by Tabor Evans
The man’s upper body dipped to the side, and he landed a punch that came out of nowhere and turned the left side of Longarm’s face numb.
Bastard wasn’t just nasty to women, Longarm realized. He could handle himself in a fight with a man too.
But then Longarm had had this sort of dance before.
He reared back and drove his right hand hard in an attempt to push the man’s face into the back of his skull.
The punch was a powerful one. It sent the fellow staggering backward. He stopped, shook his head again, sending bright strings of blood onto the bolts of cloth around him . . . and sagged down onto his knees.
“All right, damn you,” he muttered. “You s’prised me this time. You won’t do that again, I fucking promise you.”
The fellow grabbed hold of a table and pulled himself upright. Shook his head again and glared at Longarm. Then he stumbled to the door and out into the street.
Longarm watched him out of sight, cautious lest the fellow go for that ivory-handled shooter under his arm, but there was no return engagement and no firearms came into play.
Longarm turned to the lady and again bowed. “My apologies.”
“No . . . I . . . thank you, sir.” She picked up his Stetson, found a sponge on a shelf behind the counter, and used it to brush off Longarm’s hat before handing it back to him. “George is . . . overly zealous at times, and he assumes more than I care to offer.”
Longarm smiled. “Then I’m glad I happened by, miss.”
“Did you really come in to see about shirts, sir?”
“No, ma’am. I heard you from out in the street. Don’t like to intrude, but some things a gentleman doesn’t do. Like hitting a lady, which I can plainly see that you are. I just hope he won’t come back and take out on you what he couldn’t do to me.”
“Thank you for that thought too, sir.” She stepped closer and went up onto tiptoes to examine the side of his face. “You’re bleeding a little,” she said. “Come into the back. I’ll wash the blood off and do something about that cut.”
Feeling was beginning to return to Longarm’s face—the son of a bitch really could hit.
“That’s mighty kind of you, ma’am.”
“It is ‘miss,’ not ‘ma’am,’ and it is no trouble at all.” She stepped to the door and turned the OPEN sign around to read CLOSED but did not bother turning the bolt to lock it. “This will only take a minute,” she said. “Follow me, please.”
Chapter 10
“It” took more than a minute. Considerably more. Dressing Longarm’s cut led to coffee, which led to lunch, which led to an examination of his torso in case there might be damage there, which led to none-too-subtle suggestions that more clothing be removed, which led to . . .
“Ah, darlin’, it feels mighty good to be inside that pretty body o’ yours.”
“If I had known how big your cock is, I would have had your clothes off before we wasted time having lunch.”
“That wasn’t a waste, ma’am. It just gave me more energy to spend bumpin’ bellies with you now.”
Iris Tyner laughed. And waggled her butt from side to side in response. Longarm happened to be deep inside her at the time. He rather liked the feel of it.
Iris was small, dark, and slim. She admitted to being thirty-eight years old, a statement that he suspected was the truth. And she liked to fuck.
“The problem,” she had explained over lunch, “is that George seems to think one invitation to share my bed gives him proprietary rights over me anytime he wants more of the same. It doesn’t. I may like sex . . . the fact is that I very much do like sex . . . but that does not make me his, or any man’s, possession. I am an independent woman, not a whore. And certainly not a sex toy.” She sighed. “George just doesn’t understand that.”
Now, the two of them entwined on Iris’s narrow bed in the back room of her shop, Longarm shuddered and stiffened as a wad of sticky cum squirted deep inside the woman’s slender body.
Iris had already reached her own climaxes at least three times, and those were only the ones Longarm was sure of. The way she grunted and moaned throughout made it a little difficult for him to tell when she was coming.
Iris was a girl who just plain liked to fuck, and she was not shy about letting the fact be known.
She was also not bad-looking. Unlike most women, Iris Tyner looked better naked than she did when she was dressed for the world to see.
She had small, nicely formed tits with pink nipples standing tall atop them, slender legs that could clamp around a man with remarkable strength, and a round, compact, lovely ass.
For some reason—he hoped it was not crabs—she kept her bush trimmed almost to the point of being shaved. It was unusual. But he liked it. The effect was a clean and quite lovely pussy.
With no hair to hide her private parts from view, her lips were pink and pretty. And her love hole gaped wet and ready as soon as she stepped out of her knickers.
Longarm finished and rolled off of her. He had to be careful about it because her bed was too narrow for them to sprawl. They lay pressed close together, Iris trailing her fingers over his now limp cock.
“Lovely,” she said. She giggled. “There is something so pretty about a cock. Do you mind?”
“Mind what?”
“If I look a little closer?”
“Of course not. Whatever pleases you, darlin’.”
Iris untangled herself from him and slid down toward the foot of the bed. “My, my,” she mumbled.
She used a fingertip to lift his pecker, then peeled the foreskin back. She used thumb and forefinger to milk his dick, forcing a small pearl of white cum to the tip.
