Longarm and the Voodoo Queen

by Tabor Evans

  Before he could do so, the panel swung open, and a man with a narrow, pasty face peered out at him, blinking from the mid-morning glare. The man looked like the sort who didn't often actually see the sun. Longarm recognized him as one of the bartenders he had seen in the club a couple of nights earlier.

  "Yeah?" growled the man. "What the hell do you want?"

  "You must not recognize me, old son." Longarm put his shoulder against the door and easily shoved it open, stepping inside as the bartender stumbled back a couple of steps. "Is Millard here?"

  "Mr. Millard!" yelled the man as he reached behind him to jerk something from behind his belt. Longarm was expecting the little pistol he saw in the bartender's hand, and he reached out to close his own hand over the cylinder so that the gun couldn't fire. With a quick wrench, Longarm plucked the pistol from the bartender's fingers, twisting one of them in the process. The man yelped and jumped back again, sticking the injured digit in his mouth to suck on it.

  Jasper Millard appeared in the doorway at the end of the bar, a shotgun in his hands. He had the greener cocked and ready for trouble, no doubt thinking that Royale might be staging another attack on the club. Longarm held up his hand, palm out, and said hurriedly, "Hold on, Mr. Millard. It's just me, Custis Parker."

  "Parker!" exclaimed Millard in surprise. He pointed the double barrels of the greener at the floor and carefully lowered the hammers. "Damn it, I didn't expect to see you again. I was afraid that if Royale's men didn't get you, the swamp would."

  Longarm shook his head. He tossed the pocket pistol back to the bartender, who glared at him even though it was obvious Longarm wasn't one of the enemy. Longarm ignored the man and strolled along the bar to join Millard.

  "Reckon I was lucky. I see you were too."

  "I know my way around those marshes. I grew up down there."

  "You don't sound like a Cajun," Longarm pointed out.

  Millard shrugged his brawny shoulders. "I was gone for a long time before I came back to New Orleans. Suppose I lost the accent somewhere along the way. But I never forgot how easy it is to bring in goods through the Delta." He turned and inclined his head to indicate that Longarm was to follow him. "Let's go back to the office."

  Longarm followed the bald-headed man down the hall, and once they were in the office, Millard waved at the chair in front of the desk. Longarm sat down and cocked his right ankle on his left knee. He was still wearing the mud-stained clothes he had worn the day before.

  "You look like you've been through the wringer," said Millard as he sat down behind the desk. "Help yourself to one of those cigars." He nodded toward the humidor.

  Longarm reached into his pocket for a cheroot. "Reckon I'll smoke my own."

  Millard frowned across the desk at him. "What's the matter, Parker?" he asked. "You're acting like somebody shoved a burr up your ass."

  Longarm flicked a lucifer into life with an iron-hard thumbnail and held the flame to the end of his cheroot. When he had it burning to suit him, he shook the match out and dropped it on the floor beside the chair. "You sort of disappeared yesterday after we ran into Royale's boys."

  The frown on Millard's face deepened. "What the hell is this?" he snapped. "You're mad because I didn't stay around to pull your fat out of the fire?"

  "I got the notion we were working together."

  "Well, you got the wrong notion!" Millard said with a snort. "You're working for me, Parker. We ain't partners." His eyes narrowed. "I warned you about getting too ambitious."

  Longarm sighed. He had pushed this mock resentment about as far as he was going to. But he had figured that a man as tough and amoral as he was supposed to be ought to say something about being left behind to face a pack of vicious killers.

  "You're right, Boss," he muttered. "Sorry. To tell you the truth, I'm just glad we both got out of there with our hides in one piece."

  Millard grunted, seeming to accept Longarm's apology. "Yeah, so am I. The way things are going, I expect Royale to pull something else any time now."

  "Maybe since his boys failed the last couple of times, he'll think twice about starting more trouble."

  Millard shook his head. "I'd like to think so, but I doubt it. I got a feeling Royale's not going to let up until either him or me is dead." He looked curiously at Longarm. "How'd you get away from his men anyway?"

