down. They’ll want proof Fargo is alive so they don’t look like fools if they’re hornswoggled.”
“And we’ll give it to them,” Jenny said. “We invite aphotographer to meet us at someplace well away from here. He takes the photograph of Fargo back east and they deliver our money.”
“Now just hold your horses,” Butch said. “You mean we actually
give
them Fargo after we’re paid?”
“Don’t be dense. A dog returns to his own vomit, and Fargo will likewise come after us again. We’ll kill our bearded visitor
and
whoever delivers the ransom. There’s no effective law out here, and there’s a very nasty war on now—that means no military posse.”
Don’t believe what you hear me tell them—I’ll just be throwing a bone to the dogs.
Jenny’s words from just a few minutes ago, Fargo realized, were as reliable as a wildcat bank. She probably did want him and Buckshot to eventually kill this “unholy trinity” as she called them—she knew outlaw men well enough to know they would sull at some point, raping and killing her. And why risk the lives of her loyal bodyguards in the effort to stop them?
But clearly she was a master at working both sides of the fence, and Fargo suspected she also intended to go through with the ransom plan. And she would indeed kill Fargo rather than hand him over and have to tangle with him again.
“Well, it ain’t the worst plan I ever heard,” Butch finally conceded.
“Good,” Jenny said. “We’ll work out the fine details later.”
“On your feet,” McDade ordered Fargo. “And don’t get cute on me. You too, ’breed.”
“Just what are you doing?” Jenny demanded.
“Wha’d’ya think? Taking them over to the guardhouse with the rest of the prisoners.”
Jenny shook her pretty head. “Out of the question. You and your…men will get drunk and kill them. They will be kept under guard here. I have hidden their weapons, and El Burro and Norton are fully capable of controlling them.”
Butch’s jaw slacked open. “Lady, are you shittin’ me?”
“I told you he’s a valuable asset.”
Fargo watched Butch and Cruz exchange a long look, two curs watching the new dog in town mount their bitch. “I’ll just bet he is,” Butch replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm and jealous resentment.
But when El Burro parted the curtains for them, all three sullen-faced men filed out.
“Well, boys,” Jenny said to Fargo and Buckshot, rubbing her palms briskly together to express her exuberance, “it looks like the fun is just beginning.”
9
Fargo and Buckshot were fed bowls of stew and then led into a nearly empty, windowless room right across the hall from the room where Norton and Burro slept. Jasmine had prepared two sleeping pallets for them and left a squat candle and a greasy deck of cards on an upended packing crate, the only “furnishings.”
“Mr. Fargo,” Jenny said from the arched doorway, “your reputation for hairbreadth escapes has preceded you. But either Norton or El Burro will be sitting in the hallway at all times. You’ll catch a weasel asleep before you surprise them. If either one of you so much as pokes his nose into the hall, you will be shot dead and strung up on the gallows. I trust that’s clearly understood?”
Fargo glanced up into El Burro’s clay-mask face and implacable eyes. The mestizo’s left hand—the one not filled with blue steel—stroked the sisal scabbard of his machete.
“You have a knack for making your terms very clear,” Fargo replied diplomatically.
“Good. If you gents behave yourselves, we may come to terms more agreeable to you. Mr. Brady, are you familiar with mahjong?”
“Ma Jong? I ain’t never heard of the lady.”
Jenny tossed back her head and laughed, revealing a lovely throat smooth as ivory. “It’s not a person, you benighted savage. It’s a Chinese game. Usually four persons play it, but later tonight I’ll send for you and teach you the game.”
“Christmas
“And we’ll give it to them,” Jenny said. “We invite aphotographer to meet us at someplace well away from here. He takes the photograph of Fargo back east and they deliver our money.”
“Now just hold your horses,” Butch said. “You mean we actually
give
them Fargo after we’re paid?”
“Don’t be dense. A dog returns to his own vomit, and Fargo will likewise come after us again. We’ll kill our bearded visitor
and
whoever delivers the ransom. There’s no effective law out here, and there’s a very nasty war on now—that means no military posse.”
Don’t believe what you hear me tell them—I’ll just be throwing a bone to the dogs.
Jenny’s words from just a few minutes ago, Fargo realized, were as reliable as a wildcat bank. She probably did want him and Buckshot to eventually kill this “unholy trinity” as she called them—she knew outlaw men well enough to know they would sull at some point, raping and killing her. And why risk the lives of her loyal bodyguards in the effort to stop them?
But clearly she was a master at working both sides of the fence, and Fargo suspected she also intended to go through with the ransom plan. And she would indeed kill Fargo rather than hand him over and have to tangle with him again.
“Well, it ain’t the worst plan I ever heard,” Butch finally conceded.
“Good,” Jenny said. “We’ll work out the fine details later.”
“On your feet,” McDade ordered Fargo. “And don’t get cute on me. You too, ’breed.”
“Just what are you doing?” Jenny demanded.
“Wha’d’ya think? Taking them over to the guardhouse with the rest of the prisoners.”
Jenny shook her pretty head. “Out of the question. You and your…men will get drunk and kill them. They will be kept under guard here. I have hidden their weapons, and El Burro and Norton are fully capable of controlling them.”
Butch’s jaw slacked open. “Lady, are you shittin’ me?”
“I told you he’s a valuable asset.”
Fargo watched Butch and Cruz exchange a long look, two curs watching the new dog in town mount their bitch. “I’ll just bet he is,” Butch replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm and jealous resentment.
But when El Burro parted the curtains for them, all three sullen-faced men filed out.
“Well, boys,” Jenny said to Fargo and Buckshot, rubbing her palms briskly together to express her exuberance, “it looks like the fun is just beginning.”
9
Fargo and Buckshot were fed bowls of stew and then led into a nearly empty, windowless room right across the hall from the room where Norton and Burro slept. Jasmine had prepared two sleeping pallets for them and left a squat candle and a greasy deck of cards on an upended packing crate, the only “furnishings.”
“Mr. Fargo,” Jenny said from the arched doorway, “your reputation for hairbreadth escapes has preceded you. But either Norton or El Burro will be sitting in the hallway at all times. You’ll catch a weasel asleep before you surprise them. If either one of you so much as pokes his nose into the hall, you will be shot dead and strung up on the gallows. I trust that’s clearly understood?”
Fargo glanced up into El Burro’s clay-mask face and implacable eyes. The mestizo’s left hand—the one not filled with blue steel—stroked the sisal scabbard of his machete.
“You have a knack for making your terms very clear,” Fargo replied diplomatically.
“Good. If you gents behave yourselves, we may come to terms more agreeable to you. Mr. Brady, are you familiar with mahjong?”
“Ma Jong? I ain’t never heard of the lady.”
Jenny tossed back her head and laughed, revealing a lovely throat smooth as ivory. “It’s not a person, you benighted savage. It’s a Chinese game. Usually four persons play it, but later tonight I’ll send for you and teach you the game.”
“Christmas
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