Lone Star 30

Chapter 1

Paso del Norte baked in the sullen, oppressive heat of the afternoon. The molten sky drank every shadow and sucked color out of the earth. Ki left the Hotel Alberto and walked north, down the narrow cobbled street past a dry stone fountain and the flat expanse of the open market. The shops and stalls were empty; buyers and sellers alike had fled behind thick adobe walls until evening. Only the odor of rotten vegetables remained. A washboard-ribbed dog spotted Ki and skulked quickly away with some prize.

Cutting across the plaza, Ki walked into a street of brown adobes butted one against the other. There were four can tinas in the block; he ignored the first three and walked through the batwing doors of the Azteca. The bar seemed cool and dark after the harsh light of the street. Every eye looked up to take him in. Then, just as quickly, the drinkers turned back to their business. They’d seen Ki before, in one cantina or another. He was a tall, angular man in a black leather vest, faded denims, and rough-out boots worn at the heels. His striped shirt was buttoned at the collar and the cuffs. Hard muscle in his shoulders and upper arms stretched the fabric. A battered black Stetson covered thick black hair and shaded eyes slightly tilted at the comers. His features were hard to fathom, the planes of his face blurred by a six-day growth of beard. A .44 Colt in a double-loop Mexican holster hung from his waist. As long as he kept his peace, he was a man of no interest to any other.

Ki ordered a beer, and the fat bartender set it before him with a yawn. Bringing the glass to his lips, Ki turned and set his elbows on the bar, using the motion to quickly check the room. There were four cardplayers at a table. Ki knew the men by sight. Farther back in shadow, three young Mexicans shared a bottle of mescal. Two Lincoln County hands in dusty clothes lounged at the bar. A young Mexican girl stood between them, flattering the pair for a drink or something more.

Ki looked at the girl with interest. He hadn’t noticed her in town, and she was worth a second glance. She was slim and high-breasted, taller than most Mexican women he’d seen. Her frilly red dress clung to her figure, molding the pinch of her waist and a firmly rounded bottom. Her hair was raven-black, swept up tightly from her cheeks and pinned atop her head. Dark eyes flashed with pleasure when she laughed. Ki figured that the smooth, honey-brown flesh, high cheeks, and full mouth bespoke Indian blood as well as Spanish.

The girl saw him looking and offered a lazy smile. Moments later she left the two hands and moved up beside him, letting the pressure of her shoulder find his arm.

Hey, I don’t see you before, do I? she said brightly. You want to buy Juanita a drink?

Sure, said Ki. What’ll it be?

The girl caught the bartender’s eye and a glass appeared quickly on the water-stained wood. She cupped it between her hands but didn’t drink. It was rotgut whiskey or colored water or some of both; Ki didn’t care and was glad to pay. Having her there was a pleasure to the eye. More than that, it was a natural thing to do and showed he belonged.

Hey, what’s your name, huh? You goin’ to tell Juanita or not?

Marcus, said Ki. Mark’ll do fine.

Mar-quas. Hey, tha’s a real good name. I like it.

You do, huh?

"Oh, sure. Is muy fine name."

Ki repressed a grin. If he’d told her he was Cowchip Charlie Bumpas, she’d have liked that just as well.

Juanita pressed closer and let her breast touch his arm. You like me pretty good, Mar-quas?

Oh yeah. I sure do.

"Those—burros"—she glanced scornfully to her right—They tell Juanita they don’ have money. Don’ buy her any drink. Pretty cheap, huh?

Well there’s no accountin’ for taste.

"You got money, I think."

Some, maybe.

Don’ take a whole lot, you know? You unnerstan’ this? She pressed a little closer in case he didn’t. Just a little bit of money, we get a good bottle of whiskey and go wherever you like. Nice hotel, maybe?

Might just do that, said Ki.

Yes? Juanita’s eyes flashed. Right now, huh?

Want to do a little drinkin’ here first. Don’t get anxious, girl.

Juanita started to pout. Ki flipped a coin down on the bar and told the bartender to bring her another. She hadn’t yet touched the first. Juanita grinned and gripped his arm. An extra drink was certainly a token of good faith.