  "Pure dumb luck," said Longarm with a grin. He wasn't going to mention Claudette. "My horse got sucked down by quicksand, and I knew I couldn't take off across those marshes on foot without winding up the same way. But I found an old pirogue and started paddling around those bayous, and that kept me from getting sucked under. Royale's men were hollering at each other while they looked for us, so I just steered clear of them as much as I could. Didn't hear any more shots, so I was hoping you'd gotten away too."

  "How did you get back here to New Orleans?"

  Longarm puffed on his cheroot, then blew out the smoke and said, "First I found me a tree to climb up into so I wouldn't have to spend the night on the ground. Then when the sun came up this morning, I paddled on some more until I came across a road. Figured it had to lead me back to town sooner or later, so I started walking. Wasn't long before a farmer came along heading to market and gave me a ride on his wagon. Fella brought me practically right to your door."

  As stories went, it was a little far-fetched, Longarm knew, but it was certainly possible that everything could have happened that way. And Millard had no reason to doubt him either. In fact, the club owner began nodding his bald head even as Longarm finished the concoction of lies and half-truths.

  "You're lucky, all right," said Millard. "Damn lucky. Fella like you who doesn't know the bayou country ought to be in some gator's belly after spending a night out in the open like that."

  The mention of alligators reminded Longarm of Douglas Ramsey. He shuddered and said, "Don't talk about gators. I never have liked those critters."

  A humorless grin plucked at Millard's mouth. "They come in handy sometimes," he said cryptically.

  Longarm kept the reaction he felt hidden, but his heart began to slug a little harder. Was Millard talking about how Marshal Ramsey's body had been disposed of? Or did he have something else in mind? Given the line of work Millard was in, he might have had plenty of other bodies to get rid of. Millard's comment still wasn't the proof Longarm needed to feel certain he was responsible for Ramsey's death.

  But there was another angle Longarm had yet to explore. Maybe it was time for that, he thought.

  "What do you intend to do about Royale?" he asked. "Reckon you could put one of those voodoo curses or something like that on him?"

  Millard frowned again. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded.

  "I thought everybody in New Orleans did that voodoo stuff," said Longarm with an innocent shrug. "Sticking pins in dolls, things like that."

  From the way Millard was glaring, even the mention of voodoo was a sore point with him. "Nobody in his right mind messes with voodoo. It's too easy to get the people who believe in it all stirred up." He paused, then added, "Anyway, only a fool would really believe in that mumbo jumbo."

  "Reckon you're right," Longarm said easily, appearing to forget about the subject entirely as he went on. "What happened with that shipment of goods you went down to the Delta to set up yesterday?"

  "Royale's men killed several of the Cajuns who work for me," replied Millard, his face still grim. "But I'm going to get those goods anyway. I sent a dozen well-armed men down there this morning to collect them. Would've sent you with them, Parker--if I'd known you were still alive."

  Longarm shrugged. "I was still trying to get back to town. Sorry I let you down, Boss. I should've been able to do something about that ambush yesterday."

  "There wasn't anything you could have done," Millard said with a shake of his head. "The odds were too heavy against us. I didn't expect Royale to go to that much trouble so soon after his men raided the club." Millard's dark eyes narrowed ominously. "Looks
like I'm going to have to take a good-sized group of men with me wherever I go for a while, till things settle down again." Longarm wasn't sure things were going to settle down. Royale seemed to be dead set on bringing the rivalry between him and Millard to an end, one way or the other. Longarm kept that thought to himself, however. As long as Millard was having trouble, he would need Longarm around--and that was just what Longarm wanted.

  "You might as well go on back to your hotel and get cleaned up," continued Millard. "You could probably use some real sleep too, after spending the night in a tree."

  "I am a mite tired," admitted Longarm, although in truth he had slept just fine between bouts of lovemaking with Claudette. "Don't you need me to stay here, though?"

  Millard shook his head. "I don't plan to leave the club today, and I'm safe enough here."

  "Couldn't prove it by the fella who let me in," Longarm pointed out. "If I'd been working for Royale, you might be dead now."

