The Three Mercenaries Page 5

  “Well,” Clint said, “I could pay you after the job is done.”

  “And if we’re both dead after the job is done?”

  “Then you wouldn’t be able to spend the money anyway.”

  Piper stared at him a few moments, then let out a bark of laughter and said, “You’re right about that. And this would be a chance for me to stand with the Gunsmith.”

  “Against insurmountable odds,” Clint said, raising his cup. “You got anything else to do right now?”

  “Nope,” Piper said, “but if we do come out of this alive, I can count on you to pay me?”

  “I’m a man of my word.”

  “I ain’t never heard anybody say different about you,” Piper had to admit.

  They clinked cups and drank.

  “So,” Piper said, “just the two of us against the Montoyas?”

  “I heard some talk about two more men in the area who might join us.”

  “That so? Who?”

  “Jed Autry and Mel Harker. You know them?”

  “I know Jed,” Piper said. “He’s been down here almost as long as I have.”

  “Will he do it for a thousand?”

  “He’d do it for a hundred,” Piper said, “but don’t tell him I said that.”

  “I’ll pay him the same as I pay you,” Clint said. “What about Harker?”

  “Heard of him,” Piper said, “but I don’t know him. He lives over the border, though.”

  “I’ll risk it,” Clint said.

  “It ain’t so far that Montoya will think you’re runnin’,” Piper said. “If you want, I can go with ya to talk to both of them.”

  “You think I’ll need your help to talk them into it?” Clint asked.

  Piper drained his cup and said, “I think it’ll help if they see you got somebody with ya who’s as crazy as you are.”

  SIXTEEN

  They decided to go and see Jed Autry first. He lived closer, already being in Mexico.

  Piper saddled up his horse, an eight-year-old Indian pony with spotted haunches.

  He led Clint to a freestanding building, nothing else around it. There were some horses outside, and behind it a small stable.

  “If this is a town,” Clint said, “it’s a lot smaller than Acuña.”

  “Not a town,” Piper said.

  “He lives here?”

  “He doesn’t live here, but it’s the place where you’ll find Jed Autry—a cathouse.”

  * * *

  Inside, Jed Autry was in room six with a girl named Ginger. She was a tall, lean redhead, complete with freckles, green eyes, and a burnished copper bush.

  At the moment she was reclining naked on her bed, her hands above her head, drawing her small breasts taut. If Autry could have seen them, he would have loved them, but at the moment his face was between her legs, and his nose was buried in that copper bush.

  “Oh, honey, yeah,” she moaned as he probed her with his tongue. “Where did you learn this? Mmm, the men around here just don’t do that!”

  Most of the men who came to the cathouse were Mexican, and except for Ginger and a blond gringa named Jenny, the other girls were all Mexican. But every so often a gringo came over the border, and yet no one except Autry had done this to her.

  She brought her hands down to cup the back of his head, and press him even more firmly into her. Autry moaned, enjoying the tastes of her, as well as the scratchy feel of the pubic hair on his cheeks.

  That’s when there was a knock on the door . . .

  * * *

  “He’s upstairs with Ginger,” Madam Rosa said. “He won’t like being interrupted.”

  “Tell him,” Piper said, “there’s a man down here who wants to pay him a thousand dollars.”

  Rosa’s eyebrows went up and she asked, “One of you has a thousand dollars on you?”

  Clint looked at the short, stout, plump, middle-aged madam and said, “No, not on me. Just tell him.”

  “I will send Hernando up to tell him.”

  Clint didn’t know who Hernando was, but he assumed he was some sort of handyman in the cathouse. She left the foyer, and moments later a thin young man bounded up the stairs to the second floor.

  * * *

  “Goddamnit!” Autry shouted.

  “Oh God, honey, don’t stop!” Ginger exclaimed. “You can’t stop now!”

  “I can’t concentrate!” he yelled.

  He bounced off the bed and ran to the door, naked. He was prepared to smash whoever was standing in the hall. When he opened the door, Hernando cringed at the big man—and at his huge cock, which somehow seemed to be pointing at him accusingly.

  “What the hell—” Autry shouted.

  “Señor, I am sorry,” Hernando said, “I have a message for you.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know,” Hernando said. “Madam Rosa told me to tell you there’s a man downstairs who wants to give you a thousand dollars.”

  “Dollars?” Autry said. “American dollars?”

  “Sí, señor.”

  “A thousand?”

  “Sí, señor.”

  “What man?”

  “I do not know, señor. There are two men, both gringos. One has white hair.”

  “White?” Autry thought immediately of Willie Piper, so the man with the money had to be the other one.

  “Okay, tell them I’ll be down.”

  “Sí, señor.” The young man turned and fled gratefully down the hall.

  Autry slammed the door and turned to the naked girl on the bed.

  “You can’t leave me like this!” she moaned.

  “I hate to do it, babe,” he said, grabbing his clothes, “but do you have a thousand and one dollars for me?”

  “No, damnit!”

  She watched his impressive erection disappear inside his pants. She hadn’t even spent any time with it.

