The Gunsmith 387 Read online

  When Bad Meets Bad . . .

  “What do you say, gringo?” Rodrigo asked. “Are you as bad as Rodrigo?”

  “Probably,” Chance said. “What do you think, Cord?”

  “Probably badder,” Rydell said.

  “Then we shall prove it,” Rodrigo said. “We will fight for Belinda.”

  “Fight for a woman?” Chance asked. “There are lots of women, Rodrigo. Go and find another one.”

  “I am afraid, señor, that I want this one.”

  “Well, amigo, I’ve got this one,” Chance said.

  “So we will fight,” Rodrigo said, “with knives. The best man gets the girl, eh?”

  Chance looked at Rydell, who nodded.

  “Okay,” Chance said, “we’ll fight for her.” He finally released the girl, who ran for cover. Chance stood up from the table.

  Rodrigo smiled and took two of his knives out of their sheaths.

  “I think you should use knives,” Chance said, “but I’ll use my gun.”

  DON’T MISS THESE ALL-ACTION WESTERN SERIES FROM THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  THE GUNSMITH by J. R. Roberts

  Clint Adams was a legend among lawmen, outlaws, and ladies. They called him . . . the Gunsmith.

  LONGARM by Tabor Evans

  The popular long-running series about Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long—his life, his loves, his fight for justice.

  SLOCUM by Jake Logan

  Today’s longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail of hot blood and cold steel.

  BUSHWHACKERS by B. J. Lanagan

  An action-packed series by the creators of Longarm! The rousing adventures of the most brutal gang of cutthroats ever assembled—Quantrill’s Raiders.

  DIAMONDBACK by Guy Brewer

  Dex Yancey is Diamondback, a Southern gentleman turned con man when his brother cheats him out of the family fortune. Ladies love him. Gamblers hate him. But nobody pulls one over on Dex . . .

  WILDGUN by Jack Hanson

  The blazing adventures of mountain man Will Barlow—from the creators of Longarm!

  TEXAS TRACKER by Tom Calhoun

  J.T. Law: the most relentless—and dangerous—manhunter in all Texas. Where sheriffs and posses fail, he’s the best man to bring in the most vicious outlaws—for a price.

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  MEXICO MAYHEM

  A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2014 by Robert J. Randisi.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for having an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

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  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

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  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-0-515-15444-3

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-63509-4

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Jove mass-market edition / March 2014

  Cover illustration by Sergio Giovine.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Contents

  ALL-ACTION WESTERN SERIES

  Title Page

  Copyright

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  ONE

  The Gunsmith was mired in a state of depression.

  He hadn’t felt this way since he took refuge in a bottle following the death of his friend Wild Bill Hickok. He had a drink in front of him this time, but there was no danger of repeating the process. He had at least learned that much about himself.

  But he was depressed.

  Over the past few months, several attempts had been made on his life. In itself, not unusual. The past attempts on his life were countless. But they’d been attempts on his reputation, not his life. These recent attempts, they were personal. Someone had sent the killers against him—him, not the Gunsmith. Clint Adams, personally. He had done something to this person to make them want him dead. And there was no way to tell when that was, how long this person had been waiting for their revenge.

  Clint had decided to take himself away from it all for a while, had not only ridden to Mexico but had gone all the way to the seaside town of Laguna Niguel.

  He got himself a room in a small hotel, spent most of his days sitting in the cantina, nursing beers and eating tacos and enchiladas. His nights were spent with a waitress named Carmen, who, in her thirties, was the oldest of the three waitresses who worked there. She had a wild mane of black hair, large breasts prominently displayed in peasant blouses each day, and a lust for sex he found pleasantly exhausting.

  He had been there two weeks, and was not looking to leave anytime soon . . .

  * * *

  Cord Rydell took off his hat and wiped his sweating brow on the sleeve of his blue shirt, leaving a dark stain.

  Next to him his partner, Hal Chance, was similarly wiping his face, but with his wadded-up bandanna. He wiped the inside of his hat and replaced it on his shaggy head.

  “This heat is killin’ me,” he complained.

  “The sea air will help,” Rydell told him.

  “I ain’t never seen the sea.”

  “This will be the Pacific,” Rydell said. “It goes on forever.”

  “Like the desert?”

  “Yes, like the desert,” Rydell said, “only wetter.”

  “It’s damn hot,” Chance complained. “Is it always so hot in Mexico?”

