Longarm and the Whiskey Woman

by Tabor Evans

  "Oh, yeah. I've got a room up on the fourth floor. Highest I've ever been."

  Longarm laughed faintly. He said, "If that's the highest you've ever been, then I reckon you'd better change your brand of whiskey."

  Frank Carson shook his head. "Oh, are you back on that subject again?"

  "I never left it, but I ain't having much luck."

  They went through the hotel doors together and walked across the hotel's lobby, their boots echoing in the deserted common room. The bar was almost deserted, too. Longarm said, "What the hell is this? I thought this place was the capital of Arkansas, or at least the largest town. These folks go to bed with the chickens around here?"

  Frank Carson gave him a wink. "Well, you've got to go to bed with the chickens if you're going to get up early enough to gather the eggs."

  They found a table, and Longarm signaled to the bartender to bring them a bottle and two glasses. He called across, "The best you got. You know, the Maryland whiskey that I drink."

  Carson said, "Are you from Maryland? I didn't get that impression from your dress and your speech."

  Longarm told him the same story that he had told Bob Greene. He said, "No, I'm just an old western hand. Been all over, but I've taken root in Arizona. Just looking to make a little money here or there. Got tired of the cattle business. The damned things kept wanting to eat and then you've got to keep giving them water. Hell, they're hard to keep alive."

  Frank Carson said, "Well, that's a line I've never tried. I don't see no reason to start now."

  The bartender came over with the glasses and the bottle. Longarm poured out a drink for each of them. They lifted their shot glasses, made a toast to luck, and then knocked them back. Carson looked at the remaining whiskey in his glass. He said, "Is this that Maryland whiskey you called for?"

  "Yep."

  "It's pretty smooth stuff. I reckon it runs pretty dear, though, doesn't it?"

  Longarm shrugged and nodded. "It's my view that you get what you pay for."

  Carson said, "Does that apply to moonshine whiskey, also?"

  Longarm smiled ruefully. "I wouldn't know. I can't get anybody to even admit they make moonshine whiskey around here, much less sell any."

  Carson gave him a slight smile. "Mr. Long, you look like a pretty intelligent man. Are you telling me that you expected to ride into this town, stone cold, and do some business the first day with a breed of people that are about as suspicious as a two-dollar whore?"

  Longarm said, "Well, if it comes to that, I'm willing to put up the money first, just like you would with a two-dollar whore. I'll put it on top of the bureau, but hell, I can't get anybody to even act like they know what I'm talking about. All I get are these blank stares and cold looks and then they say, 'That'll be fifty cents for the drinks but don't linger.'"

  Carson said, "Well, can you much blame them?"

  Longarm shrugged. "Hell, I don't know. I was told it was a going proposition. I mean, I came a long way to buy some of this whiskey and carry it back to Arizona and sell it for a profit. You know, we've got a lot of Indians and idiots back there that really don't give a damn what the stuff tastes like so long as it'll make them drunk. But I can't do any business if I can't find out the price. And what's more, I can't even find out if it exists."

  Carson laughed. "Oh, it exists. I hear you've been walking around town all day long drinking in different saloons. You've already had some of that whiskey."

  Longarm turned his head and spat into a spittoon. He said, "Yeah, I know. I've tasted it." Then he gave Carson a look. "How the hell would you know what I've been doing all day?"

  "Well, you haven't exactly been secretive about it. A man would have had to been blind and dumb not to have heard about this damned fool walking around asking bartenders where he could buy some whiskey in big lots."

  Longarm narrowed his eyes. "I thought you told me you didn't live here, that you were a stranger?"

  Carson lifted a finger in the air. He said, "I don't live here, but I didn't say I didn't visit here pretty often, and I didn't say I was a stranger here. I said I was passing through. I didn't say how slow or how fast I was passing through."

  Longarm sat back in his chair and studied Frank Carson for a long moment. "You wouldn't be getting around to telling me that you might could be some help to me on this matter, are you?"

  "What gives you the idea that I would know anything about the whiskey business, Mr. Long?"