  “Come back when you’re finished,” she called as he went out the door.

  “If I can, babe,” he said, “but I can’t make any promises.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Clint was impressed by the sheer size of the man who came down the stairs. He had to be six foot six, with broad shoulders and—judging from the fit of his clothes—not an ounce of fat on him. He was buttoning his shirt over a huge hairy chest, and had his gun belt slung over his shoulder.

  “Piper!” he boomed. “What the fuck?”

  “Sorry to interrupt you, Jed,” Piper said, “but I got a man here with money burning a hole in his pocket.”

  “That little greaser said something about a thousand dollars.”

  “That’s the price,” Clint said.

  “To do what?” Autry demanded.

  “Is there somewhere we can sit so I can explain?” Clint asked.

  “Rosa!”

  “Sí, señor?” she replied meekly from behind him.

  “Clear the parlor, and bring us some whiskey.”

  She sighed and said, “Sí, señor.”

  She went into the parlor ahead of them, and suddenly a bunch of scantily clad women—most Mexican, one blond—came scurrying out.

  “In here!” Autry said.

  Clint and Piper followed him into the now empty parlor. Madam Rosa appeared with a tray holding three shots of whiskey, then withdrew.

  “You own the place?” Clint asked.

  “Let’s just say I’m an investor,” Autry said. “Have a seat.”

  Clint and Piper each took a sofa. Jed Autry seemed to fill the whole room with his bulk. Clint figured the man would be good to have on your side in a close-up fight, but he didn’t know how he’d be with a gun.

  “What’s this about?” Autry asked. “A thousand dollars?”

  “You know Inocencio Montoya?” Clint asked.


  “Yeah,” Autry said, “I’ve heard of him.”

  “Ever work for him?”

  “Nope.” He sipped his whiskey. “Wait. You goin’ after Montoya?”

  “The opposite,” Clint said. “They’re coming after me.”

  “They?”

  “The whole family.”

  “Whoa,” Autry said. “You got trouble.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  Jed Autry looked over at Piper. “So what’s your part in this?”

  “A thousand dollars.”

  “That’s it?”

  “No,” Piper said, jerking his head toward Clint. “He’s Clint Adams.”

  “The Gunsmith?” Autry looked surprised.

  “A chance to stand with the Gunsmith,” Piper said.

  “Against insurmountable odds,” Clint added.

  “Are there any other kind?” Autry asked with a grin. “Sounds like fun.”

  * * *

  Autry got his horse from in front of the whorehouse, and the three of them rode off.

  “You give him my name?” Autry asked Piper.

  “Uh-uh,” Piper said. “He already had yours, mine, and Mel Harker’s.”

  “Harker,” Autry said. “He’s in Texas.”

  “That’s where we’re goin’.”

  Clint turned in his saddle to look back at them.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Texas?” Autry asked. “Not for me. But Harker?”

  “What about him?”

  “We’ve butted heads a time or two.”

  “Really?” Clint asked. “He come out the worse for it?”

  “Let’s just say Harker gives as good as he gets,” Autry said with a grin.

  “What about you?” Clint asked Piper. “You got a problem going to Texas?”

  “It’s only a few miles,” Piper said. “Should be okay.”

  “All right, then,” Clint said. “Somebody lead the way.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Just across the Mexico-Texas border was a town called Del Rio. As the three men crossed the Rio Grande, Clint thought—as he had thought many times before—that the air just felt different when you got back to the U.S. side.

  “You feel it, too, huh?” Piper asked him.

  Clint looked at him, and nodded. “I thought I was the only one.”

  “Naw,” Piper said. “I feel it every time.”

  “You miss it?”

  Piper shook his head.

  “I been away too long,” he said. “It ain’t home to me anymore.”

  “I guess I can understand that.”

  Autry was riding on ahead, and came back to them now.

  “The house is just over the rise,” he said.

  “He doesn’t live in town?” Clint asked.

  “No,” Autry said, “he couldn’t live in a town any more than me or Piper could.”

  Clint looked at Piper.

  “It’s true,” the man said. “Too damn many people.”

  “Can’t stand crowds anymore,” Autry said, then grinned and added, “unless they’re women.”

  “Okay,” Clint said, “lead the way to his house, then.”

  “He’s bound to shoot at us as we approach,” Autry said.

  “Then let’s hope he misses,” Clint said.

  * * *

  Riding a ways behind them was a man named José Perez. He worked for Inocencio Montoya, not as a gunman but as a vaquero. Still, from time to time the patrón gave him a special job to do . . . like this one.

  “I want you to watch the gringo, Clint Adams.”

  José swallowed and asked, “The Gunsmith, patrón?”

  “That’s right, the Gunsmith,” Montoya said. “I do not wish for you to engage him, just watch him, and let me know if he leaves Mexico. Not if he just goes over the border, but if he is leaving—running from me. Comprende?”

  “Sí, I understand, patrón.”

  “Then go.”

  “Patrón—what if he sees me?”

  “I expect him to see you, José,” Montoya said, “but do not worry. He will not do anything to you.”

