by Tabor Evans
Other novels that Longarm picked up and looked at included plenty of stories about early frontiersmen who could shoot with deadly accuracy and cool courage. There were pictures of men in buckskins fighting bravely against hordes of Indians intent on lifting their scalps and of ladies with the bodices of their dresses torn open to reveal alabaster white breasts. Most of these women were posed cringing at the feet of some dime novel hero determined to save her honor and virginity from terrible, slavering, and bearded Apaches, outlaws, and even seafaring pirates.
“What a crock of bullshit,” Longarm muttered, dropping the books back down on the table with contempt.
“What did you say?” Delia asked, joining him in her study.
“I have to be honest with you,” Longarm told her. “I’ve tried to read a few of those dime novels and I either wind up laughing my butt off . . . or tossing them across the room in disgust.”
“Have you ever read one of mine?”
“No. And I hope you aren’t offended, but I don’t think I ever will.”
“I’m not offended. And you are right . . . most dime novels are ridiculous and completely without literary merit. But what I want to write is very different and far more true to life out in the great American West.”
“Yeah, you told me you wanted to base your stories on facts.”
“And that’s where you can help me.” Delia slipped back into her kitchen and returned a few minutes later with steaming cups of coffee. “Here you go. This will perk you up for some more lovemaking . . . if you want.”
He sipped the coffee and was pleasantly surprised. “This is really good.”
“I buy the best coffee from Brazil and I make it strong. I love strong things, Custis. Strong men, strong lovemaking, and strong characters in my novels. But like I said, I’m out of ideas except for one.”
“And that is?”
“I want to write a series based on you. As promised earlier, I’ll change all the names and give myself the freedom to embellish the true facts, but at least it will be based on a real frontier lawman and real accounts. My publisher thinks this is a wonderful idea and has encouraged me to try this so that my work becomes the standard of excellence. My work will be so much better than Beadle’s or any other dime novelist that I’ll put them to shame and out of business. If I do this right, I can become extremely rich . . . and you’ll be well rewarded.”
Longarm shook his head. “Delia, while I admire your ability to write and create stories and the financial independence you’ve achieved, I honestly don’t want to have anything to do with it.”
She set her cup down and came over to stand before him. “I promised you I’d pay you well and that there would be other . . . offerings.” Delia untied the little rope sash at her waist and opened the front of her bathrobe. “Do you really want to turn me down and miss out on so much that I am offering?”
Longarm put his cup of coffee down and stared at those luscious breasts. Even without conscious thought he could feel his manhood stiffening and his hand found the soft wetness between her thighs. Delia closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure.
“I could pass on the money,” Longarm said in a thick voice, “because having a lot of money has never been my dream. But when it comes to the flesh . . . especially when it comes to someone as beautiful, willing, and desirable as you . . . I have feet of clay.”
She reached down and stroked his stiffening rod. “It’s not your feet that I’m interested in, Custis.”
Longarm kissed her and led Delia back into her bedroom. For an instant, he eyed the swing seat, but then he decided he was too hungry to wait for her to adjust the contraption. So he just pushed her gently down on the bed and mounted her like a stud would a mare in heat.
Chapter 5
Longarm staggered into his office the next day at eleven o’clock and the first thing he did was to pour a cup of weak coffee. Ignoring Pete Schilling, he went over to his desk, opened the Denver Daily News that he’d just purchased, and immersed himself in the latest happenings.
“Long night?” Billy asked a short time later. “You look like you’ve been dragged through a knothole.
“You don’t look so great yourself. You got something on your mind or did you just come over here to give me grief?”
“I have a job in Nevada that I want to send you on . . . that is, if you still want to work for me and not for Miss Delia Wilson providing her fodder for her sensationalist dime novels.”
Longarm took a sip of the coffee. “Billy, you are a cheapskate. This coffee is so weak I can see the bottom of my cup.”
“I need an answer about Nevada,” Billy said. “Or should I send someone else?”
“You don’t have anybody else worth a damn.”
“Deputy Schilling has already offered to go and he looks up to it physically . . . which you don’t.”
“Pete isn’t capable of wiping his own ass, much less doing any kind of job that would be a credit to this department.”
“Oh, he’s a little better than that,” Billy argued. “And he knows that these long distance assignments are what brings a lawman a reputation. I think he is a little jealous that Miss Wilson isn’t asking him to tell her some stories.”
“What stories could Pete tell? How he shot himself in the toe when trying to learn how to do a fast draw? Or about the time he arrested a city councilman for a murder, then learning that the councilman had been in Pueblo on business at the time of the murder?”
“Well, everyone makes mistakes,” Billy said, “and Pete really wants me to send him to Nevada.”
“Pete would do anything to get out of Denver and away from that loudmouthed pig of a wife.”
“Are we going to waste anymore time discussing Deputy Schilling or are you going to come to my office and find out what is going on in Nevada that needs immediate attention?”