  Longarm frowned. He said, "Well, you seem to be pretty well up on everything else around town."

  Carson said, "I know that the subject you're asking after is not one that most of these folks will open up to with a stranger." He yawned. "Speaking of chickens, it might be getting past my bedtime."

  "You say you don't know anything about the whiskey business?"

  "I didn't say that, Mr. Long." Frank Carson's face was still friendly, but there was a slight edge in his voice. "Of course, you didn't get off to a very good start in that poker game. Not that I blame you."

  Longarm's ears pricked up. "Are you talking about that Colton fellow?"

  Carson shook his head slowly. He said, "I'm not talking about anything, Mr. Long. I don't know anything. That's how I keep my welcome in this town."

  Longarm poured them both another drink. Carson started to protest, raising his hand, but then he let it drop. He said, "Oh, what the hell. I'll have one more, but then I really do have to hit the hay. I've got a pretty long ride tomorrow."

  Longarm said, "Are you leaving town?"

  Carson smiled. "Now who's asking about the other person's comings and goings?"

  "Well, it seems only fair since you know considerable about mine," Longarm said.

  "You weren't making no secret of them."

  Longarm said, "You going to be back in time tomorrow afternoon to help us find a poker game?"

  Carson frowned slightly. "I can't say that. Can't you find a poker game on your own?"

  "I've found some fifty cents and a dollar game, but I can't find any real poker game. I looked around all afternoon."

  Carson scratched behind his ear. He said, "Well, it could be that I'll be back here in time. You be around the hotel in the evening, sometime after supper?"

  Longarm said, "I'll make it a point to be."

  After breakfast the next morning, Longarm went back up to his room on the second floor. His room faced onto Main Street, and he looked out onto the scene below him, watching horsemen and wagons and carriages going back and forth. There was also considerable foot traffic up and down on the sidewalks in front of the stores. Little Rock was a busy town during the day and the early evenings, but it seemed to come to a trickling halt as the night wore on. At least, that had been his observation through two evenings and nights.

  After a while, he left the window, sat down on the bed, poured himself a short drink of whiskey, and lit a cigarillo. Things were going much slower than he had expected, and he could see time stretching out in a long, boring span with no sign of light on the horizon. Thus far, he not only hadn't found out anything about the whiskey, but he hadn't been able to find a good poker game and he hadn't seen a girl he could even halfway describe as pretty.

  His mind turned over and over any plan of attack that would shorten his time in Little Rock. Nothing presented itself. All he could see were boring days and worse nights in one of the worst towns he had ever been in. He would have much preferred to be in one of the little towns on the Tex-Mex border than to be in this strange place where there seemed to be a tremendous undercurrent somewhere below the surface with nothing going on above the top. He was pretty certain that if he was forced to spend more than a week in Little Rock, he would shortly either quit the service and turn in his badge or else go completely insane.

  There didn't seem to be much point in repeating his endeavors in circulating around among the saloons, so he had contented himself with walking around the different stores and then going back to the hotel for lunch. After that, he went down to
a livery stable and rented a horse and saddle to take a ride out into the surrounding countryside. The horse was about on caliber with his impressions of the city: slow and dull. He had asked for the best animal they had, but the chestnut gelding they had given him was about as listless and tired an animal as Longarm could remember ever riding in many a day. Hell, he thought, the horse acted like he was on the last mile of a thirty-mile trip across the desert without feed or water.

  Out of pity for the poor beast, he cut his ride down to a couple of hours and headed back into town. There hadn't been much to see, anyway. Just some chopped-up rocky ground and some poor one-mule farms and little else. He hadn't expected to see any smoke rising from any stills, and he hadn't been disappointed. As a consequence, he was back into town by four o'clock in the afternoon, turned the horse back, and had returned to the hotel.

  He walked out a little after five, planning on making the rounds of the saloons. Frank Carson didn't show back up and Longarm was disappointed. Hell, he thought, he was actually feeling lonely. He didn't recall ever being in a town where the people were so unfriendly, suspicious, and silent. As near as he could figure, in the three days he had been in Little Rock, he hadn't really had any conversation with more than two or three people, and none of them were female.