Where you from? she asked. Where you live, Mar-quas?

Up north. Over the border.

Well, sure, she scolded. "I know that. Where, though? Where you from in Estados Unidos? Texas? California, maybe?"

Some of all over.

I bet you from California. I know this man from California one time. He is very nice man. Treat Juanita real fine ...

Ki wasn’t listening. Shadow blocked the harsh glare of the street and two men walked through the batwing doors, followed quickly by a third. Ki let out a breath. A hot week in Paso del Norte, talking to men he didn’t like and drinking whiskey he didn’t want, had paid off. The third, older man had to be Gaylord Brown, the other two the gunmen he kept at his side. And right on time, to boot. Ki’s careful questions and double eagles had bought him that. If Brown was in town, he’d likely visit the Azteca after six.

Ki’s eyes followed the three to a table, showing no more interest or no less than the other patrons. The bartender woke up fast, beating his customers to a table and wiping it vigorously with a well-soiled rag. Moments later, he was back with a bottle of fine Herradura Añejo the color of straw. Clean glasses followed, along with hot tortillas, a fiery red sauce, and wedges of white goat cheese.

The younger men looked near enough alike to be brothers. Each sported a plain black suit, string tie, and black derby. One wore a blue checkered vest, the other a red. Both carried short-barreled Colts in their belts. Ki sized them up at a glance. They were lean, quiet men who walked with animal grace. Men much like himself, yet not the same at all. The flat, expressionless eyes told him that. Ki was trained to kill in a dozen different ways. He could do what had to be done, but never relished taking a life. These two, though, clearly enjoyed their work.

Gaylord Brown took him completely by surprise. Tall, lean, close to his early fifties, he carried himself like a man used to getting his way. A thick mane of silver hair and a matching full mustache complemented deeply tanned flesh and blue eyes. His bearing said banker, old cattle money, a man with a couple of railroads under his belt. And yet, thought Ki, if you judged the man by his clothes, he was a dandy or a fool. Was this the man he and Jessie had come clear across Texas to find? He wore a fringed leather jacket that George Custer would have envied, English-cut trousers, a cream-colored shirt, and a vest of jaguar skin. The black sombrero that topped his head was studded with conchos and tassels. His boots were hand-tooled, and on his heels he wore heavy Chihuahua spurs, the sharp spoked rowels inlaid with silver. The spurs looked comical off a horse, yet Ki had an idea no one ever laughed at Gaylord Brown.

"We get a bottle and go, sí?"Juanita’s fingers clutched his arm. Is good idea, I think. Now, huh?

Ki caught the change in the girl’s voice. The bright smile had vanished, and small lines of tension framed her lips.

Something bother you about that bunch?

Le’s go, okay? A small hand worried at his shirt. Look, we have real good time. I— Her dark eyes suddenly widened in alarm. Ki turned and saw the man in the red vest coming toward him. He looked straight at the girl and didn’t bother to glance at Ki.

Juanita, get on over to Mr. Brown’s table, he said plainly. He’d like to buy you a drink.

"I—sí, yes, Señor..."

Lady’s already got a drink, Ki broke in. You must not have noticed.

The man glanced curiously at Ki, surprised to find him taking up space. Juanita, get on over there. Now.

You’re not listening, said Ki.

No, please ... Juanita shook her head in desperation. Is okay. I go for a while, yes?

Sure, said Ki, that’ll be fine. His fist struck out without warning, found the man’s belly, and lifted him off the floor. He smashed a chair to kindling and hit the floor hard. Then, too soon for Ki’s liking, he came up in a crouch, sucking air and shaking off the blow. The quick recovery told Ki a lot. The fellow should have crawled off and tossed his supper.

