by Tabor Evans
Hortense collapsed on top of him, her hair spread out over his chest, her legs on either side of his, his dick still inside her.
Longarm closed his eyes.
He smiled and lightly stroked the back of her head. He remembered the old saying “pretty is as pretty does.” Little Hortense had it both ways, pretty to look at . . . and damned pretty in bed as well. It was not a bad combination.
He figured to rest a little, then see what else the girl could do.
Chapter 48
“Breakfast?” Longarm offered around dawn the next morning as he washed himself after he and Hortense had again made the beast with two backs.
She smiled and came onto tiptoe to kiss the side of his neck. “Thank you very much, but I got to get back to my kids.”
“You have children?”
“Oh, yes. Two of them. They’re the light of my life. Both of them boys. Two-year-old twins.” She laughed. “They’re a handful, let me tell you.”
“But . . . uh . . .”
Hortense laughed again. “There is a lady who sits with them at night. Well, what it is, she sleeps in my place and watches the boys. The arrangement gives her a place to sleep and gives my kids someone to be there if they need anything. Now I’ll go home and the sitter will leave, and I will give my kids something to eat.” She smiled. “This ten dollars you gave me will feed us for the next two weeks.”
“Shee-it,” Longarm mumbled as he dug into his pocket and came up with a handful of change. He plucked a five-dollar gold piece out of the mix and handed it to her.
“Honey, I wasn’t telling you all that to get a tip from you. You already paid me plenty.”
“If I thought you was trying to sob-story me, I wouldn’t have given you another dime,” Longarm said. “All I want is for you t’ take care o’ those boys, all right?”
Hortense looked like she might break into tears. “You’re a nice man, Mr. Long. Thank you.” She sighed. “The truth is that I don’t get many gentlemen. I’m not very pushy, and the other girls get most of the business. This money you gave me . . . it will go a long way toward taking care of all three of us.”
“Good,” he said. He kissed the top of her head and saw her to the door, then returned to the washstand and finished what he had been doing.
Day was just breaking when he went downstairs. Buck Walters had been open for business for some time and had eight customers already seated in the café when Longarm got there.
“Good morning, Long,” Buck called from behind the counter. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“I’m in no rush,” Longarm said, helping himself to a seat on one of the stools ranged along the front of the counter.
Someone had left a reasonably fresh Kansas City newspaper on the counter. Longarm picked it up and began perusing it. Among the articles in the newspaper was an account of a train robbery that had taken place sixteen days earlier. The mail car clerk and two passengers were killed. The robbers got away with an undisclosed amount of cash and mail from the safe. The Tatum gang was suspected.
Mail and the guard being involved made the robbery a federal crime.
Longarm knew the Tatums well. He had arrested the youngest of the Tatum brothers up in Wyoming two years earlier. The whole clan showed up for his trial on a charge of robbery from the mail. Young had gotten off with a fine and six months in confinement. Longarm had always wondered if the judge had been intimidated by the hard stares he received from the older brothers and their cousins the McCarthy boys.
Now they were involved in stealing from the mail again.
And Longarm was almost certain he had seen one of the brothers in the saloon the night before.
“Shit!” he said aloud. Of course. Last night. On his way out. The fellow he nearly ran into. That man had looked an awful lot like the middle Tatum brother, whose name was . . . Longarm had to dig through his memory to bring the name back to mind. Kurt, that was the name. Kurt Tatum.
And where there was one Tatum . . .
Chapter 49
There were three of them. Warren, Kurt, and Albert Tatum, he remembered. He had not thought about the Tatums in years, but now they were in the news. And apparently in Crowell City.
Bastards had killed an express car guard who was protecting the United States mail.
Their presence in town put Longarm in something of a quandary. He was trying to keep his identity as a deputy U.S. marshal quiet so as to bring Al Gray to him unsuspecting.
But the three Tatums trumped Al Gray, at least in Longarm’s estimation. They killed an express guard. That made them wanted by the federal government. The deaths of the train passengers would be up to the state to prosecute. But the mail coach guard and theft of mail . . . that was up to Longarm and his fellow marshals.
If, that is, the man he saw last night was indeed Kurt Tatum.
Longarm had gotten only a glimpse of him, his main attention being on Hortense. He could have been wrong. Perhaps the fellow was not Tatum after all.
If he was, though, if he and the rest of the clan really were here in Crowell City, it was Longarm’s sworn duty to take them in. As for Al Gray, it was a matter of birds in the hand versus birds in the bush.
The subterfuge that he hoped to toll Gray in with would just have to go by the boards. There was no way he would allow the Tatums or any of their gang to go free. Not after killing a mail guard.
The Kansas City newspaper article had not specified who the guard worked for, but it was very likely that the man had been a postal clerk. And theft from the mail alone, even if no one had been killed, was enough to make the robbery a federal offense.
Longarm did not want town marshal Wilson Hughes or anyone else in Crowell City to know that he was a deputy marshal, but if he had a chance to take down the Tatums, he would do so. Al Gray would just have to wait his turn.
“Everything all right?” Buck asked as he delivered a plate of bacon, biscuits, and gravy. “You look awfully grim this morning.”