  "Maybe you're right," said Millard. "But I've got more men upstairs. I'll roust them out and put a couple of guards with shotguns on every entrance."

  "Wouldn't hurt to have a couple of them right out there in the hall, in front of your door."

  "Good idea." Millard stood up. "I'll see to it right now. Why don't you come back over here after supper?"

  Longarm nodded. "All right. If you're sure."

  "I'm sure. Go on, Parker."

  Longarm left the club, hoping that Millard would follow through on those precautions they had discussed. To tell the truth, he really was tired, and he wanted to get out of his dirty clothes. A hot bath, a few hours' sleep, and a fresh outfit would go a long way toward making him feel like a new man.

  He hailed one of the hansom cabs and headed for the St. Charles Hotel.

  By the time he returned to the Brass Pelican that evening, he did indeed feel positively human again. Well rested, dressed in a clean suit and shirt, he felt as if his adventure in the bayou country was now nothing more than a memory.

  But a sweet memory in a lot of ways, he thought as an image of Claudette floated in his mind for a moment.

  Now it was time for him to get back to work. There was a new doorman at the entrance of the Brass Pelican, replacing the unfortunate Luther. This man wore a fancy uniform too, but since he was about half Luther's size, Longarm knew it wasn't the same outfit.

  The club was busy, though not as packed as it had been two nights earlier before the raid by Royale's men. Such an incident would hurt Millard's business for a time, before everyone forgot about it. Royale might not allow anyone to forget what had happened, thought Longarm. There might be a recurrence at any time.

  Paul Clement was bucking the tiger at the faro table tonight, and as usual, his sister Annie was at his side. Her face lit up in a smile as she saw Longarm making his way across the room toward them. "Look, Paul," Longarm heard her say as she clutched at her brother's arm. "It's Custis."

  "So it is," said Clement as he looked up with his customary sardonic half-smile. He greeted Longarm by saying, "How are you, Custis? Annie here was quite worried about you last night. She expected to see you here again. She's been pestering Jasper about you all evening."

  Annie blushed and looked down at the floor. "Really, Paul, you make it sound as if I was being silly," she protested. "Last night, I simply asked Mr. Millard where Custis was, and I've barely spoken to him this evening."

  "What did Millard tell you?" asked Longarm.

  "He said that you were handling some business for him, and that he hoped you'd be back tonight." Annie smiled again. "And here you are!" She sounded a little giddy, and Longarm suspected she'd had several glasses of wine.

  "I'm sorry I missed you," he said, only half-sincere. The run-in with Royale's men hadn't been any fun, but it had led to his meeting with Claudette.

  "Well, you're here now," said Annie, disengaging her arm from her brother's and linking it with Longarm's instead. Longarm thought he saw a flicker of disapproval on Clement's face, but he couldn't be sure about that. He knew that Clement regarded Annie as a lucky charm. She went on. "Why don't we get a drink?"

  "Sure... if it's all right with Paul."

  Clement flicked his wrist languidly. "Go ahead. I'm afraid not even the good luck Annie sometimes brings me could make me a winner tonight."

  Longarm led Annie over to the bar. She chattered brightly in his ear along the way, but he didn't pay much attention to what she was saying. His eyes roved the room, searching for any sign of trouble, but everything seemed to be normal in the Brass Pelican tonight. He spotted Jasper Millard in his customary spot at the end of the bar. The club owner nodded to Longarm, smiling slightly. He wondered just how much of a pest Annie Clement had made of herself.

  Annie drank several glasses of wine over the next couple of hours, and combined with what she had had before, it had quite an effect on her. Longarm had never cared for drunken women, but instead of getting sloppy and maudlin, Annie seemed to grow brighter and more animated the more she drank. She laughed merrily no matter what Longarm said to her. When she finally began to sway too much, he sat her down at one of the tables and continued to nurse his own drink, which was only his second. He wanted to stay clearheaded in case of trouble.

  His thoughts never strayed far from the case that had brought him here. Earlier in the day, Millard had made that comment about alligators, but he had also responded with fervent disapproval to Longarm's question about voodoo. If Millard had been telling the truth about the way he felt, it was unlikely he had been responsible for leaving that half-doll on the doorstep of the chief marshal's office. He seemed not to want to have anything to do with such things, and he had scoffed at anybody who believed in them.

