Decker walked over to where Ramon’s plate was and poked around in it with his finger. He came up with little bits of ground glass stuck to the tip of his index finger.
“Looks like Juanita added something to a recipe that already had some bite.”
The bartender leaned over and said, “Glass?”
“Ground glass,” Decker said, looking down at Ramon. “This fella’s insides must be in pieces.”
Ramon’s eyes had rolled up into his head by now, and he was dead.
Juanita came out of the kitchen and walked over to Decker.
“Is he dead?”
“Thanks to you he’s dead and I’m alive, Juanita. I’m much obliged.”
“What have you done, girl?” the bartender demanded, holding his head in his hands.
“She saved my life, that’s what she did.”
“But she has forfeited all of ours,” the man said. “The entire town.”
“Paco is right, señor,” Jose said. “Gilberto will now take his revenge against the whole town.”
“I see.”
“I do not care,” Juanita said. “Señor, when you leave please take me with you.”
“Juanita!”
She shouted something at him in Spanish, during which Decker heard her call him “Papa.”
In English she said, “I am ashamed of you, and ashamed of everyone in this town. You continue to let Gilberto and his bandidos frighten you. Well, he does not frighten me.”
“Foolish girl,” her father said.
“Señor…” she said to Decker.
“Maybe the girl is right,” Decker said, looking at Paco, Jose and the other men in the saloon. “Maybe it’s time for this town to stand up for itself.”
“Señor,” Jose said, “if we do that, will you stand with us?”
Me and my big mouth, Decker thought. He had a trail to pick up, but then Juanita had done him a big favor, and maybe he owed it to her to help them.
“All right, Jose,” Decker said. “If you can get enough men with guns who are willing to fight, I’ll stand with you.”
Jose grinned.
“Señor, I think I can do that.” He turned to the other men in the room, said something to them in Spanish, and they all stood up and nodded.
“This is a start, señor, and before we are done we will have many more men, as well.”
“Then get to it,” Decker said. “We don’t know how far behind this fella the rest of them are.”
As Jose and the rest of the men left, dragging the dead man with them, Juanita came over and pressed her breasts against Decker’s arm.
“Señor, how can I help?”
“Well, I’ll tell you, Juanita,” Decker said, nudging Ramon’s plate. “Maybe you could just fix up a big batch of these here tortillas—you know, the ones with the big bite in them?”
“It will be a pleasure, señor.”
Chapter Eight
Red Moran liked Mexican food almost as much as he liked Mexican women. That was why he figured that when he settled down for good, it would be down here, in Mexico.
He was in the cantina, finishing up some chicken and rice with beans when Carmen, the big-breasted whore, entered, obviously looking for him.
“Ah, señor Red,” she said, smiling when she saw him.
“Carmen. Sit yourself down, sweetheart.”
She sat opposite him. She was wearing a very low-cut peasant blouse and was giving him a good look at her swollen breasts. Her nipples were pressing against the blouse.
“I wanted to tell you how happy I was that you are back, señor Red, but last night…well, last night Rosa was there, too.”
“I thought you two were friends.”
“Oh, we are friends,” she said, “very good friends, señor Red—but even with a friend one does not wish to share a man such as yourself.”
Moran smiled.
“I know what you mean,” he said. “You’re both beautiful, but being in bed with both of you a man doesn’t know where to look first.”
“And so?” she said, grinning. “Now that we are alone, you would know where to look?”
“I would know where to look,” he said, leaning forward, peering down her blouse, “and where to touch.”
“Are you…finished eating, señor Red?”
“I am finished, Carmen.”
They both stood up and walked up to his room together.
The bartender was clearing the table when Rosa came storming in.
“Raul, have you seen Rosa?”
“Si.”
“Where?”
The bartender simply looked up at Moran’s room and continued clearing the table.
“Puta!” Rosa snapped, which was an odd thing for a whore to call a whore.
She stormed up the stairs angrily, vowing to pull Carmen’s hair out by the roots for trying to get more of Red Moran’s money for herself.
The bartender paused long enough to watch her climb the steps, skirt swirling around her marvellous calves, and then went into the kitchen. From there, he would not hear the noise when the two cats began to fight over the mouse.
Gilberto Diaz, Raquel and their men were riding to Gilberto’s town at a fairly leisurely pace.
“I hope Ramon has Juanita cook up a big batch of tortillas,” Gilberto said to Raquel.
“That is all she is good for, that one,” Raquel said. “Cooking.”
“That is all she is good for as far as you are concerned,” Gilberto said, smiling. “I can find other uses for little Juanita.”
“She is fat,” Raquel spat, “like a cow.”
“She is a comfortable woman, that one. Teats like pillows, and thighs like—”
“I do not wish to hear this!” Raquel snapped.
“And you?” he asked. “Will you let a man come near you and touch you?”
“When I find a man who deserves me.”
“Hah! With the high opinion you have of yourself, you would think you were a queen.”
“I am a queen,” she said, raising her chin. “Queen of the bandidos.”
“I am the king of the bandidos,” Gilberto pointed out, and you are my sister. That does not make you a queen, mi hermana.”
“To be your queen a woman would have to be married to you,” Raquel said, “and I would not wish that on any woman.”
Gilberto threw his sister an admiring glance. She had proud firm breasts and long legs. If she were not his sister…and perhaps, soon, that would not be enough to matter.
But now, his thoughts were of Juanita.
“My little Juanita will have a feast for me,” he said with a leer.
Raquel looked at her brother and thought brutally, I hope she bits your cojones off!
Chapter Nine
True to his word, Jose returned with more men with guns, but as Decker counted, he saw that they were going to come up some short.
Outside the saloon, with the men standing in the street waiting for instructions, he spoke to Jose.
“Jose, how many men would you say Gilberto has?”
Jose rubbed his jaw and said, “Twenty-five, señor, perhaps more.”
“How many more?”
“No more than thirty.”
“We have fifteen,” Decker said, looking at the men in the street.
Jose’s face fell.
“We cannot do it, señor?”
The worried look on his face was so pathetic that Decker reached out and patted the man on the shoulder reassuringly.
“Oh, we’ll do it, Jose. We just have to figure out the right way.”
“You will figure that out, señor, will you not?” Jose asked with a big smile.
“I’m sure going to give it a try, Jose,” Decker said. “We’ll give it one helluva try.”