  “He won’t?”

  “Do you trust me, José?”

  “Sí, patrón, I trust you.”

  “Then go and do my bidding,” Montoya said, “and I will see to it that you receive a bonus.”

  José Perez swallowed hard and said, “Sí, patrón. I will do as you ask.”

  “Bueno, José,” Montoya said to the young man, “muy bueno.”

  * * *

  After José left the house, Montoya’s wife, Maria, came down the stairs. She glared at him with fire in her eyes.

  “How is he?” he asked.

  “He is in pain,” she said. “How do you think he is?”

  In her fifties, after having two sons, she was still a beautiful woman.

  “When will you make this gringo pay for what he did?”

  “Soon, querida,” he said, “very soon. Do not worry. I have it all planned.”

  * * *

  And Clint did see the man.

  So did Piper and Autry.

  “You want me to ride back and get rid of him?” Autry asked.

  “Kill him?” Clint asked.

  “Naw,” Autry said, “just cripple him a bit so he can’t follow us.”

  “No,” Clint said, “let him follow. He’s just keeping an eye on me for his boss.”

  “You don’t mind?” Piper asked.

  “Montoya just wants to be sure I don’t run.”

  “And if you did?” Autry asked.

  “He’d come after me,” Clint said, “with his whole family.”

  “Even over the border?” Piper asked.

  “To the ends of the earth,” Clint said.

  * * *

  The house was quite a bit different from the one Clint had found Piper in. This one had been kept up well, had a corral adjacent to it with a few horses in it, a small barn next to that.

  “Looks like this might be a working horse ranch,” Clint commented.

  “He tries,” Autry said, “but he takes jobs across the border to make ends meet.”

  “He doesn’t work on this side of the border?”

  “He tries not to break the law in Texas, or the U.S. for that matter.”

  Clint wondered what Autry’s background was. The big man sounded educated most of the time. Piper, on the other hand, sounded trail educated.

  As they approached the house, there was a shot. Hot lead kicked up some dirt in front of them. Eclipse simply stopped, while Piper’s and Autry’s mounts shied and had to be steadied.

  “Harker, damn it!” Autry shouted. “It’s me, Jed Autry.”

  “Oh yeah?” Harker asked. “Who’s that with ya?”

  “Willie Piper and Clint Adams!”

  Harker hesitated, then yelled, “Clint Adams? You mean the Gunsmith?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What’s he want?”

  “He wants to give you some money.”

  There was some more silence, and then Harker shouted, “Okay, come ahead.”

  As they rode up to the house, the front door opened and a stocky man in his forties stepped out, carrying a rifle.

  “That’s far enough,” he said. “Piper I know on sight, so I guess you’d be Adams.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What’s this about money? How much we talkin’ about?”

  “Actually,” Clint said, “it’s a job—”

  “Well, of course it’s a job, ya damned fool,” Harker said. “I didn’t think you just wanted to gimme some money. How much are we talkin’?”

  “Don’t you want to know what the job is?”

  “Well, you got
these two with ya, so I guess it’s got to do with gunplay. I ain’t gonna ask ya again. How much?”

  “A thousand dollars.”

  Harker blinked.

  “You got it on ya?”

  “No,” Clint said, “I’ll have to get it from a bank after the job is done.”

  “You’re gonna borrow from a bank to pay us?”

  “Not borrow,” Clint said, “withdraw. The money is already in there.”

  “Where’d you get that kinda money?”

  “Does it matter?” When Harker didn’t answer, Clint added, “I won it playing poker.”

  Harker squinted up at Clint, much the same way Piper had done earlier in the day, then said, “Ya might as well step down. Sounds like we got some things to talk about.”

  The three men stepped down, secured their horses—Clint dropped Eclipse’s reins to the ground—then followed Harker into the house.

  All of the furniture in the house—table, a desk, a sofa, and chairs—looked handmade.

  “You do all this yourself?” Clint asked.

  “I did. I do my work out back.”

  “It’s all nice work,” Clint said.

  Grudgingly, Harker said, “Thanks.” He hung his rifle on two hooks on the wall and asked, “Y’all want some coffee?”

  They all nodded, and Clint said, “Sure.”

  “Sit at the table,” Harker said.

  They all took chairs at the table. Harker brought coffee and sat in the fourth chair.

  “What’s it about?”

  Clint gave Harker the same explanation he’d given to Piper and Autry.

  “I worked for Montoya,” he said when Clint was done. “He’s not a man you want to go against.”

  “He’s not giving me much of a choice.”

  “We all got choices,” Harker said. He looked at Piper and Autry. “Y’all in on this?”

  “I can use the money,” Piper said.

  “A thousand dollars is a thousand dollars,” Autry said.

  Harker looked at Clint again, but spoke to the others.

  “Is he gonna pay?”

  “Oh, he’ll pay,” Piper said.

  “If we come out of it alive,” Autry added.

  NINETEEN

  Clint, Piper, and Autry rode back across the border to Texas. Harker told them he’d join them by that night.