  But had that ridicule been intended merely to cover up the man's own very real fear of voodoo? Longarm wondered. That was entirely possible.

  Paul Clement wandered over and sat down at the table with them, sighing. "Ah, well, cleaned out again," he said. "I allow myself to lose only a certain amount on each night of our visits to New Orleans, and tonight I have reached my limit."

  "Too bad," said Longarm. He glanced over at Annie, saw that she was looking off at the other side of the room and humming to herself, then added quietly, "I reckon your sister has just about reached her limit too."

  Clement's mouth tightened. "Annie, have you had too much to drink again?"

  She opened her mouth and stared at him for a moment before saying, "Paul, whatever do you mean? Custis and I have been having the most wonderful time-"

  "You know that you don't feel well later on when you drink too much," said Clement, his attitude a mixture of solicitousness and impatience. "Why don't I take you home-"

  "No!" exclaimed Annie. "I want Custis to take me home."

  "I don't think that's a good idea." Clement glanced at Longarm. "No offense, Custis."

  "None taken," Longarm assured him with a slight shake of his head.

  "Custis will take me home," insisted Annie, "and he will take me upstairs, and then he-"

  "That's enough, Annie." The hard edge of menace in Clement's tone made his sister fall silent. He reached across the table and took her hand. "Come along now."

  Her lovely features set in a sullen pout, Annie allowed her brother to tug her to her feet. "G'night, Custis," she said, turning to Longarm. "Some other night..."

  "Sure," he said. Truth to be told, he doubted if he would enjoy bedding Annie tonight. As much as she'd had to drink, she likely wouldn't remember anything in the morning, and she would also be liable to fall asleep and start snoring right in the middle of the festivities.

  Clement led her out of the club. She was still only a little unsteady on her feet. The lady had quite a capacity, Longarm reflected, but as he had warned Clement, she had definitely reached her limits.

  Millard came over to the table and took the seat Paul Clement had vacated. "Looked like Mademoiselle Annie had a little too much to drink," he said.

  "Does she do that often?" Lon
garm asked curtly.

  Millard shrugged. "I've only seen her that way once or twice. She was really shook up by you not being here last night." He grinned. "You'd better enjoy the lady while you've got the chance, Parker. Her brother keeps her on a pretty tight rein most of the time."

  That was probably a good idea, thought Longarm. He changed the subject by saying, "Doesn't look like Royale is going to try anything tonight."

  Millard was instantly serious again. "I don't know," he said dubiously. "After the past couple of days, I'll believe it when I see it."

  In fact, the rest of the evening passed peacefully in the Brass Pelican. Not quietly, reflected Longarm, not with all the music and laughter, the clicking of poker chips and the roulette wheel, but definitely peacefully. The crowd began to thin out as the hours past midnight rolled by. At four o'clock, there were only a few persistent drinkers and gamblers in the place, and Longarm was starting to yawn.

  He was leaning on the bar when Millard came over to him and said, "You might as well head back to your room, Parker. We'll be closing down in a few minutes."

  "Wasn't sure a place like this ever closed," commented Longarm.

  "Yeah, we lock up for a while. Gives the boys a chance to get a little sleep."

  "Well, I'll stay until you're ready to call it a night," Longarm said. "Just in case Royale's trying to lull us into thinking we've made it through without any trouble."

  Millard nodded, obviously understanding Longarm's point. Over the next half hour, though, as the last of the Brass Pelican's patrons were gradually eased out of the place, nothing unusual happened. Longarm was the last person out the door.

  "No need for you to be back here until this evening," Millard told him.

  "You're not planning any more trips down to the bayou country?"

  Millard shook his head. "Not for a few more days. I'll let you know ahead of time, don't worry."

  "All right," Longarm said with a nod. "See you tonight, Boss."

  The door closed behind him, and Longarm heard the key turn in the lock. Behind the thick walls of the club, protected by well-armed guards, Millard ought to be safe enough.