  He soon got discouraged hitting the saloons. It was the same story all over again: blank faces and shut mouths. He turned and headed back for the hotel. It was coming on toward dusk, that time of the evening when the sun mellows and the air softens and you know that night is not too far away. Even the patrons and the traffic in the downtown area had slowed so that there were only a few people on the sidewalks and fewer still going down the main road running through the middle of the little city. Everyone, Longarm supposed, had headed home for their supper. It was a shade early for his taste, but without anything else to do, he figured he might as well make his way to the hotel and join the crowd in the dining room.

  He was walking down the sidewalk opposite the hotel, about half a block away, and was almost ready to cross the street when his attention was caught by two men hurrying toward him. They were both young, strong-looking men wearing khaki shirts. The khaki only served to make the deputy sheriff's badges more visible on their chests. Some instinct caused Longarm to pause. He wasn't sure that they were heading for him, but they were moving in a very purposeful way, and they were coming in his direction. He glanced behind himself. The sidewalk was empty. As he turned his face forward, the men were upon him.

  The nearest said, "Hold it right there, mister. Don't you move."

  Longarm stared at him. He said, "Who the hell do you think you're talking to, buster?"

  The one closest to him grabbed him by the arm. He said in a hard, young man's voice, "I'm talking to you. Keep your hands still and don't make no sudden moves."

  The suddenness of the encounter had taken Longarm off guard. He was amazed at himself that badges had caused him to believe that the men might be approaching him on official business, one law officer to another. For an instant, he had forgotten that he was not presenting himself as a United States deputy marshal.

  He said, "What the hell is this all about?"

  The other deputy had come around and taken his other arm. They were both holding him with tight hands.

  The bigger of the two, who had been doing the speaking from the beginning, said, "You're under arrest, mister. You're going to jail."

  Longarm gave him a mild look. He said, "What the hell are you going to arrest me for? Using the sidewalk?"

  "Never mind what we're arresting you for. You're just under arrest. You got that?"

  Longarm said, "You're making a mistake."

  The deputy leered at him. He said, "No, you're the one that made the mistake. Now, come on."

  They jerked him forward along the sidewalk. Longarm glanced around, but no one else was in sight. He walked willingly enough because he had no choice, and his mind was racing as he wondered if he was going to have to expose himself to get out of whatever supposed charge was being brought against him. He preferred not to tell the two deputies that he was a federal officer. He doubted that it would be much safer to tell the sheriff, since this didn't seem to be the kind of town where a federal officer would be very respected or well received, but at least, talking to the sheriff in private would be better than arguing with two young gorillas out in the middle of town.

  They suddenly surprised him. An alley yawned just a few feet ahead, and before he could realize what was happening, they were steering him into its opening. The buildings on each side suddenly cut the last of the sunlight off and he had to blink his eyes in the dimness of the alley. He said, "What in the hell is going on here? I thought you said you were taking me to jail. The jail ain't this way."

  The bigger of the two deputies jerked on his arm and said, "Move along. We'll decide where you be a-going, mister."

  Longarm tried to stop by digging his heels in the dirt. He said, "Listen, you two boys are making a hell of a mistake. I don't know what you have in mind, but you better turn me loose."

  They jerked him forward. "Come along, here, or we'll handcuff your hands behind you and drag you by your bootstraps."

  They had gone about ten yards deep into the alley. Longarm could see the light at the other end and, in that light, he could see a figure approaching. He jerked backward, forcing the men to stop. The figure was coming closer and closer. Now the two deputies seemed content to just hold him in place. As the figure approached, it turned into a man, and in a few more steps, it turned into Morton Colton.

  Longarm said, "I'll be a son of a bitch. So this is what you two boys are up to."

  The deputy holding his left hand suddenly curled his arm around Longarm's neck, jerking his chin back. He said, "Shut your mouth, mister. You're fixing to get yours right now."

