Longarm in Hell's Half Acre

by Tabor Evans

  A fleeting grin flickered across Allred’s face, then quickly disappeared. He pulled at one corner of his moustache, then said, “You gonna sic Marshal Farmer and his bunch of bruisers on ’er? Personally wouldn’t advise it, but you go on an’ do what you have to do.”

  Longarm shook his head, then toed at a nail sticking out of the plank at his feet. “No. Doubt I’ll bring Farmer into this mess, Tater. Figure to take care of the whole shootin’ match myself. Be willin’ to bet she and that skunk I whacked in the Elephant were in cahoots. Guess my actions, when we met, musta been somethin’ of a surprise to both of ’em. But by God that didn’t stop her from damn near fuckin’ my eyeteeth out, then takin’ all my walkin’-around money and vanishin’ like spit on a Montana railroad depot’s stove lid.”

  “You the one what took a pistol barrel to Quincy Ballentine’s double-thick thinker box last night?”

  “Yep. The very one.”

  “Ah. And the little gal what fucked you, then robbed you, she was with him at the time?”

  “There you go.”

  The words had barely escaped Tater Allred’s lips when one of Marshal Farmer’s Fort Worth policemen—a man Longarm recognized from his visit to the jail the day before—strolled up and tipped his black slouch hat. “Mornin’ gents.” He immediately focused on Longarm, then said, “The marshal sent me to fetch you over to ole Doc Wheeler’s office.”

  “Fetch me over?”

  “Yep. Said for me to tell you that he needs to talk with you. Kinda urgent-like.”

  Longarm flicked an inch of gray ash from his panatela, then turned to Allred. “You know where this Doc Wheeler’s office is, Tater?”

  “Sure. Everybody in town knows Doc. He’s got a storefront operation up on the corner of Rusk Street and Weatherford—door or two down from the Texas Express Company. Real easy ride from here. Couldn’t be more’n three or four blocks altogether.”

  Longarm swung his attention back to Farmer’s deputy. “Your boss say what he wants?”

  The deputy dipped his head and looked sneaky. “Well, Marshal, sir, to be truthful, I do know why he had me come for you. But he said I was not to tell. Only to say it were urgent and he’s sure you’ll be interested in what he’s got to show you.”

  Longarm thumped the unfinished stub of his cheroot into the street. “Where’s your wagon, Tater?”

  “Over yonder ’cross the street, Marshal Long. See it. She’s parked in front of the Empress Saloon.”

  Longarm plowed through the flow of traffic along Main Street. Allred and Farmer’s deputy followed like small boats in the wake of a larger, more threatening ship. Longarm hopped onto the seat of the wagon, then made a motion like a cavalry officer ordering a charge as Allred climbed up beside him. “Hop on, Deputy,” Longarm said. “Can’t wait to see what this early morning summons is all about.”

  The short trip up Main, then east on an even busier and dustier Weatherford Street, took less than five minutes. At the corner of Rusk, Longarm jumped off the wagon before it came to a complete stop. A painted sign with gold lettering over the door welcomed visitors to the office of Doctor John Wheeler. Longarm burst through the doorway like a man on a mission.

  Marshal Sam Farmer and a wizened, pinch-faced gent wearing a worn look, wire-rimmed goggles, and a frayed three-piece suit, white shirt, and string tie sat at a scar-covered desk just inside the door. Both men nursed cups of strong-smelling coffee, while hand-rolled cigarettes between their fingers wafted threads of smoke toward the ceiling.

  Overloaded and overflowing glass-front lawyer’s bookcases stood against almost every inch of viewable wall space. Many of the shelves contained assortments of patent medicines in a wide variety of brightly colored glass bottles that sported even more colorful and picturesque labels.

  Tables, shoved into the corners, contained carefully laid-out displays of polished steel medical instruments that resembled the horrifying tools of medieval torture. The cramped room reeked with the combined odors of carbolic, alcohol, and an additional nose-twitching stench Longarm couldn’t quite place—something between human feces and the fetid reek of puke.

  Directly behind the weathered desk, two closed doors led into what Longarm surmised had to be examination rooms, which could be closed off to render a bit of privacy, if needed.

  Farmer stood and made the necessary introductions. As Tater Allred and the Fort Worth deputy crowded inside, Farmer said, “Doc’s got a badly injured patient in the room yonder who asked to see you, Marshal.”

  “Me? Asked to see me? You’re sure?”

