by Tabor Evans
Griner blinked. “Our stove?”
“Right. The one in the back o’ the room there,” Longarm said, pointing toward the cast-iron stove that had been shoved out of the way. It did not appear to be connected to any chimney or stovepipe, although there was a pie plate tacked to the wall that suggested it was where a stovepipe existed. Presumably the stove would be connected when fall weather brought cold temperatures.
“Sure, Marshal, whatever you want.” The bartender laughed, thinking Longarm was making a joke although one he obviously did not understand.
Longarm tugged on Dave Ashford’s arm. “Come along, mister.” He took Ashford back to the stove and used a spare set of handcuffs looped around a leg of the stove to secure the prisoner there. The stove was a big one, intended to heat the entire saloon. Longarm guessed it would weigh four hundred pounds or more. Ashford was not going anywhere, at least not for the time being.
Leaving Ashford sitting on the floor beside the stove, Longarm returned to George Griner. “Clear the place out, George. Everyone out. Including the dead man there. Then I want you t’ fetch your boss an’ all the other bigwigs. Them an’ me are gonna have us a talk.”
Chapter 26
Longarm stood glaring at the civic leaders—such as they were—of Valmere, Wyoming Territory. His look reflected pure disgust. Hands on hips, he declared, “I cannot believe you fuckers have been so wrapped up in your fight with the folks across the street that you neglected even the most basic needs o’ this here town. An’ before you get all hot an’ bothered, I’m gonna have this same talk with the people over in Nebraska.
“What I am gonna do right now is assess each an’ every one of you ten dollars. It’ll be used for civic improvement, by the way. I’m not gonna take any of it. My salary is paid by the fed’ral government, so don’t get to thinking any o’ that shit. But there are things that have t’ be bought.
“Now where is the nearest telegraph office? Somebody speak up. Anybody.”
“Lusk or Torrington, one of them,” Otis Reed piped up.
“Fine. Thank you. Who has a fast horse and a couple days to spend helping out.” He waited. After a moment he said, “Don’t everybody speak up at once here.”
No one did.
Longarm waited another minute or so, then said, “Hettie, you have a handyman at your place, I assume.”
The plump little black madam nodded. “I do.”
“I want to borrow him for a couple days then.”
The woman nodded again. “His name is Benjamin. He’s a good man.”
Longarm pulled a sheet of paper from his coat pocket. “Give this to Benjamin. He can use my horse. Oh, and give him this dollar. He’s to go t’ town an’ send this wire off. The address is wrote down there.”
“What are . . . ?”
“It’s an order for certain materials. Meantime, Jamison, you have a heavy wagon, don’t you?”
The owner of the mercantile nodded.
“I want you t’ send a work crew over to Hat Creek. There’s timber there. Sure as hell ain’t none around here, so go where they can find it. I want logs, something stout an’ straight that can be shaped into puncheons for flooring. Each one has t’ cut to at least ten feet. Longer would be even better. Make sure you send someone with some sense. An’ some tools. An’ some grub for ’bout a week.”
“How’s come we have to supply everything, Marshal? What about those bastards over there?” Jacob Potts gestured angrily toward the Stonecipher side of the twin towns.
“Believe me, they are gonna contribute their full share, an’ they are gonna pay their assessments, too. You both are, so get used t’ that idea. On this deal, you are working together.”
“What are we working together for?” a voice in the back called. Longarm could not see who asked the question.
“What we are doing,” Longarm said, “is building a jail. An’ by the way, I’ve seen a lot o’ odd pieces o’ lumber laying around behind your store buildings. You might ‘s well know, I’m confiscating all of it. That’s what we’ll use for the walls an’ whatnot.”
“You can’t have a jail without a cell,” the same voice said.
“That’s what’s in the telegram I just gave to Hettie to send. It’s an order for a prefabricated jail cell. Outfit over in Omaha sells them. Also metal roofing. Shit like that. Should be pretty much everything we need. I assume you have nails an’ hammers an’ like that over to the general store, but I’m sending off for the major items.”
“That’s what the assessment is for?”
Longarm nodded. “’Tis.”
“Which side are you going to build this jail of yours, Marshal?”
He grinned and reached for a cheroot. “Neither. It’s gonna go right smack in the middle. Now if you fellas will excuse me, all this talk has got me thirsty. George, start pouring. An’ everybody . . . leave your money on the bar there so’s we can pay for all this civic improvement.”
Chapter 27
“I swear, Custis dear, you’re so busy these days that I hardly ever get to see you. Won’t you come have supper with me tonight?” Liz trailed her fingernails lightly across the back of his neck, sending a chill down Longarm’s spine.
He grinned. “Just supper?”
“Mmm, could be more.”
“I’ll find the time. But if I’m a little late, don’t give up on me. I’ll get there just as soon as I can.”
“If you want, you can bring your things and stay there with me. I don’t know why you insist on staying over there with those whores.”
“’Cause for one thing, I don’t wanta compromise you. After all, I won’t be here forever, and you have to live with these people after I’m gone.” He laughed. “Besides, those whores have kinda adopted me for a pet or something. They can’t figure out why I’m not fucking any of ’em.”