“I’m coming,” Longarm said, folding his newspaper and swilling down the remainder of his coffee. “Just don’t rush me.”
When they were inside of Billy’s office, the man shut his door and motioned Longarm to take a chair. “Before we talk about Nevada, I want to know what is going on with Delia Wilson, the dime novelist.”
“She’s insistent that I give her some stories and promises to change the names and facts enough so that there won’t be any fallout on you, me, or this agency.”
“I don’t trust her.”
“Me, neither.”
“Then I take it you declined her offer?”
“I tried, Billy. Honest, I really tried. But . . .”
“But she screwed you half to death, which is why you look so awful and came in so late this morning. Right?”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“Listen, maybe the best thing for you and me right now is to send you out of town.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Glad to hear that. Get some travel money from Lola and we’ll arrange for you to leave first thing in the morning. Tickets will be at the train station, same as usual.”
“Thanks. But this time, give me enough travel money so that I don’t have to hold a tin cup out in the aisle begging for pocket change. I need at least two hundred dollars if it looks like I’ll be out of town for a few weeks.”
“One hundred tops. You can wire me for more if you have good reason.”
“Billy . . .”
“It’s not my money . . . it belongs to our taxpayers and I’m not seeing it wasted on your insistence to debauch yourself.”
“Tell me about Nevada.”
“Our federal marshal in Reno was gunned down yesterday and his wife was shot three times and is barely clinging to life at the hospital.”
“Someone shot Marshal Pierce and his wife, Agnes? Why?”
Billy threw up his hands. “No one knows. But the story gets even worse. Marshal Pierce and his wife hav
e a sixteen-year-old daughter that was forcibly taken during the shooting.”
“Where . . .”
“They were traveling in a buggy and on their way to Carson City when they were attacked by highwaymen. Apparently, the outlaws knew that Marshal Pierce had come into some money from an inheritance and was going to the Carson City Mint to buy some gold coins.”
“Why didn’t Pierce just put his money in a Reno bank?”
“I have no idea. I have a telegram and it doesn’t give much in the way of details. But it seems that they shot our federal marshal and his wife from ambush and then took the money and the daughter. Got away clean and were clever enough to hide their tracks.”
“I assume a posse was formed and gave chase,” Longarm said.
“Sure. But the posse lost the trail.”
Longarm shook his head. “I knew John Pierce very well and he was an outstanding lawman. His wife, Agnes, was a fine woman and I remember the daughter, Emily, as being a very bright and pretty girl.”
“It was a terrible thing,” Billy said. “Our office in Sacramento, California, is sending a marshal but my higher-ups want you to go as well.”
“Why, is the man from Sacramento untested?”
“I have no idea.” Billy leaned back in his chair. “It could be that by the time you arrive in Reno they will have caught the highwaymen and rescued the daughter and your trip will have been a waste of time and money. But we can’t take the chance that the girl is still missing and that a federal officer and his wife were gunned down.”
Longarm nodded. “I’ll go back to my quarters and gather some things for the trip. If you will meet me at the station with a round-trip ticket and travel money, I still have time to catch this afternoon’s train.”
“Then do it. We all know that when a federal marshal is murdered, those responsible have to be swiftly brought to justice. And as for why they would take the Pierce girl . . . well, I have no idea. You say she was pretty?”
“Very.”
“Then they may just have wanted to rape her before they killed her and buried the body where it would never be found.”
“Or,” Longarm added, “maybe they wanted to send her south into Mexico. There are rich people down there who favor blond hair and blue eyes and will pay a fortune for a pretty, virginal girl.”
Billy sighed. “I had thought of that, of course, but the idea is so troubling that I just hope that isn’t true.”
“Better she is sold in Mexico than raped and murdered in Nevada.”
“I suppose,” Billy said. “But we owe Marshal Pierce and his wife everything in our power to save their daughter and bring the killers to justice.”
“John Pierce was a fine man and outstanding marshal,” Longarm said. “I’ve eaten at his table with his wife and daughter several times and I consider them to be friends.”
“That’s why I’m sending you instead of Pete Schilling,” Billy admitted. “This is something we can’t let pass. And if the killers have already been captured or killed, then we’ve wasted some time and money but we’ve at least given it our best effort.”
“I’m on my way,” Longarm said, coming out of his chair. “Just be at the station with the ticket and money and I’ll make sure that justice has been swiftly and properly served.”
“Maybe you should take Miss Delia Wilson along,” Billy suggested. “She’d have to pay her own way, of course, but it would get her out of my hair.”
“Bad idea,” Longarm countered. “Real bad.”
“She wants stories.”
“That’s right, she does. But we want justice and the two are not the same.”
“I see your point.” Billy stuck out his hand. “Good luck, Custis.”
“Hey,” Schilling called, hurrying up to Longarm. “You going to Nevada on that murder case?”
“That’s right.”
“I’d like to go along.”
“Sorry. Maybe next time.”