  “Well,” Rydell said, tiring of his partner’s complaints, “it is summer.”

  “Hot,” Chance sai
d, wiping his face again. He grabbed his canteen and took a swig.

  “Take it easy,” Rydell said, “we don’t know when we’ll find more water.”

  “I thought you said you knew Mexico like the back of your hand.”

  “Yeah, well, I ain’t been down here in a while,” Rydell said. “Waterholes I thought were there might be dry, so just . . . take it easy.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Come on,” Rydell said, “we’ll stop in the next town and get something to eat.”

  “And some cold beer!” Chance said.

  Finally, Rydell thought, something he could agree with Chance about.

  * * *

  They rode into the town of El Diablo later that day and Hal Chance sniffed the air.

  “What’s that smell?” he asked his partner.

  “That’s the ocean,” Rydell replied.

  “Where is it?” Chance asked, standing in his stirrups.

  “Still pretty far away, but close enough to smell,” Rydell told him. “Let’s stop at that cantina.”

  “Ya don’t have to tell me twice,” Chance said.

  They reined in their horses in front of a small cantina. As they dismounted, they could smell the food cooking inside. Both their stomachs began to growl. They tied off their horses and went inside. There was a small crudely constructed bar and about eight tables with mismatched chairs. Two of the tables were occupied, and there were three men standing at the bar. All eyes turned to them as they entered, including the two girls lounging at the far end of the bar, waiting for something to do.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” Rydell said as Chance eyed the two Mexican women.

  “I never been to Mexico before,” Chance said, “but I would love me some Mexican women.”

  “Well, we ain’t here for no Mexican ass, Hal,” Rydell said. “We’re gonna have a beer, and some food, and get outta here. Got it?”

  “I got it, Cord, I got it,” Chance said.

  “Can we get somethin’ to eat?” Rydell asked the bartender.

  “Sí, señor,” the man said, “siéntese.”

  “What did he say?” Chance asked.

  “He said we should sit,” Rydell said.

  One of the girls leaning on the bar stood up and walked over to them. She slouched, was a bit chunky, but Chance still eyed her body as she said, “Que pasa, señores?”

  “Enchiladas,” Rydell said, “y cerveza.”

  “Sí, señor. Y frijoles?”

  “Sí,” he said.

  “Inmediatamente.”

  “What’d she say? Whatta we gettin’?”

  “Food’s comin’ right away,” Rydell said. “Just sit back and eat it, Hal.”

  As the girl went into the kitchen to get their food, the bartender came over with their beers. Chance was eyeing the other girl, still standing at the bar. She was younger, stood straighter, with small tits and a slim waist. Her nipples poked at her peasant blouse as she preened for him and smiled.

  The bartender said something in rapid Spanish to Rydell, who answered him, also in Spanish, although not as rapid. The man shrugged and went back to the bar.

  “What’d he say?”

  “He wanted to know if we wanted the girls.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “I told him we’re here for food and drink and that’s all.”

  “Look at that gal, though, Cord!” Chance said. “Look at them little pokies.”

  “Not now, Hal,” Rydell said. “We have no time for that.”

  “Why not?” Chance asked, “If the guy is loungin’ around down here, where’s he gonna go?”

  “Never mind where he’s gonna go, we gotta find out where he is. We got a job to do.”

  “I know, I know,” Chance said, “but that don’t mean we can’t—”

  “Yeah, Hal,” Rydell said, “it does mean we can’t. Drink your beer.”

  Rydell drank down half the beer, which was lukewarm, but did cut the dust he’d been swallowing for miles.

  Hal Chance drank his, but continued to eye the young girl at the bar, who also continued to give him hot looks.

  Rydell knew that Chance was going to cause them trouble. He just hoped they’d be able to eat first before they were forced to kill some of the locals.

  TWO

  Clint walked along the beach until he came to the house that was built up on stilts.

  “Avery!” he called.

  After a moment a man came out onto the porch and smiled down at him.

  “Come on up!”

  Clint walked around to the other side of the house and used the ladder to climb up to the porch. Avery Castle was there waiting for him. If he’d been an uninvited guest, the man would have been waiting with a gun. Instead, he was waiting there with his hand out for a handshake.

  “Good mornin’,” Avery said. “Welcome. Coffee?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Have you had breakfast?”

  “Well, I did, but that was very early,” Clint said. “I was kind of hoping I’d be invited.”