“You really aren’t?” Liz asked.
“No, I’m really not. Now go start fixing a fancy supper or whatever ’tis you ladies do in the afternoons. I got t’ see to the building of my jail. The cell pieces arrived an’ I need to get Otis to put it together. Either him or the Stonecipher blacksmith. What’s his name? Oh, right. Adam. Anyhow, they got forges, so they’re the ones can put it together. Then once they do that, the carpenters can finish that last wall.”
Elizabeth just shook her head. And walked away. “I’ll see you this evening, Custis.”
“Right. Thanks,” he said absently, his mind already elsewhere.
Chapter 28
Longarm worked with the volunteers—he knew they were volunteers because he had volunteered them himself—until dusk put an end to the day.
“Reckon it’s time,” he called, “but we did good today.”
He stepped back and looked at what they had accomplished so far. The floor was down—good, heavy puncheons that would be almost impossible for a prisoner to dig through—and the framing was complete. Two walls were up and a good start had been made on the third.
They could not build the fourth wall until the Nebraska side’s wagon returned from the railroad at Kimball. The wagon would be carrying the prefabricated cell sections, and those would not fit inside if the walls were complete. The same wagon should have the sheet metal roof sections. As it was now the rafters were in place, but the roofing material had not yet arrived.
“She’s looking good, Long,” one of the workmen called.
“Thanks to you and the other fellows, Harry,” Longarm responded. “Good night, now. Good night all.”
He walked over to Hettie’s whorehouse and went in without knocking. Except for being a mite noisy at night the whorehouse was as good as most hotels and better than some.
He waved to the girls sitting in the parlor waiting for customers. There were two of them at the moment, which meant the other three were upstairs draining the sap out of some cowboys.
&nbs
p; Longarm went upstairs, stripped off his shirt and washed, then changed to a clean shirt and buckled his gun belt back in place. He pulled on his vest and coat, then grabbed his Stetson and headed back down the stairs.
“Going out for dinner tonight?” Hettie asked when he reached the front hall.
“Yes’m.”
The madam laughed. “My girls will be disappointed. They like it when you’re here. I think every one of them is in love with you or has convinced herself that she is. You, uh, you do know that you wouldn’t have to pay to have one of them, don’t you? Any one of them.”
Longarm leaned down and kissed the top of Hettie’s head. “I know.” He laughed. “But how could I possibly choose just one when they are all so lovely?” That was something of an exaggeration. Hettie’s girls were of average appearance at best. He had no idea how any of them were as to performance.
Longarm paused before stepping into the vestibule. “Can I ask you ’bout something that’s been vexing me?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Why is this place called Stella’s when I’ve never met anybody here by that name?”
“Can you keep a secret, Marshal?”
“Ayuh, I can do that.”
“Stella’s is owned by me and by a partner. We made the name what we did because each of us has a reason we don’t want to be known as an owner. Me because I’m not sure menfolk would want to come to a cathouse that’s owned by a nigger woman, my partner because he don’t want his name associated with a whorehouse. So we picked a name out of a hat, so to speak, and called it Stella’s. But there isn’t no Stella, at least not here.”
Longarm laughed. “It makes sense when you tell it that way. All right then, Hettie, thanks. I’ll, uh, I might be late tonight.”
“That’s all right. We be open whenever you get here.”
“Yes, I expect you will at that.” He stepped out onto the porch.
Off in the distance there was a flash of light. A moment later a heavy bullet slammed into one of the uprights that held the porch roof up.
Chapter 29
Longarm hit the ground, .45 in hand, searching for a glimpse of form or motion out where he had seen the muzzle flash. He knew good and well that the distance was too long for a revolver. It would take a rifle to make the shot. But he was more than willing to try it if only he had something to shoot at, damnit.
One thing he knew for certain. That shot had come from the Nebraska side of things. Someone over there wanted him dead or otherwise gone.
He lay on the ground outside the nonexistent Stella’s whorehouse for a good half hour, until he heard some revelers loudly and drunkenly approaching. Then he stood and brushed himself off, slid the Colt back into his leather and shivered. Although the evening air was far from being cold.
He stopped by the smithy, where Otis was keeping an eye on Dave Ashford. The prisoner was shackled to the larger of Otis’s anvils. Longarm figured if the man could make a run for freedom with that monster under his arm, then he was entitled to get away.
“Cocksucker,” Ashford snarled when Longarm walked in. Then the man looked away, unwilling to meet Longarm’s eye.
“I see our boy is in his normal good humor,” Longarm said.
Otis Reed chuckled and gave his bellows a couple of tugs, then used a pair of long tongs to adjust some bits of iron half buried in white-hot coke. “It’s a pity I can’t put him to use around here,” he said, “but he won’t do shit, just sits there and glares at anyone who comes near. His curiosity value has worn out. I think now he’s keeping customers away.”
“Do you want me to move him?” Longarm asked.
“No, but I hope the circuit judge comes around soon. You did send for him, didn’t you?”
Longarm nodded. “Just like the council authorized me to.”
“Any idea when the man will get here?”