  “Yep. Lady said I was to send for Marshal Custis Long, stayin’ at the El Paso Hotel. Even knew your room number. She’s laid out in the stall on the left.”

  “‘She’? You said ‘she,’ right?”

  “Yep. One of my deputies found her, ’bout daylight. Somebody’d dumped her like a pile of trash in the alley between the Theatre Comique and the Centennial Theater.”

  “Found her? What exactly does that mean, Sam?”

  Farmer looked uncomfortable, then waved at the door again. “’Pears as how the same somebody who dumped her stomped the unmerciful hell outta the poor girl. My deputy musta come on the tragic scene right after the sorry deed happened. Why don’t you go on in? I’m sure the lady can clear up all your questions. She’s been beat up pretty bad, but she can still talk. Even appears anxious to do so.”

  Longarm snatched his hat off, worked his way around Farmer, past the silent, dyspeptic-looking doctor and the desk, then pushed the flimsy door open. He stepped inside a small, stuffy, nigh airless room, then closed the wobbly entry panel behind him as quietly as he could.

  A low, couchlike affair, draped in brilliantly white sheets, stood against the wall on the far side of the room. It almost appeared to glow in the dim light provided by a single window covered with a black oilcloth shade. Two more steps brought him right up beside the improvised bed, which rested near the foot of a shabby, well-used examining table.

  Longarm leaned over and strained for several seconds before he recognized the sleeping woman on the bed. Mattie Wayland’s face was a badly abused mess, covered in blue-black bruises and dried blood tinged with a thin layer of an orange-tinted antiseptic—probably iodine, he thought. A split, stitched brow heightened a blackened right eye almost swollen shut. Numerous other ugly contusions decorated her forehead, neck, and ears. The angry, reddish imprints of a man’s knuckles glowed from beneath the unsightly patchwork of injuries. Shocked by her appearance, he reached down and touched her hand.

  A crashing wave of fury swept through Longarm’s entire being. Embarrassed and enraged by the sorry evidence of such inhuman treatment, he glanced away from Mattie’s maltreated face. For several seconds he stared at a framed diploma on the wall, which attested to Doctor John Wheeler’s graduation from a well-known medical college in New Orleans. He rubbed throbbing temples, then let his gaze come back down to the mass of bruises and cuts that had smiled and called his name in ecstasy only a few hours before.

  After he jiggled her blood-flecked fingers a time or two, the battered girl stirred. She worked hard to hold open eyes shot through with spiderwebs of red, then gazed up at her visitor. At first he could barely hear the whispery rasp that clawed its way past split, swollen lips. The words came out slow, hesitant, and gritty with pain. “Custis. I’m so pleased…you came. Realize I had no right to expect such kindness…but I’m glad you’re here.”

  Longarm kneeled beside the bed. He held Mattie’s hand in his, then shook his head in disbelief. In a voice tinged with regret, concern, and carefully controlled anger, he growled, “What happened, darlin’? Who did this to you? Do you know? Can you tell me?”

  Labored breathing preceded her tortured reply. “Quincy. Who else? Blamed me…for the…pistol-whippin’ you gave…him at the Elephant. Caught me. Outside the hotel. Thought I…was dead—wished for death. Never been hurt like this…before, Custis. Never.”

  Longarm used a single finger to pu
sh aside a wisp of blood-encrusted hair that dangled from beneath a stained bandage wrapped around her head. “The two of you were workin’ together at some kinda bunko cheat on me at the White Elephant, weren’t you?”

  Mattie’s voice seemed to strengthen a bit when she said, “Yes. Figured to…turn your head…steal whatever I could. Hoped to drug you…at the first…opportunity. Laudanum in your liquor. Plan didn’t work out the way…Quincy expected.”

  In her brutalized condition, Longarm knew the girl would likely have trouble understanding. As slowly as possible, he said, “Quincy was supposed to act shocked and surprised that anyone would come to your aid, then somehow beat a hasty retreat. Leave you to the concerned care of the poor sucker who came to save you from a heartless brute. Was that the way of it? The plan?”

  “Yes. But he felt I…overplayed my part…said I’d flirted too much. Played innocent too well. Caused the wrong man’s…surprising response. You broke…a couple of his teeth off.”

  Longarm chuckled. “Guess the way I bounced my pistol off his cheek probably did come as something of a shock to the stupid cocksucker.”

