To Kill A Man Collection

Chapter 1

“What the hell is this?”

The two men sat astride their horses – horses which refused to move any closer, despite their vain efforts, which included shouting, kicking and slapping. Frustrated, the two men gave up.

Across from them, no more than twenty paces away, stood the tiny taverna. A raven-headed w***e stood outside. Her skirts were hitched up to reveal a well-muscled thigh, one booted foot propped on a small stool as she rubbed olive oil into her flesh. She threw back her hair and smiled in their direction.

“That is his woman,” said the Mexican, kicking at his horse"s flanks one last time. The animal still refused to budge.

“Damn it, if she ain"t the prettiest damned thing I"ve seen in a month of Sundays,” drooled the man beside the Mexican. He sucked at his teeth. “How old would you say she is?”

“I don"t know, maybe forty. But if you try anything on with her, he"ll kill you.”

“He"ll try.”

“If he"s inside, he"ll kill you.”

“Well, we"ll just have to see about that, won"t we?”

The man eased himself from the saddle and dropped to the ground. Hands on hips, he stretched his back, the long grey coat hanging open to reveal two revolvers at his belt, butts pointing inwards. He tried a wide-mouthed grin in her direction and she stood straight, hands on her own hips in a mocking imitation of him, pelvis thrusting provocatively forward. He cackled. “Shoot, she is flirting with me, Sanchez.”

“She is playing you for a fool, Root.”

“Nah. I think she likes what she sees.”

Root rolled his shoulders and strolled nonchalantly towards her, taking his time, pulling out a tiny cotton bag from his right vest pocket. From the other, he produced a cigarette paper, trickled tobacco from the bag along it, drew the bag shut with his teeth and put it away. Running his tongue along the edge of the paper, he rolled it expertly and tightly and popped it into the corner of his mouth. Upon reaching the taverna, he stepped up onto the creaking, dilapidated veranda and stared directly into her smouldering, black eyes.

“My, you sure is pretty.”

“Gracias,” she said.

Gracias“What"s your name?”

“Maria.”

“Yeah… of course it is.”

She pulled out a long match from somewhere amongst the folds of her skirt and ran the head along the wall adjacent to the open door. It flared into life. Cupping the flame with her hands, she offered it to him, and Root obliged, leaning into her, lighting his cigarette. He inhaled deeply, the paper sizzling as the dry tobacco smouldered brightly. Releasing a long stream of smoke, he picked at his teeth with his free hand and nodded to the interior of the taverna. “I"m looking for a friend of mine. Last I heard, he was inside.”

“My last customer is inside. He is young.” She cast her eyes around, an impish light playing around her face. “He is young and very energetic.”

very“Is he, by God?”

Nodding, Maria looked away – feigning coyness, Root decided. Without warning, Root shot his right hand out to grab her crotch. She cried out and he slammed her against the wall, blew smoke in her face, then kissed her before she could cough.

When at last he pulled back, gasping, she pressed the back of her hand against her lips, saw the spots of blood on her skin and hissed, “Bastard.” Screwing up her lovely face in fury, she launched a punch in his direction, but Root turned and parried the blow, grabbing her wrist with his right hand. He grinned as she desperately tried to break free.

Her efforts proved useless and Root squeezed. She cried out, “Let me go, you gringo sonofabitch!” She struggled against him, but her protestations merely resulted in him tightening his grip still further and she squealed, dropping to her knees, tears springing from her eyes. “Please, señor…”

gringoPlease, señor…A man stepped out from the gloom of the taverna and put a bullet through Root"s head. In one easy, flowing movement, he altered his aim slightly and put another bullet into the throat of the Mexican as he struggled to turn his horse away. Hands flew to where the blood boiled, and Sanchez gurgled and screamed until the lights went out. His body fell to the dirt, where he lay, legs twitching now and then until he died. His terrified horse bolted, along with the second animal and, as the echoes of the gunshot dwindled away into the far-off mountains, the silence gradually settled once more.

The man with the g*n got down to the girl"s level and helped her to her feet. She sobbed into his chest as he drew her to him. He kissed her on the cheek and stared down at the dead man lying on his back, eyes wide open in total disbelief, the hole between his eyes a perfect circle, smoke still curling from the cigarette protruding from his thin, pale, dead lips.

“Wonder who they was?” said the young man, slipping his revolver back into its holster. He led Maria back inside, his hand already disappearing beneath her skirt to find her firm buttocks.