Longarm bit the twist off a cheroot and used Otis’s tongs to pick up a cherry-red piece of coke. He used that to light his smoke before he answered. “There’s no telling about those fellows. They travel when they can, where they have to. Have you ever had a proper judge come through Valmere?”
“There hasn’t been one since I’ve been here,” Reed said, “and I got here within a few months of the first buildings to go up.” He grunted and retrieved the tongs from Longarm so he could turn the pieces of iron again. “Of course back then we thought the whole shebang was in Wyoming. That was before the government surveyor came through and screwed everything up.”
“Government will do that, y’know,” Longarm said. “Sometimes I think that’s what it does best.”
“Yet you work for the government,” Reed said.
“To that, sir, I plead guilty.” He took another pull on his cheroot and slowly blew the smoke out, then said, “Time for me t’ head for supper. What with building that jail, swinging a hammer an’ all I’ve worked up an appetite. First actual work I’ve done in, I dunno, in years.”
“Well, you needn’t worry about your prisoner. I’ll take good care of the son of a bitch,” Reed said.
Ashford swung his head around and glared at them. “Fuck the both of you.”
Longarm ignored the man, said good night to Otis, and walked across the wide street, past the partially finished jail to Liz Kunsler’s modest house. When he mounted her front porch he could smell what promised to be a fine supper.
And after that, well, he was looking forward to afterward even more than to the meal.
Chapter 30
“That was a mighty fine meal,” Longarm said, dropping his napkin onto the table and pushing his chair back. He grinned. “Now for dessert.”
Liz’s brow wrinkled in consternation. “Custis, I didn’t make any dessert.”
He laughed. “Honey, you are the dessert.”
“Well, in that case,” she said, rising from the table and coming into his arms.
“You taste like mashed potatoes an’ gravy,” he mumbled into her mouth moments later.
Liz pulled her face away. “What a terrible thing to say!”
“Darlin’,” he said with a laugh. “I happen t’ like mashed potatoes an’ gravy.”
“Then perhaps you should see what other flavors you can find,” she said.
“Fine by me. Let me look.” He kissed her some more, then suggested, “Think maybe we could move this back to your bedroom so’s I can look closer? An’ in other places?”
“I think we could arrange that.” Liz stepped back and took his hand, leading him back to the bedroom. She lighted a lamp there and turned the wick down to a soft glow. But bright enough that he could see—and admire—her body as the lady stepped out of her dress.
“I think I’m getting ahead of you here,” she said, breaking his concentration on what he was so thoroughly enjoying seeing. Longarm quickly began shedding clothing in an effort to catch up.
They came together then, naked and eager. He could feel his cock pressed between their bellies. Could feel the sharp jut of her hip bones and the softness of her tits against his chest. Could feel the desire in her mouth.
Liz smiled when he picked her up and placed her gently onto the bed. “Fuck me,” she whispered into his mouth.
He kissed his way down. Her mouth. Her throat. Her chest. Each rigid nipple in turn. Lower, across her belly and into the tangled bush. He found the sweet nectar in her pussy and licked the tiny button of her pleasure until Liz cried out in a powerful orgasm.
By then she was clawing at him. Wanting him. Insisting that their bodies be joined.
She twisted around so that they lay with their heads at the foot of the bed, but Liz did not want to wait long enough to change. She groped at his cock. Took it in her fist and pulled him to her. Into her.
Longarm plunged into the wet depths of Elizabeth’s body, immersing himself in her, surrounding himself wit
h her heat.
She was able to accommodate all of him and he thrust deep. He lifted her knees and draped them over his shoulders so her ass was high off the bed. He took hold of her tits and rammed full length into her. He could feel the head of his cock bump into something inside her. For a moment he worried that he might hurt her, but he had gone beyond being able to stop. He thrust deep, over and over and over again. He could feel his sap rising. Could feel the sweet gathering of pressure deep inside his balls.
And then it exploded. His come spewed out into her, and he let out a loud grunt as the pleasure overwhelmed him.
Liz came again at the same moment. She clutched him tight and drummed her heels against the small of his back in an attempt to pull him even deeper.
Finally he went limp. He allowed Liz’s legs to fall away from his shoulders, and she lay exhausted on the bed. Longarm let his weight down onto her, and she hugged him close.
They dropped off to sleep like that.
Chapter 31
Longarm woke . . . he had no idea what the time might be, only knew it was late. And he was satiated after his tryst with Liz, happily satiated. He slipped out of bed without waking her, found his clothes, and got dressed in the dim light of her bedside lamp.
Once he was fully dressed he leaned down and delivered a light kiss to Liz’s cheek, then blew out the lamp and felt his way through the dark house to the front door.
He let himself out but did not immediately leave. Instead he sat in one of the rocking chairs on Liz’s porch and lighted a cheroot. He sat there for a little while enjoying the soft, evening air and the coolness of the night.
He could hear the sounds of revelry from the two whorehouses, one here on the Nebraska side, the other from Stella’s on the Wyoming side of town.
Town, he reflected. That right there was the problem. The people here persisted in thinking of this as being two separate towns when by all rights it was, or should be, a single community.
