Edge: Ten Grand

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.”