  Longarm was forced to look over his cheekbones at Colton as he came forward. He could see that the man was working a pair of heavy leather gloves onto his fists. Longarm didn't think he'd have to guess what was fixing to happen to him.

  Colton stopped some three or four yards away. Even in the gloom of the alley, Longarm could see the glitter of hatred in the man's eyes. Colton reached up and swept off his planter's hat and threw it to the ground. He said, smacking one fist into the palm of the other, "Now, Mr. Long, you're going to get yours. I warned you that you were making a big mistake. You didn't understand then. Now, I'm going to beat you to a bloody pulp, you son of a bitch."

  Longarm said, "Takes two to hold me and you to hit me? You're some man, Colton."

  Colton said, "Talk all you want, big shot. You're fixing to get your face caved in and then, when you're down, I'm going to kick the living shit out of you."

  As Colton started forward, Longarm suddenly flung his weight hard against the man at his left. He felt the man give slightly, felt the hold around his neck loosen. As they swayed to the left, he used that momentum to pull the man on his right with them. Then, with a sudden shift of his weight, Longarm cocked his right arm and swung his body hard to the right, driving his elbow into the deputy's stomach. He felt his elbow go deep into the man's midriff, heard the swoosh of breath as it left the man, felt the solid contact as he shoved all of his weight into the blow. The man released Longarm's right arm and staggered backward. Out of the corner of his eye, Longarm could see him bent over. He didn't pause.

  In an instant, he had pivoted back toward his left, bringing up his big right hand, making it into a fist, letting his body turn, throwing all his weight now back to his left. The deputy that he had shoved against was now standing there with a surprised look on his face. Longarm hit him flush in the mouth, driving his fist through the man's face, feeling a bone crunch. He hit the man as hard as he could. The deputy dropped almost as if he had been hit by a bullet. In another instant, Longarm was coming back to his right. He knew there would be trouble in that direction. As he turned, he went down to his right knee. The deputy he'd struck in the stomach was now some three
or four yards back. He was drawing his gun. Longarm hesitated. He didn't want to have to kill the man. He was, after all, wearing a badge.

  It had to be a split-second decision. Longarm did not believe the deputy was going to draw the gun just to arrest him again. He felt sure the man was going to fire. All that flashed through his mind in that flicker of an instant it took to assess the situation. The deputy's gun was almost clear of the leather when Longarm drew. He fired once, the bullet striking the deputy high in the middle of his chest. He went staggering backward and slammed into the wall of a building, the gun falling from his lifeless hand. He slid slowly down to a sitting position and then toppled over.

  Longarm was already swinging around, looking for Colton. He saw the man backing away. Ten yards now separated them. He said, "Colton, you son of a bitch, halt!"

  But Colton was starting into a back-pedaling run. Longarm cocked his revolver, aiming carefully, the fury rising in his brain like whiskey fumes. He was about to fire when a voice behind him yelled.

  "Mr. Long! Mr. Long! Stop! Hold it!"

  Longarm knew it could not possibly be the deputy he had hit in the face, and he didn't have any idea who it could be. He swiveled his head around in a quick move. It was Frank Carson. Longarm said, "What the hell?"

  Carson came running up, touching his shoulder. He said, "Mr. Long, you've got to get out of here! You just killed that deputy."

  Longarm sighted back down the alley. "Yeah, but I'm going to kill this fucking Colton before I do."

  It was going to be a hard shot. Colton was fast disappearing into the gloom of the alley. Longarm was about to squeeze off a shot when Frank Carson shook him by the shoulder. He said, "No! Let him go! You're in enough trouble as it is. I've got to get you the hell out of here."

  Longarm rose from his knee, holstering his revolver as he did. He said, "What do you mean, you've got to get me out of here? All I was doing was defending my life."

  Carson pointed at the deputy dead against the wall. He said, "You just killed a law officer."

  Longarm said, "Law officer my ass. That son of a bitch was doing Colton's dirty work for him. Besides that, he drew on me first. I let him get halfway out of the holster before I drew."