  “Shocked me,” Mattie whispered. Then she appeared to regain some strength. “We’ve run…the same dodge, at one time or another, in Texas, Kansas…all over. Usually when Quincy’s short of money. No one ever…knocked Quincy out…of his chair before. You just didn’t give him…time to turn tail. Retreat. ’Course…might have…overplayed his…own part a bit, too.”

  “A bit? Hell, girl, he slapped the hell out of you. Twice. Right in public. Must admit, I’m shocked and dismayed by the fact that I could be so easily fooled. Should have known better. But, by God, what he did got under my skin and got him exactly what he deserved.”

  Mattie groaned, then snorted. “Vanity makes all you men so unbelievably stupid. You’re so easy. So…predictable. Led by your cocks like randy stallions. Takin’…advantage of dumb-assed men, who get a hard-on…every time a breeze blows across their crotches, is the…easiest work an ambitious female can get.”

  “Well, now that might well be a bit strong. Sometimes the particular woman who brings the breeze does make a difference.”

  A bloodshot gaze scanned his face. A tiny smile crimped the corner of her mouth. “All a woman’s…gotta do…is breathe in the general direction of a man’s cock, and he’ll follow her anywhere. Crawl around on his hands and knees…howl like a dog…if she asks him to do it.”

  Longarm stared at his own feet and nodded. “Well, suppose some of that’s true enough. When it comes to good-lookin’ women blessed with an easy attitude toward sex, most of us don’t exercise much in the way of good judgment.”

  A timid smile creased Mattie’s swollen lips. “You’re a novelty, Marshal.”

  “How so?”

  “Believe you’re the first…I’ve ever known willing to own up…to his shortcomings.”

  With as much tenderness as he could muster, Longarm stroked Mattie’s bandaged head. “Best not to use the word short with most men, darlin’. Does have a way of deflatin’ any feller who’s inclined to be deflated. Now tell me, how many times have you done this before?”

  Mention of her past misdeeds appeared to rouse her even more. “Hundreds, Custis. Me’n Quincy’ve made a mountain of money off lesser men than you. Men who wound up with a sore head and an empty wallet.” She squeezed the fingers of his hand. Her eyes watered. “Sometimes…I fucked ’em so they’d be happy…Rare, but it happened. Usually…did just enough to keep ’em busy till the drugs went to work.”

  “What about you and me?”

  The tiny smile reappeared. “That was a first. Must admit…I became excited far beyond words, once we were alone. Something about you, darlin’. Something I can’t explain. You remind me of someone I knew, I think. Loved, or was attracted to and didn’t know why at the time. Haven’t felt…that way…in years. Guess it all caught up with me…last night.”

  She appeared to collapse. Longarm knew he needed to bring the conversation to a quick end. “You know where Quincy is now, Mattie?”

  Her eyes closed, and for several seconds Longarm thought perhaps she’d passed out or drifted off to sleep. But then she squeezed his hand again and said, “Can’t…say for absolute sure. Doubt he’s left town. Quincy likes all the doin’s down in the Acre. Loves to…gamble…drink, and whore around. Says he gets tired of fuckin’ me. Needs some strange every once in a while.”

  “Does the son of a bitch have a favorite spot he likes to frequent over all the others?”

  Mattie squirmed as though uncomfortable. A pained grimace etched deep lines beneath the flaked blood still pasted on her battered face. “Prefers Mary Porter’s. Best-lookin’ girls in Texas. Near Josie Belmont’s. Jesse Reeves’s joint, too. Likes to have drinks at the Two Minnies Saloon. Place with the glass ceilin’…where you can look up at the nekkid girls on the floor above. Puts up at the Drover’s Inn sometimes, too.” She turned away and appeared to drop off to sleep again.

  Longarm placed a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Rest now, Mattie darlin’. I’ll find the worthless son of a bitch, and when I do, he’ll wish his mother’d never squeezed him out.”

  Longarm stormed back through Doc Wheeler’s office. Didn’t stop until he was able to stand on the boardwalk and breathe something other than the dense, choking, miasmic cloud that saturated the local pill wrangler’s entire space. As he fired up an aromatic cheroot soaked in Kentucky bourbon, the other men filed out the door and gathered around him in a concerned knot.

  Through a blur of fresh, sweet-smelling tobacco smoke, Longarm said, “Way you had her patched up and covered, I’m sure all I could see was just the most superficial part of her injuries. So tell me, Doc, how bad’s she really hurt? What’s the total of the damage?”

