by Tabor Evans
Longarm was not sure he shared that view. In fact, he very much did not. He wondered what it must be like to be so sure of one’s fellow citizens the way Anne Gilbert was. It was a confidence he was sure he would never experience.
“Wait here. I’ll light a lamp,” she said.
Longarm stood in the doorway while she moved away, disappearing into the foyer. After a moment he saw the flare of a match. Anne lifted the globe of a lamp and touched the flame to the wick, then adjusted the wick to a soft flutter and went on to light two more lamps before she returned to him.
“In here,” she said, leading the way into a comfortably furnished parlor.
Longarm settled into the armchair that he assumed must once have been her husband’s. There was a lamp beside it and a book with a page marker in it, so Anne must favor the comfortable chair now that she was alone in the house.
“You have no children?” he asked.
“No. We tried, but . . . no.”
“That’s a shame,” he said, not sure if he meant it or not. Children would have given her company in the house. But children could be a pain in the ass too.
“Let me get you that brandy,” she said.
Brandy was not one of his favorite tipples, but he could handle it when he had to. Anne left him alone in the parlor while she went into a back room, presumably the kitchen, and returned moments later with two snifters of brandy.
While she was back there, she had taken her hair down from the severe bun she’d worn during the day. Her hair was long, platinum white, and hanging in soft curls past her shoulders.
“Do you mind?” she asked.
“It’s lovely,” he said. Then he smiled and added, “But so are you, Anne. Very lovely.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Oh, yes. You’re beautiful.”
She set the brandies aside and came to him, folding herself into his lap and wrapping her arms around Longarm’s neck. “I know I am being terribly brazen, but . . .”
“Shh.” He kissed her. A few minutes later he stood, picking Anne up, and asked, “Which way?”
She pointed him toward her bedroom.
Chapter 42
Anne Gilbert was even better looking naked than clothed. And in Longarm’s opinion, such a woman was a rare and wonderful thing.
She was tall and slim, with small breasts and small, rather pale nipples that pointed upward. Her waist was tiny, her hips rounded and smooth. Her back was long and lean, as were her legs. She had a nearly flat belly and a softly fluffy bush of blond hair.
Anne’s mouth was soft. Tasty too, he discovered, and her tongue was mobile as it probed his own.
“Do you mind?” she asked as she knelt over him, moving from his mouth down to his nipples. She licked him there, then her tongue ranged lower still. Across his belly to his prick.
She took him into her mouth, the warmth engulfing his cock as he strained upward, wanting more of the sensations she was giving him. A thin string of spittle ran from the tip of his dick to Anne’s lower lip when she pulled back from him.
She cupped his balls in the palm of her hand and returned her mouth to his rigid cock. She sucked him for a moment then ran the tip of her tongue down his shaft and onto his balls.
Longarm pulled her to him and buried his own tongue in her soft and fragrant bush. Perfumed, he thought.
His tongue found the wet opening to her pussy. Anne moaned aloud when he began to lick the tiny button of her pleasure. After only seconds she shuddered and writhed, her slender body wracked by the throes of a powerful orgasm.
He returned to what he was doing, but she pushed him away. “Too much,” she mumbled, her mouth full of cock. “Strong. So long since . . . It’s been a long time since I felt that. Too powerful.”
Longarm kissed her inner thighs and ran his hands over her tits, cupping them, gently squeezing.
“Please,” she said, pulling away from him. “Fuck me now.”
She stretched out on the bed beside him and parted her legs to receive him as Longarm moved on top of her.
Anne stiffened and lifted her hips to ease his entry into her wet and gaping pussy. She was slim; he could feel her hip bones gouge into his lower belly.
Longarm filled her. The heat of Anne’s body surrounded him, took his cock deep inside as she held him tight with arms and legs alike.
Again it took only seconds before she shuddered. He could feel the lips of her pussy flutter and clench with the power of her climax.
He did not hold back then, driving hard and deep and seeking his own powerful climax, his cum spewing into her quivering body.
“Thank you. Oh, thank you,” Anne whispered into his ear.
Longarm nuzzled the side of her neck and buried his face in that soft, pale hair, his cock still inside Anne’s body.
Minutes later he could feel the return of his need. His cock stiffened once more and he began slowly and gently to rock in and out. Anne responded, and he began to think that this might be a long and exceptionally pleasant night ahead.
The Star Saloon could just take care of itself for the evening.
Chapter 43
It was sometime in the small hours of the morning when Longarm slipped out of Anne Gilbert’s back door, careful lest her neighbors see that she had had a male visitor in the darkened house. Anne came to the door with him, naked and lovely, and gave him a parting kiss.
“You are quite a man, Custis Long. I hope you are here to stay,” she told him.
Longarm refrained from correcting that hope. He missed Denver. He missed his job. But Helen was a friend, and he would not have thought of abandoning her until he eliminated her problem here. The bottom line was that Helen needed him.
Thinking of her after leaving Anne, Longarm suddenly changed direction and headed toward the whorehouse.
From an alley mouth half a block ahead, in the direction he had been walking, a bright fan of flame exploded.
