Free California Killing by George G. Gilman Page A

Scott's shattered ankle bone gleamed white through his blood-soaked sock. Wayne's Achilles tendon had been severed by the blade. His blood gushed more freely. He stared at the widening pool with naked horror. "Christ, you didn't have to do that," he whined.
    "Right," Edge agreed, side-stepping to the door. He pulled it open. "I could have killed you."
    Hatred fought through the pain in Scott's eyes. "Mister, you're gonna wish you had," he spat out.
    Edge holstered his gun and slid the razor back in its pouch. A door opened further along the balcony.
    "What's the shooting?" Cooper yelled.
    Edge jerked a thumb through the doorway. "On your way, fellers. You're causing a disturbance."
    His tone was light but the set of his lean features warned he would accept no argument. Already on his hands and knees, Wayne began to crawl towards the door, dragging his useless foot behind him. Scott tried to stay upright, with the wall for support. But each time his shattered foot took his weight, fresh sweat broke out on his twisted face and he was forced to sink to his knees.
    "Answer me!" Cooper demanded. The bartender was naked except for a pair of tattered longjohns. He could have looked ridiculous, had it not been for the double-barreled shotgun he aimed into the room.
    As he saw the two men on their hands and knees, trailing blood, he stopped short, showing uncharacteristic surprise. Scott and Wayne refused to look up at the bartender as they crawled out on to the balcony.
    "What happened?" Cooper asked.
    Edge pursed his lips and held his peace for long moments, then he shrugged. "Metro's star boys. Mayer sent them over, but they weren't big enough for the part." He waited for Scott to draw himself over the threshold, his hands slipping in the blood trailed by Wayne. "Couple of feet short."
    He slammed the door and picked up the discarded Colts. He hurled them out of the window.
     

     

Chapter Nine
     
    E DGE slept no more that night. But over the violent years of his recent past he had become attuned to needing the minimum of rest. Thus, the nap he had taken while Justin Wood stood his negligent guard left the tall half-breed alert to face the new day. It dawned with a promise of high heat as the sun crested the eastern mountain range.
    But food was a prime necessity to maintain his deceptively lean strength and when, from his sentry position at the window, he saw Grauman's Chinese Restaurant open up, he left the room.
    The Paramount was silent as he crossed the empty saloon, its atmosphere heavy with the odor of old beer and stale sweat. There was little sign of early morning activity on the street, either, except for the pigtailed Chinese who was opening the window shutters of the restaurant.
    Crossing the dusty street, Edge rasped his palm over his stubbled chin and considered the need of a shave. But a low growl from deep in his stomach emphasized the priorities. The Chinese heard his approach and turned, grinning broadly, bowing elaborately.
    "Welcome to this most dishonorable eating establishment, sir," he sing-songed.
    "You cook anything except Chop Suey?" Edge asked.
    "Whatever you wish, sir:"
    "Steak, beans and grits?"
    "Best in California, sir," the Chinese said, bowing again. He was young, still in his teens. "Pardon sir, please do not break the foot mark."
    Edge halted and looked down. The sidewalk ended at the side of the Holly Playhouse and there was just hard-baked dirt in front of the restaurant. Just to the left of the doorway was the imprint of a booted foot. Edge eyed the Chinese boy quizzically.
    "Very famous, sir, the youngster said proudly. "One day after heavy rain, visitor come. Step in mud. Sun dry mud later. Now, when the rain comes, we cover the mark. People much interested. Come to see."
    "Don't look like much to me," Edge said with disinterest.
    "Famous gunfighter make mark, John Wesley Hardin, sir. You famous sir? We always have pail of water ready. In case not raining when famous, man comes."
    Edge spat