  Wheeler squinted, toed at the board under his foot. He pulled his spectacles off and tapped them against the palm of his hand. “Well, Marshal, her left arm is broken, just above the elbow. Looks like the guy who thrashed her did it with his fists. She has at least a couple of broken ribs on the same side. Appears to me her attacker might have knocked the lady down, then kicked hell out of her. Series of unsightly contusions all over her back and legs brought me to that particular diagnosis. And, perhaps worst, she could well be suffering from a serious concussion. Hard to tell right now.”

  Longarm took his hat off and slapped it against his leg. Tater Allred gazed into the street like a man hypnotized by the passing of a fancy carriage and team. Marshal Sam Farmer glanced at his deputy, then made a flicking motion with one hand that freed the man to hustle away from the scene and head off to the west, back along Weatherford.

  “Reckon she’s gonna live, Doc?” Longarm glared at the medicine man, as though daring him to answer the question the wrong way.

  “Wish I had a crystal ball, but that’s impossible to know, Marshal Long. I wouldn’t even venture a guess at this juncture. Man who beat this lady did the most concentrated, thorough job I’ve ever seen in all my years of practice. He meant for the thumping she got to hurt, and for a long time to come. Whatever her future state of health might hold, I can say she’s gonna be very uncomfortable for months to come down the road.”

  A steely-eyed gaze turned on Sam Farmer. “Want you to do me a favor, Marshal,” Longarm grunted.

  Farmer forced a tight smile. “If I can.”

  “Oh, you can. But that’s not the problem. Problem is, will you?”

  “Well, spit it out, Custis. Whatta you want? Give me a hint.”

  All ears and eyes turned Longarm’s direction. “Want you to let me handle this mess, Sam. Keep your boys out of it. Sure they’ve got more’n enough to do anyhow. Tell ’em to give Quincy Ballentine, and any of his henchmen who might be in town, or show up, plenty of room. Want to play out an ample amount of rope for ’em. Then, I’m gonna personally hang ’em.”

  Farmer stared into the twin muzzles of a pair of blue-gray eyes for about ten seconds, then blinked. “Alright. I’ll giv
e you your head on this. At least for a spell, anyway. But only because you’re right in your assessment of our workload.”

  A slight smile turned the corners of Longarm’s mouth up. “One other favor.”

  Marshal Farmer shoved his thumbs into the waist of his pants and reared back on his heels. “Yeah. And just what in the hell would that be?”

  “Move her to my room in the El Paso. She’ll be safer. I can keep a closer eye on her. Doubt Quincy’s smart enough to figure out where we might hide her. Send a nurse along to watch over things in my absence. I’ll pay the freight. Then get your people together and tell ’em what we’ve agreed to do.”

  “I can do that. All of it.”

  “Wait a minute, Marshal Long,” Doc Wheeler said. “I can’t allow you to move my patient. Not right now, anyway. Maybe in two or three days or so, perhaps longer. But right now, such an action is out of the question. She’s in a terrible and delicate condition. An inexperienced nurse, because that’s all you’ll get around here, is out of the question until such time as I can determine just how bad off she really is.”

  Longarm ran a hand over the back of his neck as though he had a pain he couldn’t quite locate. “Understood, Doc. I’ll figure out something else. Might have to put a guard on her for a few days. Because you can bet your stethoscope, Quincy’ll try to kill her once he finds out I’m after him and that he didn’t manage to do it last night.”

  “Anything else?” Farmer said.

  Longarm jerked a thumb toward Tater. “Let your men know that Willard Allred will be helping me, and that they should look on him as my personally appointed special deputy in this matter.”

  Farmer threw a quick glance in Tater Allred’s direction, nodded, then said, “If that’s what you want. Sure, I’ll take care of it.”

  Longarm clapped Fort Worth’s chief lawman on the shoulder, then shook his hand. “This dance might get real nasty ’fore it’s over and done, Sam. But trust me, whatever happens, there’ll be a good reason for all of it.”

  A puzzled look flashed across Farmer’s face. He slowed the handshake. With some hesitation in his voice, he said, “I totally understand your feelings on this matter, Marshal Long. Got no use for a man who’d do such things to a woman, myself. Unfortunately, similar events take place in the Acre almost weekly. Difficult to impossible to stop ’em. So you do as you see fit, Marshal Long. We’ll sort out any repercussions when this dance is all done. How’s that sound to you?”