, extending his hand.

Ramon put it in his palm.

“What did you say the design represents?”

Ramon shrugged. “A snake.”

Manuel smiled.  “You are perhaps too young to have sampled the delights at the southern end of Montijo,” he said softly. “Or perhaps you are so handsome that you have not found the need to pay for your pleasures.”

For several moments the younger man continued to look at the ring with dull eyes, his smooth face creased by a deep frown of perplexity.  But abruptly his features lit up.

“The bordello!” he exclaimed with excitement. “I have been there. 
El Serpiente.
The Snake.”

Edge Sighed. “With Luis, a bordello figures,” he muttered. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ALTHOUGH the plaza of Montijo provided the center of the fiesta it was not the only focal point of celebrations to mark the mayor’s birthday.  Just as Edge had been approached by Esteban as he rode in from the north, so other young pimps shouted offers as the three men passed through the southern end of town. They went on foot, having stopped off at the livery stable for Edge to collect his horse.  Ramon pad been suspicious of this, his uncle appearing to accept Edge’s explanation of a pressing engagement out of town after he had collected his share of the money.  But Edge had allowed the men to retrieve their weapons and the confidence of the revolvers convinced the younger man that he was capable of taking countermeasures against an attempted doublecross:  despite the speed of action the American had already exhibited to such effect.

All three ignored the offers, not bothering to reply to them and the young brothers of allegedly beautiful sisters did not press.  For there was about the trio a latent menace that deterred interference with their determined progress.  Edge sauntered along, leading the big white stallion by the bridle, flanked on the left by the strutting Ramon and on the right by the purposeful Manuel.

“There it is, señor,” Manuel said at length and Edge looked ahead with hooded eyes.

They were clear of the main town now and the street had become more uneven with the texture of an uncared for trail.  There was more space between the buildings on each side and most of them were small shacks, obviously the homes of the poorest of peons.  But one was much larger than the rest, long and low, several yards deep, covering enough ground to allow for many rooms throughout the single story of the structure.

There was no light out here except that provided by the moon, but this pale luminescence was sufficient for the faded white lettering along the front of the building to be read: EL SERPIENTE.

Edge’s narrowed eyes examined the side and front of the building as the trio drew level with it, saw that the windows were boarded up, the doors tightly closed, emitting no light.

“When were you last here?” Edge asked of Manuel.

The old man grinned.  “I am not too old to be lacking in all my faculties, señor,” he said. “Last week I gave a good account of myself.  It is not closed. The windows are shuttered to discourage prying eyes. 
El Serpiente
only provide exhibition for money.”

Edge grunted and saw the bordello was indeed in business, for several burros were hitched to a rail at the far side of the building.  He went to tether his horse and the two Mexicans waited for him to return before Manuel thudded a fist against the heavy doors.

“Do not break it down,” a shrewish female voice called in Spanish.  “The girls are here all night.  All day, too, if you have the strength and the money.”

A heavy bolt was slid and the doors thrown open.  Edge blinked in the sudden light, looked over the shoulder of a fat, elderly woman into a crudely decorated and sparsely furnished entrance hallway.  He saw, in the light of ceiling-hung oil lamps, a number of women and girls lounging on sagging and burst sofas, seeking the newcomers with weary-eyed gazes.

“Ah,” the fat woman exclaimed with delight. “Manuel and Ramon Armendariz. 
El Serpiente
is honored to entertain two members at once of our illustrious mayor’s family.”

She punctuated her mocking welcome with a moist belch at which she and the two Mexicans laughed rowdily.

“I will tell my father you will not vote for him at the next election,” Ramon said with good humor.

“And get me closed up, or even shot?” the fat madam said with a pretense of horror.  “Come in, come in.  Everything in my house is yours.”

Then she saw Edge, examined his height and build, the mean set of his features.

“Americano?” she whispered.

Manuel nodded and the woman smiled. “He has much money, many dollars, to spend here?”

“And speaks much Spanish to insure he is not cheated, señora,” Edge put in.

His knowledge surprised the woman.  “It is señorita, señor,” she corrected and grinned. “I have seen too many faces of men in this business to ever choose to marry one.”