Schilling’s face darkened. “I don’t know why you get all the best assignments.”
“I know why,” Longarm said, “because I deliver and don’t screw up.”
Schilling’s face reddened. “Maybe this time you’ll meet your match and your maker. When that happens, I’ll get to travel and build my own reputation.”
“Building a reputation is the last thing a lawman wants or needs. But you wouldn’t understand that, Pete, because you’re not only arrogant but inept and stupid.”
Before Schilling could reply, Longarm brushed past the man and headed out of the office. When he’d arrived less than an hour ago, he’d felt jaded but now with a mission in mind, he felt suddenly rejuvenated. John and Agnes Pierce had been a fine couple. And their daughter was the love of their lives. Now, the family had been destroyed along with their hopes and dreams.
Longarm stepped out of the Federal Building and pulled his hat down low. A cold wind was blowing out of the northwest and storm clouds were piling up over the Rocky Mountains. Reno would probably also be cold with snow . . . but perhaps not as much and he knew that down in Mexico, the days would be warm and sunny.
But he hoped he would not have to go that far because a pretty girl like Emily could disappear down there and never be seen or heard from again.
Chapter 6
“Going somewhere?” the voice in the hallway asked.
Longarm turned to see Delia standing by the door that he had forgotten to close. “Hello.”
She stepped inside, eyes on his traveling bag stuffed with a change of clothes and a box of ammunition. “I would hate to think that you were running out on me after last night.”
“I have to catch the four o’clock train up to Cheyenne.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Do you mind telling me why?”
Longarm finished stuffing his bag and then he said, “Come on in and close the door.”
“From the expression on your face and the fact that you’re preparing to leave town tells me that you aren’t interested in making love right now.”
“No, I’m afraid that I’m not,” he admitted.
“You were just going to run out on me without a word of explanation after what we did most of last night?”
“I didn’t have time to track you down,” he said, knowing it sounded lame. “I would have sent you a telegram in a few days.”
“I don’t think so.” She frowned and tried to hide her disappointment. “You’re going out on an assignment. Are you going tell me about it?”
Longarm didn’t think that Delia was hurt . . . but he wasn’t certain. So far she seemed so matter-of-fact about their relationship and lovemaking. Passionate and energetic but not by any stretch of the imagination was she in love with him and feeling heartbroken.
“A lawman friend of mine and his wife were shot to death in an ambush on their way from Reno to Carson City. Apparently Marshal Pierce had come into a sizable inheritance. Maybe he had a friend or someone he trusted and wanted the man to invest his money in Carson City. I just don’t know. But the couple was killed and their daughter abducted.”
Delia’s blue eyes widened. “I suppose I can understand the ambush if your marshal friend and his wife were carrying money . . . but I don’t at all understand why robbers would take a girl.”
“Me, neither. She’s a real sweet kid.”
“How old?”
“Fifteen or sixteen.”
Delia shook her head. “Do you think they took her for their sexual pleasure and plan to kill and bury her?”
“I’m afraid that might be the case.” Longarm shrugged into his heavy winter coat. “Marshal Vail suggested that they might want to deflower her and then take her down to Mexico to sell to some rich man who has a passion for young, blond American virgins.”
“I have heard of that happening.” Delia stepped forward and rested
her arms on his shoulders. “I want to come.”
“No,” he said flatly. “The parents are dead and the chances of this turning out well for Emily are slim. This isn’t going to be the kind of story you can turn into one of your dime novels.”
“You’re right. But it’s a real story and one that might . . .”
He removed her hands and gently pushed her away. “Delia, do you really think that I’d allow you to . . . to sensationalize the murder of a girl’s parents and then the tragedy of her being raped by a gang of outlaws and either killed or sold to someone down in Mexico?”
“Of course not, damnit! I’m all for making money, as I’m sure you’ve learned, but I’m not insensitive and callous. I want to help and I want to be a part of something that is real and important.”
“Look, this is almost certain to turn out badly. Also, there’s a fair chance that by the time my train arrives in Reno the outlaws will have been caught, sentenced, and hanged.”
“But you have to go in case they got away and the girl is still alive.”
“That’s right. My boss also knew Marshal John Pierce although he’d never met John’s wife and daughter. He wants the culprits caught and brought to justice almost as badly as I do.”
“So this could be just a sad and unnecessary train trip.”
“Exactly.”
Delia walked over to face a mirror then pivoted around and said, “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to telegraph me if the killers got away and the girl has not been recovered.”
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t,” he confessed. “I’d be on the hunt.”
“Then I’m coming. You can’t stop me from buying a ticket and going with you, Custis. Last I heard this was still free country.”
“You don’t have time to pack or . . .”
“All I have to do is withdraw money from my bank and run to the train station and buy a ticket.”
Longarm shook his head. “Delia, this isn’t going to be a happy story. I wish that you would reconsider.”
“We’re wasting time,” she said. “I’ll see you at the station.”