Iris’s tongue flicked out, and she licked his juice away.
“Tasty,” she said. “Would you mind . . . ?”
She did not wait for him to answer, just sucked his cock into her mouth.
“Careful what you’re startin’ there, darlin’,” he warned.
Iris’s answer was another giggle. And to suck him deeper into her mouth.
Longarm’s response was immediate. And powerful. He came erect, strengthening and lengthening and filling Iris’s mouth and on into her throat.
Her response was to mumble something that sounded very much like a cat’s purring and to use her fingers to tickle his balls while she sucked.
This girl, he thought, was one helluva nice find.
Chapter 11
By the time Longarm got around to leaving Iris’s bed, it was late in the afternoon, too late to accomplish much.
“Hungry?” Iris asked.
He nodded. And yawned. The day had been a strenuous one. In a very nice sort of way.
“I could cook something for us,” Iris suggested.
He said, “If there’s a nice place to eat in this town, I could take the two of us out to dinner.” Longarm smiled. “I haven’t had the pleasure of squiring a pretty lady in quite some time. If you’re not ashamed to be seen on my arm, that is, me bein’ a sort o’ rough-hewn stranger here.”
“I would be honored. And very pleased too, Custis. Get dressed while I find something I can gussy up with.” She crawled over him to reach the floor. He stopped her halfway, and they nearly became sidetracked, but after a minute or two he took his tongue out of Iris’s mouth and let her get off the bed.
Iris headed for a wardrobe at the side of the small, crowded room while Longarm stood and stretched for a moment, then reached for his hastily discarded clothing that was scattered hither and yon.
Five minutes later they were both dressed and ready to be seen in public.
“We can go out the front,” Iris said. “The alley in back is always muddy because old man Barnes insists on watering his horse back there. The old fool pays a boy to carry buckets of water from the railroad’s pump, and the kid can’t handle a full bucket
yet. He’s a nice boy but too small for the job. Still, he does need the income. His ma is a railroad widow and doesn’t have any sort of pension or anything to help her get along. I sell her yard goods as cheap as I can so I can try to help out a little.”
Longarm followed the babbling little woman out into the shop, darker now that the sun was almost gone. He stopped her at the door and thoroughly kissed her before opening the door and escorting her out onto the public street.
He leaned down and whispered, “Where are we going?” He was supposed to be escorting her, but he had no idea where.
Iris laughed and said, “The Chauncey Hotel over on Second Street has the most elegant dining room in town. Can you afford something like that?”
“For the pleasure of the company of a beautiful lady like you, I reckon I can,” he told her, bowing slightly as he did so.
Iris laughed again and hugged his arm. “Oh, I am glad you came along,” she said.
They sauntered slowly toward the Chauncey, Iris telling him where to turn when need be, window-shopping along the way, and got there just about the time the sun disappeared below the horizon.
The front of the Chauncey was ablaze with lamplight, and inside was even brighter from the crystal-drop chandeliers hanging overhead. The waiters wore red jackets, and the tables were covered with white linen. The place settings looked like bone china, and the silverware appeared to be real silver.
“Like it?” Iris asked as she clung to the crook of his arm.
Longarm grinned down at her and said, “It’s just the sort of place I’m used to.” Then he laughed to admit to the lie. “Come on then. Let’s go in an’ put on the ol’ feed bag.”
Chapter 12
After dinner—a rather elegant affair indeed—Longarm walked Iris back to her shop. “Yes, I really live there. I can’t afford to pay two rents out of what I make. Will you come inside?” she offered when they reached the front door.
“No, but I thank you. And I want to thank you for the pleasure of your company tonight.” He winked and added, “And earlier too.”
“Oh, that pleasure was mine,” Iris said.
“I won’t kiss you good night,” Longarm told her. “Don’t want folks to be gossiping.”
Iris’s answer was to throw her arms around Longarm’s neck and plant a huge kiss on him, probing his mouth with her tongue.
He was tempted to change his mind and accompany the lady inside for a while, perhaps for the night, but that would not be accomplishing anything for Helen. He settled for the kiss, saw Iris indoors, and waited until her door was locked before he turned and walked toward Front Street, along the railroad.
The saloons—and there were plenty of them—were ablaze with lights and music played on a piano. Longarm dropped in at several of the more likely-looking places and stayed only long enough to have a beer and eavesdrop on the conversations around him.
Most of the talk was uninteresting. Off-duty railroaders talked about bosses or coworkers. Cowhands talked about horses, both the good and the bad ones they had known. The miners seemed mostly to talk about the local whores.
Each group tended to gather in saloons that catered to their own sort. Longarm spent the bulk of his time sipping suds in the two saloons where the miners drank. He heard nothing there about the whorehouses, though, just the whores. He finished his brews and moved along.
In none of the saloons did he hear a word about Ira Collins. He did overhear one man grumbling about George Stepanek, but the man was drinking with a small group of friends and was disinclined to talk to a stranger.