Ki risked a glance at Brown’s table. Blue Vest was out of his chair. Brown shook his head and motioned him back. Red Vest came straight at him, bent at the waist in a fighting stance. Ki let him come, ducked to the left, and landed two hard blows to the chest. The man backed off—wary now, plainly surprised at his opponent’s agility and speed. Ki watched his eyes, the tendons in his neck. He let a right catch him lightly on the shoulder, tossed a left aside, and went in fast. His fists moved in a blur, punishing the man with hard, savage blows to the face, driving him back on his heels. Blood fountained from cuts and a broken nose. Ki hit him again, peeling back flesh on his cheek. The man’s eyes glazed, and Ki hit him once more across the temple, swinging the base of his fist like a club. Red Vest dropped like a sack. The whole thing was over almost before it had started.

Juanita shouted a warning. Ki turned, already aware of the other man’s presence. He’d tossed his coat aside and laid his Colt on the table. He faced Ki now with a blade held loosely in his hand, a bowie knife nearly a foot long. An easy grin creased his features, pure pleasure in his eyes. Ki bent and drew a slim-bladed knife from his boot. The man looked startled, then laughed aloud. The blade was much shorter and lacked the bowie knife’s weight and awesome power. It looked for all the world like a California dirk, an ivory-handled gambler’s knife and no match for the bigger weapon. Ki had fashioned the knife himself, shaping it from a slim tanto blade. The seemingly fragile dirk was made of the finest Japanese steel, honed to an incredibly keen edge.

You’re a plain fool, mister, a voice said from behind him. I seen this feller cut before. I’d back off if I was you.

Ki nodded his thanks without looking. The man circled wide, moving like a cat, on the balls of his feet. Ki kept his eyes on the big blade. Blue Vest knew his weapon. He had the style and likely the speed to do the job. Ki watched and let him come. The man lowered his shoulders and let the knife swing free, probing the air like a snake. Suddenly he feinted to the left, twisted his knees, and slashed savagely to the right. Ki sucked in his belly, letting the blade whip by and come back for a second try. The solid weight of the bar nudged his back and he slid away. The man stalked him again, stabbed out twice to get his attention, then jerked the blade up with lightning speed. The knife passed inches under his chin. It was a fast, wicked strike that could have ripped him from belly to throat.

Ki backed off, staying on the defensive. He’d managed the man’s companion, beating him barroom-style and letting speed take the place of practiced moves with his hands and feet. The man with the knife would be harder. With a blade in his hand, Ki’s mind and body worked instinctively in a classic kenjutsu manner. It took a conscious effort of will to set his samurai training aside, to beat the larger weapon without betraying what he knew. Likely no one else would notice—but Gaylord Brown would spot him in a second.

Ki’s action bothered his foe. Ki could see it in his eyes. The man with the slim-bladed dirk should be dead. Instead, he was very much alive and hadn’t yet given a hint as to how he fought.

Ki waited, holding back. When it happened, it had to look right. Speed, the way he’d handled the other. And if he was wrong, if he held off and gave the man a chance...

The heavy knife flashed, nearly catching Ki in thought. Juanita screamed as the blade slashed Ki’s vest, ripped his shirt, and stung his flesh. The man grinned and pressed on, whipping the knife at Ki’s face. Again, Ki retreated, let the blade brush his shirt, flash past him again, and jerk back for another pass.

In that instant, Ki struck. In and out before anyone watching could see. The man cried out, staggered back, and stared at the dark red line across his chest. He gripped the knife in his fist and came in low, the bowie knife hard against his thigh. Ki feinted, slammed his foot to the floor, and stabbed out. The man lashed back in response, the blood on his chest doing the thinking instead of his head. Ki wasn’t there. The razor edge of the dirk slashed left, right, and left again, scarcely touching flesh at all. The man bellowed and stumbled back. His face was suddenly white, eyes wide with fear. Ki knew the look, saw what Blue Vest was thinking: the blade that had painted a pattern up his arm could easily have cut his throat. The man with the fragile-looking dirk was only playing with him now. He could kill him whenever he liked. It was a truth that brought bright beads of moisture to his face.

That’s all, Ki said quietly. It’s over.

Goddamn you! the man raged. Don’t tell me it’s over, you bastard!

Sit down, Henry, Brown spoke from the table. The man’s right and you know it.