Edge looked over her shoulder again, at the selection of. prostitutes arrayed for selection.  They were of all shapes and sizes, ages and colorations, their bodies outlined by tight-fitting shifts falling from neck to ankles.  But they had in common an expression of bitter acceptance of the life they had chosen, a look in their eyes which was almost animal in cast.

“I guess I’ve seen too many women like this to consider marriage myself,” he said.

The madam smiled and stood back, ushering the newcomers inside. “That is good,” she said.  “Married men are bad customers.  They come only as long as their wives do not find out. And wives are quick to know.”

Once inside the house, the doors were quickly slammed closed and Edge cast sidelong glances at the two Mexicans, saw that the memories of past visits were crowding into their minds.  There had been no plan of campaign discussed as the trio set out for the bordello and now they were inside it, the Mexicans were obviously concerning themselves with a more urgent need than ten thousand dollars.  Edge himself had done no forward planning, had chosen to wait to see the set up before deciding how to go about locating the cache.

“Girls,” the madam said and the prostitutes rose wearily and pirouetted with a complete lack of grace.

As they turned Edge saw that each had a number sewn to the back of her shift and his eyes narrowed as he saw the numerals, his mind formulating the outline of his first attempt to find the money.

“Rosita for me,” Ramon said.

“And I’ll take Margarita,” his uncle decided.

One girl, young and slim, stepped towards Manuel while another of almost forty with broad hips and large breasts approached Ramon. They were numbers ten and eight respectively. Many of the numbers between one and twenty-five were missing, their owners apparently already engaged with clients of the house.

“We number the girls for the benefit of Americanos not familiar with our language,” the madam explained to Edge.  “I can recommend numbers twelve and twenty-one, señor.  Both are new.  Not virgins, you understand, but almost.”

The two designated smiled beguilingly at Edge the others glowered.

“I’ll take one,” the tall American decided, his hooded eyes falling upon a thin girl who was very young and quite plain, with a narrow, small breasted body.

When the girl smiled at being chosen she showed a row of broken, much stained teeth.       The madam smiled. “She is only twelve. We do not get many Americanos in Montijo, but when we do, they all choose the youngest.  Maria is young in years, but experienced in the ways of love.  Payment before.” 

The woman held out her hand and was rewarded with pesos from the Mexicans, a dollar from Edge’s fast dwindling supply.

“The girls will show you the way,” she said, nodding to a door at the rear of the lobby as the unselected girls resumed their seats. “If your partners please, I ask that you give them no money.  I will collect it when you leave and put it in the bank for them.”

Everybody in the room knew she was lying, but nobody made a comment, Ramon and Manuel moved towards the door with their girls and Edge followed with the young Maria. The door gave on to a corridor badly lit in comparison with the lobby.  As they moved down it,

Edge saw that doors on each side were numbered with crudely painted numerals and from behind some of them came sounds of released passion.  He formed his lips into a line of satisfaction when Margarita halted outside a door marked ten, opened it and stood aside for Ramon to enter. Then, further along, door eight was opened by Rosita who ushered Manuel inside.

“We will stay all night,” Manuel said in English. “Until it becomes quiet and all are asleep.”      

Edge nodded and went in the wake of Maria, following her to the very end of the corridor, where she opened the door numbered one, went in ahead of her client.  The room was at the side of the building and Edge could hear the restless movements of the burros and his horse just beyond the boarded up window.  This was something he had not planned for, but it fitted well with what he had in mind and his expression was almost one of smugness as he surveyed the room.  It was little more than a narrow alcove, wide enough for a bed with a strip of bare floorboards beside it.  On a shelf attached to the wall above the head of the bed was an array of feminine accouterments.  There was nothing else in the room.

But this did not cause Edge any concern.  It was only his first attempt and he was prepared to fail.  His thinking was that a single snake formed the design of the ring.  Any reasonable number could have been incorporated, but had not been.  Thus, one snake could indicate girl number one or room number one at
El Serpiente. 
And, Edge thought, if he was in the right place, the money would not be on open display.

So he looked at the girl as she lit the stub of a candle, placed it in the center of a dish upon the shelf.

You require anything special, señor?” she asked dully, unbuttoning the top of her shift