He saw the muzzle flash. Heard the whip of the bullet as it passed close by. Heard the dull, flat report of the gunshot.
Without taking time to consciously think of what he should do in response, Longarm hunkered low and charged straight toward the unknown assailant, his .45 in hand.
Longarm’s Colt roared, belching flame and smoke. And lead.
He heard his bullet strike wood. Close enough to the son of a bitch, he hoped, to chase the bastard away.
Half-blinded by his own muzzle flare, Longarm fired again, with no better result this time. In truth he was not even sure the shooter remained in that alley mouth. Nor whose damn alley it was.
He got there to find nothing and nobody. The alley was a narrow gap between a barbershop—it reminded him that he could use a trim—and a mining implements store.
In the same block were a saddle shop, closed at that hour of course, and a saloon.
A man came wobbling out of the saloon, but when he saw Longarm he smiled and touched the brim of his hat and went staggering on.
There was no sign of the person who had shot at him.
Longarm slid his Colt back into leather and resumed his walk toward Helen Morrow’s fanciest whorehouse.
After being with Anne Gilbert he had no need to get laid, but he certainly did want to talk with Helen.
Chapter 44
“You certainly have Ira Collins stirred up if he is going so far as to have you murdered,” Helen said, offering solace in the form of her first-rate rye whiskey.
“The son of a bitch can try,” Longarm said. “But trying ain’t the same as doing.”
Longarm downed the first double shot and held his glass out for a refill. That one he drank more slowly, enjoying the flavor and the bite on his tongue.
“Has to be Collins,” Longarm said. “But the man sounded sincere when I spoke with him. He said he wouldn’t want to lose the profit he expects t
o make out of the Star. I believed him then. Now . . .”
“Don’t trust that man, Custis. Not for a minute. He’s a snake. Worse than a snake. At least a snake rattles before it strikes.” She sat down ponderously, the flaps of loose skin under her arms swaying. “I don’t suppose you saw who shot at you,” Helen said.
“Of course not. It was dark . . . What the hell time is it anyway? I’m fairly sure I didn’t hit anything but the side of a building when I fired back at him.”
Helen opened what he thought was a large brooch pinned to the bosom of her gown. It turned out to be a watch instead. “It is three-forty-seven,” she said.
Longarm smiled. “Time for good little children to be asleep in their beds,” he said.
“That leaves you out, Custis. You are neither good nor little. What have you been up to at this hour? It’s obvious you have not been out carousing, not even at the Star.”
He shook his head and took another sip of the whiskey. “Never you mind where I been an’ what I been up to.” He grinned over the rim of his glass, set the rye aside, and reached for a cheroot.
“I wish I could do more for you, Custis, but I’ve had my girls . . . the ones I can trust, anyway . . . listening for anything that might help.”
“How is your business, Helen?” he asked.
“Wonderful as far as that goes. I get plenty of business. If Collins will leave my girls alone, I’ll have a gold mine here.”
“Are the real mines digging gold?”
“No, they aren’t bringing gold out of the ground. They’re mining coal. But it is all golden to me when the boys come spend their pay with my girls,” she said.
“We’ll figure this out,” Longarm said, not sure if he believed it or not. He finished his whiskey and set the glass aside before he lighted his cheroot. He blew a few smoke rings toward the ceiling of Helen’s office. Then he stood.
“Reckon I should get to bed,” he said. “This old boy ain’t as spry as he used to be.”
Helen laughed. “Liar,” she said accusingly. “We should all be in as good a shape as you are.”
“Spry enough, maybe, but for damn sure sleepy. I’m gonna head back to the hotel and catch a little sleep.” He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “G’night, sweetie.”
“Good night, Custis.” Helen frowned. “Be careful going home. That man tonight . . . you never know when he might try again.”
Longarm grinned. “Yeah, but next time it’s my turn.”
“I hope so. But if you don’t mind, I will pray for you, Custis.”
“Why, Helen, you’re serious, ain’t you?” He smiled and touched her cheek. “Don’t you worry ’bout me. I have it on good authority that I’m too mean for heaven, an’ the devil don’t want me neither.”
Laughing, he headed out into the night and turned his steps toward the Pickering and a much needed bed—but this time to actually sleep in it.
Chapter 45
“Good morning, Boss,” Robert Ware said. “I’m sorry to wake you, but we have a, um, well, a situation over at the saloon.”
Longarm stepped back from the hotel room door and tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “What the hell, Bob. What time z’it, anyway?”
“Five, five-thirty, something like that,” Ware said.
“Come in. Sit down an’ tell me what’s going on.” Longarm went to his washstand and splashed a little water from the pitcher into the washbasin. He dipped both hands into the water and patted it onto his face in an attempt to wake up. It helped.
“The thing is, Boss . . .”
“Custis,” Longarm corrected.
“Right. Well, the thing is, Custis, a little while ago Bucky Doyle came and woke me. He said he closed up about three-thirty and went down the street to find some friends to share a nightcap. Likely they went to the Chinaman’s for a pipe of opium, but what he said was ‘nightcap.’”
“Opium? I didn’t know Bucky liked that stuff,” Longarm said.