Longarm made the rounds of all the town’s watering holes until he was familiar with them and with their normal clientele. And until he was feeling more than a bit waterlogged by all the beer he had put behind his belt.
Time to head back to his hotel, he decided. While he could still navigate the way there.
He went outside, looked around a bit to get his bearings, then started walking back toward the Pickering and an empty hotel room.
He would have much preferred the acrobatics available in Iris’s back room or the friendly company to be found in Helen’s bedroom, but at the moment the Pickering seemed advisable.
He was a block away from the hotel when he heard a rush of feet coming fast behind him.
Coming much too fast.
Chapter 13
There were three of them, and they had bad intentions. Trying to roll him for his wallet, he assumed.
It was not a plan he intended to comply with.
Longarm spun to his right, lashing out with his knuckles extended into the throat of the first son of a bitch.
The man gagged and clutched his throat, dropping to his knees and puking into the dust and cinders of the street.
Behind him the second man avoided Longarm’s punch by tripping over his downed partner. He did not, however, avoid the next punch. Longarm’s fist split the bastard’s lips and may well have loosened some teeth.
But there was a third . . .
Longarm more heard than felt the crunching blow onto the back of his head. The sound was like that of a pumpkin being thumped. Hollow and deep.
Deep inside his own skull.
It was something he found mildly interesting.
Something he intended to examine. When he got time.
For now, though, he would just lie there next to the man who was retching his guts out.
Interesting how he had gotten down there on the ground without really noticing. But there he was.
Longarm found that to be mildly funny.
He thought about laughing.
Thought about crying.
Thought about joining that other guy by puking up all that beer he had had during the evening.
Thought about . . . Fuck it. Thought about just going to sleep right there and then.
Longarm closed his eyes and let himself drift away into the gray void that was coming down to claim him.
Chapter 14
This hotel had one hard son-of-a-bitch of a bed. At the very least he wanted to change rooms. If all their beds were this lousy, he would change hotels.
Longarm cracked his eyes open.
And frowned.
The wall he was staring at was made of brick. He thought there was supposed to be wallpaper.
And in the other direction . . . there were bars.
He was in a jail cell. He could not remember why he would have been collared. He shook his head.
That was a mistake. The rapid motion made his head swim and his stomach do flip-flops. There was a distinct possibility that he was going to puke.
Longarm fought down that impulse and sat up on the edge of the jail bench. That helped. A little.
“Awake are you?” a voice came from the other side of the bars.
He thought, No, you asshole, I’m still sound asleep.
But aloud he said, “Yes, sir.”
“Feeling better now?”
“Yes, sir, a little, thank you.” Custis Long knew a bit about jailhouse etiquette and how a sensible man speaks to the fellow with the key. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“What am I in for?”
The turnkey laughed. “You don’t know?”
“No, sir, I don’t.” Longarm could learn to seriously dislike this son of a bitch. Wouldn’t even have to work very hard at it. And, dammit, his head hurt.
“Drunk and disorderly. You was found passed out in the street. That’s enough to earn you three days or three dollars, one or t’other.”
“I wasn’t passed out. Somebody beat me up,” Longarm said.
“Sonny, do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard that one?” the jailer responded. The man walked into view and Longarm got a look at him. The turnkey was a scrawny little son of a bitch with a shaggy b
eard and nearly bald dome. His hair, both head and beard, had the washed-out sort of white that once had been red. He wore bib overalls and eyeglasses.
“Did I have my wallet when you picked me up?” Longarm asked.
“I didn’t look into your pockets, sonny, but I noticed the right front in your britches was turned inside out,” the jailer said.
That was a relief, Longarm thought. The thieves had gotten some money from him, but his credentials as a deputy U.S. marshal were intact. The money could easily be replaced. The badge could not.
There would be no point in making a police report about the attack, he knew. This was a railroad town. Half a dozen trains could have come and gone while he lay unconscious in this jail cell, and the three men who jumped him could have gotten onto any one of them.
For that matter, dark as it had been, he was not really sure he could describe the trio. Or recognize them if he saw them again.
But he wished he could get his hands on the asshole who’d bashed him from behind. It was a favor he would be pleased to return.
“What about my Colt?” he asked.
“Yeah, you was wearing that. It’s out here in the desk. You can have it back when you get out.”
Longarm blinked a little and took inventory of himself. The back of his head felt like it had been caved in. But he knew it hadn’t been. There was some matted blood back there that he would wash out once he was free to do so. The damage could have been much worse. Likely his Stetson had cushioned some of the blow.
His wallet was in an inside coat pocket. That, including the badge it contained, would go into the hotel safe as soon as he got back there.
The leather also contained some currency. The thieves had missed finding that. But then hard money, coins, was the most common. A good many men simply did not trust paper money. The thieves had not been looking for paper, just for metal. Thank goodness.