Longarm looked up from his reverie. He nodded and managed a smile. “Sure, Buck. Everything’s fine.”
And it was. He had worked out what he should do if—big “if”—he should run into either the Tatums or Al Gray. Now all he had to do was carry through with that resolve.
“Just fine.” He picked up his fork and dug into his breakfast with an appetite churned to a high pitch by all the acrobatics he and Hortense had performed through most of the night.
Chapter 50
“I got a question for you, Wilse,” Longarm said to the crooked town marshal.
It had taken him until midmorning to track down the sometimes elusive Hughes. Now he was sitting in the marshal’s office with a cup of truly terrible coffee.
“Care for a cigar, Wilse?” Longarm asked, pulling two cheroots out of his pocket.
“That’s your question?” Hughes returned, taking one of the slender cigars and carefully cutting the tip off with a folding pocketknife.
Longarm bit the twist off his cheroot and spat it into his palm. “No, o’ course not. The seegar is meant t’ butter you up an’ put you in a mood to cooperate.”
“The other hundred you owe me will do that nicely,” Hughes said. “You didn’t need the cigar.”
“Wilse, I don’t owe you a damn thing unless you deliver for me. But there’s no sign of Al nor idea of when he might show up. Or might not show, I suppose. No, what I got in mind is something along the same line o’ thinking but . . . different. A little.”
“How different?” Hughes asked.
“Different name,” Longarm said. “Same result.”
“You mean about the hundred?”
“Uh-huh.” Longarm struck a match and held the flame first to Hughes’s cheroot and then to his own. When both cigars were burning nicely he sat back and made a few smoke rings, then said, “Last night I saw a fella
that I think I recognized. It didn’t dawn on me till later, but I think it might’ve been a man I’d seen a couple years back. Fella by the name of Tatum. The last I heard he was runnin’ with his brothers. Good men, all of them. Salty, if you know what I mean.”
“I know the Tatum boys,” Hughes said. “Them and me have what you might call a business arrangement. Which, come to think of it, you might want to consider for yourself. If the law comes for you . . . and mind now, I’m not saying that you are wanted anywhere . . . but if the law were to come after you, I’d know about it, and I’d take care of it. Keep you safe and out of sight until the danger blew over. You know what I mean?”
Longarm blew some more smoke rings and nodded. “I think I do, Wilse. An’ you would do this for a, uh, a modest fee?”
“Very modest. Twenty dollars per month per man, and you are safe from the law.”
“I like that,” Longarm said.
“I’ve never lost anyone yet,” Hughes said modestly.
“Al Gray, for instance, or his sharpshooting friend,” Longarm said.
“Or the Tatum boys or about a half dozen others I could name but won’t.”
“You’re pulling in a tidy sum,” Longarm observed.
“Yes, but for the parties involved it is money well spent. They get to walk free; I add to my retirement fund,” Hughes said.
“And everybody is happy,” Longarm said.
“Are you interested in meeting the Tatums?” Hughes asked.
Longarm nodded. “Ayuh, so I am. I could talk t’ them about, well, about what I had intended for Gray.”
“And I would get the hundred,” Hughes said.
“That’s right. You would get the hundred,” Longarm agreed.
“Understand now, I can’t speak for the Tatums, but they might be interested in listening to what you have to say,” Hughes said.
“I understand that,” Longarm agreed. “You get yours for setting up the meeting, not for them agreeing to anything, same as our deal with Gray had been.”
“I tell you what then,” Hughes said. “Meet me here this evening after dinner. Say, nine o’clock. Even with my protection the Tatums don’t like to show themselves around town in daylight, but they like to socialize the same as any man. Come twilight they like to unwind, play a little poker, have a drink or maybe get laid, you know.”
“Ayuh, I know how it can be.” Longarm grinned. “Just this morning I was reading about why they might want t’ be careful for a spell. Nine o’clock, you say? Here in your office?”
“Right,” Hughes said. “I’m not making any promises on their behalf, but I will talk to them and see if they would like to hear what you have to say.”
“I can’t ask fairer than that,” Longarm told the man.
“And if they do agree to meet with you, I get the hundred,” Hughes said.
“That’s right. If this evening you tell me the Tatums will listen to what I say, then I’ll pay you the hundred here in this office before we go an’ meet them,” Longarm said.
“Done,” Hughes said.
“If they agree to the meet. Otherwise we go back to waiting on Gray and his partner.” Longarm stuck his cheroot between his teeth and held out his hand to shake on the deal.
Chapter 51
Longarm was busy that afternoon. He was still torn, however. He wanted Al Gray and Gray’s rifleman partner, the one who had shot him and freed Gray. He wanted those two bad. But at the same time he had his duty to perform, and the Tatums were wanted on federal charges.
He would just have to take whichever he could get.
And toward that end, he had some shopping to do.
There was no gunsmith in Crowell City, but Anderson’s Hardware had a firearms section in the back. Longarm was more than satisfied with his familiar, double-action Colt .45. It felt like an old friend in his hand, but the cylinder held only six shots.