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t seem to do him any harm. I mean, he isn’t hooked or anything. Anyway that’s not why I’m here now.”
“Sorry. Go on, Bob.”
“Yes, well, just a little while ago Bucky and two of his friends were on their way back to Bucky’s place. Bucky noticed that the front door of the Star was ajar. He was sure he had closed and locked it before he left.” Ware frowned. “Bucky wouldn’t have left the door open, Boss. He just wouldn’t.”
“All right. Go on.”
“They looked inside. The place was busted up, Boss. They busted the spigot out of the beer barrel; there’s beer all over the floor ’cause naturally it all ran out, everything that was left in that barrel. A lot of the glasses were busted, so there’s broken glass mixed in with the spilled beer.
“Naturally I ran over there and took a look. He was telling me the truth. The place is a mess. Even the legs have been broken off of the tables.” Ware shook his head. “Pure meanness, Boss. That’s all it is is pure meanness.”
“Bucky didn’t see anybody there? He doesn’t know who did it?” Longarm asked.
“No, sir. Said he doesn’t, and I believe him.”
“Did he see anybody suspicious this evening? Did you?”
Again Ware shook his head. “I’ve wracked my brain about this, Boss, and I just can’t think of anybody as would do such a thing. Can’t think of why neither.”
Threats, gunfire, and now this, Longarm thought. Someone sure as hell wanted him out of the saloon business.
Ira Collins claimed to want to reap profit from the Star. Yet now this had happened.
It did not make sense to him.
Longarm sighed. “We’d best go over there and take a look. Just a quick look. Then we start cleaning up. We want to be open for business . . .” He thought for a moment then said, “No later than noon, Bob. That’s our target. We’ll have customers coming in by noon. We need to be ready for them.”
Ware nodded but did not move. Longarm looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
The manager grinned. “Don’t you think you should put some clothes on before we go over there, Boss?”
Chapter 46
If anything, Robert Ware had underestimated the damage that had been done by the vandals. In addition to the spilled beer, broken glassware, and ruined tables, a newly installed back-bar mirror was shattered, the floorboards behind the bar were beginning to warp due to the beer spillage, and half a dozen lamps had been broken and whatever oil was in them allowed to run out onto the floor to join the beer there.
It was, simply put, a disaster.
“Brooms and mops will be the first order of the day,” Longarm said. “And that carpenter . . . what was his name? The fella that built the bar and the tables? We’ll need him to put those tables back together or to build new ones, whichever works out best.”
“Jimmy Andrews,” Ware said. “That was his name.”
“Do you know where to find him?” Longarm asked.
Ware nodded. “Yes, I think so.”
“Go get him, please. And where’s Bucky anyway? We need him here to help with the cleanup.”
“Bucky is probably sleeping by now.”
“He can sleep some other time. Right now we need him here,” Longarm snapped.
“I’ll shake Bucky out on my way to find Andrews,” Ware said.
“Go on then,” Longarm said. “I’ll grab a broom and see if I can’t make a dent in this shit. Oh, and on your way back after you get those two moving, stop at Morrison’s hardware and buy a new lock. That one seems to be busted all to hell an’ gone.”
• • •
Four hours later the Star was back in business. A fresh keg of beer had been brought up from the cellar, another crate of glassware had been opened, and several trips had been made to various mercantiles to replace broken or missing articl
es.
“I think we’re ready to open the doors again,” Longarm announced, “thanks to you fellows. An’ I do thank you. I want you to know that. The both o’ you pitched in an’ made this possible. Robert, you’re in charge now. Bucky, you should go home an’ get some sleep. You deserve it. Something else you both deserve is a bonus. You’ll see that when you get paid this month. I’m putting in extra for the both o’ you.”
Ware unlocked the newly installed deadbolt and pulled one side of the street door open, then the other, while Longarm grabbed the bung starter and screwed a new spigot into the beer keg.
Jimmy Andrews was still working at building new tables, but the bar was clear and a fresh spread of free lunch laid out.
Within a few minutes the customers started drifting in.
No, dammit, Longarm thought, this saloonkeeping was harder to do than being a deputy United States marshal, no doubt about it.
Chapter 47
“Is there any point to making a formal complaint with Sheriff Anderson?” Longarm mused aloud that evening. He was sitting in Helen’s office with a cheroot in one hand and a glass of rye whiskey in the other. It was the first time that day that he had had a chance to sit down and relax.
“Custis!” Helen said. “I’m ashamed of you. Surely you know better than that. Bert Anderson is as useless as tits on a boar hog, and you know it.” She shuddered. “Besides which, the man gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“So where do people go around here if they want to get justice?” Longarm asked.
Helen shrugged. “They go to Ira Collins, of course. He runs the town. Most of it anyway. He’s as close to being the law as anything we’ve got. Much as I hate to admit it, Ira is a damn sight better at keeping order than Bert Anderson ever has been.”
Longarm grunted unhappily. “Dammit, Helen, Collins is likely the one who ordered my place to be torn up like that to begin with. There’s no point in complainin’ to him about it when he’s the one who caused it.”