In answer, Henry shook his head and switched the knife to his good arm. He came at Ki like a bull, all the style he’d shown before now buried in anger. Ki stepped aside; the man was still a danger, and the blade came alarmingly close to his chest. The dirk flashed once. Blood covered the man’s hand above his knuckles. He dropped the knife like a hot iron, grabbed his hand, and swore. Ki stepped in, kicked the knife aside, and stuck the dirk just below the other’s chin.

You try to pick that up, I’ll cut off your head, he said softly. You got that, mister?

The man nodded, shame flooding his features. Ki let him back away. The man he’d beaten with his fists sat up and shook his head. Ki reached down and got the man’s Colt and threw it outside into the street.

I’d like a word with you, sir, if you don’t mind.

Ki turned quickly to Brown, his hand resting just above his own weapon. I’m not looking for more trouble. Wasn’t looking for it with them.

I fully understand, said Brown. He shook his head and grinned, making a show of bringing his hands up in surrender. Would you let me buy you a drink?

Why? Those two belong to you, don’t they?

I’ll answer, said Brown, if you’ll do the same. You hurt those boys real bad. I’ve seldom seen it done any better. Any reason you didn’t kill them?

Ki shrugged, sat down, and accepted the glass of tequila. It went down warm, filling the pit of his stomach. A fight’s a fight, he said simply. Killing brings the law. I told you I wasn’t looking for trouble.

Well said. Makes good sense, it does. Brown nodded approval and touched the tips of his mustache. The light blue eyes studied Ki intently. You answered my question, and now I’ll answer yours. Sometimes I can find good employment for a man who can handle himself. It appears to me that you can. Think maybe you’d be interested in something like that?

Ki had spent a week in Paso del Norte with a single purpose in mind: to find Gaylord Brown and get him to offer such a job. Jessie Starbuck was waiting across the line in El Paso to see if it worked.

Thanks kindly, said Ki, standing and setting his glass back on the table. I’m obliged for the drink. Thing is, I’m not much looking for work.

Brown raised a brow. Pay’s real good. You might be sorry you passed it up. His eyes told Ki what he already knew—Brown wasn’t used to being refused.

"Like I said, amigo, I’m grateful. He nodded in the girl’s direction and grinned. Working isn’t what I’m after at the moment. At least nothing too tiring. He turned and walked away before Brown could speak again. He passed the two gunmen without looking and slid his hand around Juanita’s slim waist. You ready for that party we were talking about, girl?"

Juanita stared in open wonder. "Sí, Mar-quas."

Well, come on, then, let’s get at it.

Chapter 2

The room was simple and clean, with whitewashed walls and a clay tile floor. In one comer stood a roughly fashioned wooden bed painted blue, and a table close by with a kerosene lamp. Across the room was a dresser with a pitcher and a washbowl. The single window was barred with wrought iron, shaded now with fiber matting against the last rays of the sun.

The girl stood by the window, light and shadow striping her face. It was hot and still in the room, yet she hugged her arms tightly over her breasts. Ki took off his belt, folded it over the holster, and laid the rig across the dresser.

You don’t have to stay, you know that, don’t you? he said gently. If you figure they’ll cause you any trouble over me—

Ha! Them? Juanita’s mouth curled in disdain. "They won’ do nothing. Not to me. You, maybe. Tha’s something else, you know?"

I’ll worry about that tomorrow. He yawned and scratched his head, working to make the words sound easy. That fellow in the fancy duds is sure something. Who’d you say he was?

Señor Brown.

A pretty big man around here, is he?

I don’ know, she said stiffly. "I don’ know nothin’ about him, okay? She caught herself and smiled, crossed the room, and snaked her arms around his neck. Hey, is too much talking, si? More fun we do something else."

Well, I won’t argue with that.

She closed her eyes and brought her lips to his. Her mouth was soft and willing, opening at once to his touch. He slid his arms about her waist, caressing the small of her back. The slender form flowed easily against him, finding the places that fit. Her hands trailed up his shoulders to cup his face. She gave a little cry and thrust