  Avery slapped him on the back and said, “You’re always invited, my friend. We eat breakfast late here. Come inside.”

  Avery, although in his sixties, was barrel-chested and healthy, and the slap on the back almost took Clint’s breath away.

  “Estralita!” he yelled as they entered. “We got company for breakfast.”

  Avery’s beautiful young wife came to the door of the kitchen and smiled at Clint.

  “I saw him walking up the beach,” she said. “I have already put on some extra huevos. Good morning, Clint.”

  “Morning, Lita,” Clint said.

  “Husband,” she said, “take our guest out onto the porch. I will serve you there.”

  “Damn right you will, woman!” Avery said with a laugh. “You’ll serve us both!”

  “Go!” she shouted, shooing him away with her apron.

  They went back out to the porch, where they sat down in heavy wooden chairs at a wooden table. The house, the chairs, and the table had all been built by Avery Castle. As expert as the construction was, Avery was not a carpenter by trade. He was a gunsmith, and an old friend of Clint’s. When Clint had decided to come down to the Mexican coast, he figured to see Avery, but he didn’t figure to find his old friend with a young wife. And a pregnant young wife, to boot.

  Lita came out of the house, her swollen belly preceding her, carrying a tray with a coffeepot, two cups, and a basket of fresh-baked muffins.

  She poured them coffee and kissed her husband’s head while he caressed her belly. She was beautiful with her hair being blown by the wind off the ocean.

  “I will be right back,” she promised.

  “How’d you get so lucky, Avery?” Clint asked.

  “I don’t know,” the older man said. “I don’t know what she sees in me.”

  “No, I mean this coffee,” Clint said. “It’s wonderful. How did you get so lucky to find a woman who could make great coffee?”

  Avery laughed.

  “Have you decided?” he asked.

  “Decided what?”

  “When you’re leavin’?”

  “Oh, that,” Clint said. “No, I haven’t. I’m not in a hurry to get back to the U.S. I like it down here.”

  “So do I,” Avery said. “But be careful. “I came down here five years ago, and I never left. I built this house, and found that woman. And now we’re having a child.”

  “Why did you come down here?” Clint asked. “You never told me.”

  “Oh,” Avery said, looking out at the ocean, “I don’t even think I remember. All I know is, this is my home. And you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. Uh, I mean in town, not here at the house.”

  “Don’t worry,” Clint said, “I’m no
t about to invade your little love nest.”

  “Good,” Avery said, “then I guess I won’t have to shoot you.”

  “That’s good, too.”

  Lita came out carrying trays of food. She set them on the table, where the steamy smell made their mouths water. She went back to the kitchen, returned with three plates, then sat down with them and said, “Breakfast is served.”

  They dug in . . .

  * * *

  Rydell and Chance drank their beers, ate their food, and ignored the other men in the cantina, who also ignored them. The same could not be said for the women, however.

  The younger girl at the end of the bar kept throwing hot glances Hal Chance’s way, and he was extremely happy about it.

  Rydell preferred the older woman, who while serving them their food had bumped her hip against his shoulder several times—a very firm hip. She also smelled of something both sweet and sour at the same time. Oddly, it was the sour—which may have been her sweat—that he liked better.

  During the course of their meal, the younger woman made her way to their table, and before long, Chance was eating with one hand while he had the other around her waist. Her name was Belinda, and she had an arm around Chance’s shoulder and was whispering in his ear when four Mexicans entered, talking loudly.

  They were arguing in Spanish as they approached the bar. The bartender suddenly looked nervous as the four men ordered whiskey.

  Finally, one man looked around and called out, “Where is my Belinda?”

  The young woman stiffened and immediately tried to walk away, but Chance held her tight.

  “Where you goin’, sweet thing?” he asked. “Stay here with me.”

  “Gringo, you do not understand,” she said. “That is Rodrigo.”

  “Am I supposed to know who that is?” Chance asked. “Rydell, do you know who that is?”

  “Naw, never heard of him,” Rydell said.

  Rodrigo spotted Belinda standing with Chance’s arm around her waist.

  “Chica,” Rodrigo said, “come to your Rodrigo.”

  She tried again, but Chance held her fast. The bartender looked worried again, and Belinda looked panic-stricken.

  “You must let me go, gringo,” she said, “or he will kill you.”

  “Just relax, darlin’,” Chance said. “He ain’t gonna kill me.”