If he came up against the Tatums this evening, he figured there was a better than even chance that those three brothers—and any gang members and hangers-on who happened to be with them—would resist being taken into custody. He wanted more firepower than the .45 would provide.
He bought a single-action Colt in the same .45 caliber as his tried-and-true model. The grips and the balance felt good in his hand, and it would give him another six rounds if he needed them. That revolver he stuck inside his waistband in the small of his back.
Much more importantly in the event there was trouble—and there very likely would be—he bought a break-top 12-gauge Stevens & Co. double-barrel shotgun. The gun was used but seemed to be in decent shape. The hammers came back with a smooth action, and the triggers pulled nicely as well. The bluing was worn away on both barrels, but he did not care about that.
The shotgun was a bargain at seven dollars and the revolver priced fairly at twenty-five. He bought ammunition for both, no. 2 goose shot for the shotgun and standard .45s for his revolvers. Longarm made sure to get a receipt to turn in to Henry when he got back to Denver.
Assuming he did get back to Denver.
From Anderson’s he walked over to Dub Hilliard’s smithy.
“Can you do a rush job for me this afternoon?” he asked the blacksmith. “I’ll pay you well.”
“Depends on what the job is,” the wiry blacksmith said.
Longarm handed him the shotgun. “I need this cut down to, oh, eight inch or so barrels and braze or solder the rib between them. Can you do that for me before supper time?”
“I can,” Hilliard said. “Hell, I can do it for you while you wait. It won’t take but a few minutes.” The man picked up a hacksaw and held out his hand for the gun.
Twenty minutes later Longarm had his sawed-off. Hilliard had done a good job of it, even taking a rat-tail file and smoothing the inside of the barrels where he had cut them.
“It’s shiny, but you don’t give me enough time to blue those spots,” the smith apologized.
“It’s just fine by me, and anybody lookin’ at it from that end won’t be complaining about the appearance,” Longarm said.
He left the gun in his room and went down the hall to check on Melody—she was not in—then downstairs to eat.
He had some time to kill before his meeting with Wilson Hughes and, hopefully, with the Tatum brothers.
In the meantime he wondered if he could find Hortense for a little afternoon relaxation.
Chapter 52
Longarm responded to a light tapping on his hotel room door. He stepped to the side of the doorway and drew his Colt. It was not that he expected trouble but . . . just in case.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me. Hortense.”
Longarm slid the bolt back and opened the door. Hortense nervously eyed the revolver in his hand, then she said, “We need to talk. Can I come in?”
“O’ course. Truth is, I was thinkin’ about you earlier. Thinkin’ about maybe asking you for a little afternoon delight.”
“That would be fine, Mr. Long. You know I’ll do anything you want. But first you have to listen to me for a minute,” the girl said.
Longarm shut and locked the door behind her and motioned toward the bed. “Sit down an’ tell me what brought you here.”
“I don’t mean to bother you but . . . a girl in my position hears things. If you know what I mean. And you are a nice man. You were good to me. You bought food for my kids. You didn’t have to pay me that much, but you did, out of the kindness of your heart you did.”
Longarm retrieved a cheroot—the damn extra revolver dug hard into the small of his back—struck a match, and lighted it. Hortense surprised him by taking the slender cigar from him and starting to smoke it, so he pulled out another and lighted that one. He reminded himself to go buy more and hoped he could find a brand that he liked.
“The thing is,” Hortense rambled on, “I hear
d you are being set up to be shot down.”
Longarm’s eyebrows went up at that information. Were the Tatums already aware that he was in town here and would be coming for them? Wilson Hughes could not have warned them. Hughes did not know that Longarm was a deputy marshal. The man would shit himself if he did find out. When he found out.
“She’s an awful good shot, you know,” Hortense was saying.
“She?” Longarm blurted.
“Yes. She used to be a sharpshooter in one of those traveling medicine shows before she hooked up with him. Now he robs some and pimps for her some and I don’t know what all else.”
“Now wait a minute,” Longarm said. He did not know of any woman attached to the Tatum brothers, and they certainly were not in the business of pimping. “Who the hell are we talkin’ about?”
Hortense gave him a look of disgust, as if saying he should pay attention. And perhaps he should at that. “Mr. Gray and Miss Melody, of course,” the little whore said.
“I . . . Oh! Uh, tell me more about this, will ya?”
Chapter 53
“Tomorrow morning,” Hortense said. “Marshal Hughes will come and tell you where you can find Mr. Gray. Except somewhere along the road, Miss Melody will be waiting to shoot you down.” Hortense’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand this, but she said something about you changing hats.”
“Mel . . . say, how d’ you know all this?” Longarm demanded.
“I eavesdrop sometimes.” She giggled. “I eavesdrop a lot, actually. I heard Miss Melody talking to Marshal Hughes. To get him to do it, like. She, uh, she promised she’d give him a really good fuck if he does it. You wouldn’t understand, but that is a powerful payment. None of the girls like to fuck Marshal Hughes, you see. He doesn’t wash his cock, and it stinks. Absolutely nobody will suck him off, either. Especially that.” Hortense shuddered, apparently just from thinking about it.
