Longarm and the Voodoo Queen

by Tabor Evans

  Carrying the coffee cup, Longarm wandered around the room, watching the players at the poker tables, the blackjack tables, the roulette wheel, and the faro bank. Not a lot of money was changing hands. The really big players, like Paul Clement, usually showed up at night. For a while, he sat down at an empty table and sipped the rest of the coffee, then got up and walked rather aimlessly toward the door that led to the rear hallway. No one challenged him as he slipped through it and headed for Millard's office.

  He hoped that Millard was also a man who liked to take his time when bedding a woman, because Longarm intended to have a look in the office and see what he could find.

  The corridor was empty. Longarm checked the knob of the office door, and found it unlocked. He rapped lightly on the panel, and when he got no response, opened the door silently and stepped into the office.

  The lamp on Millard's desk was turned down low, but it was lit. Longarm didn't know if that meant Millard would be back soon or not. He eased the door shut behind him, then stepped quickly to the desk. Unless he knew better, he was going to assume there was no time to waste.

  Longarm had searched desks before, and he made fast work of this one. He found nothing unusual at first, just the typical paperwork that went with any legitimate business. And for New Orleans, the Brass Pelican was a legitimate business. It was Millard's smuggling activities that put him on the wrong side of the law.

  Longarm also found a couple of pistols, a Bowie knife, a bottle of cognac like the one he had shared with Millard and the Clements on his first night in the Crescent City, and a smaller bottle of dark brown glass. It had a cork stopper in its neck, and when Longarm pulled it and took a sniff, he recognized the heavy, sweetish smell of laudanum. With a grimace, he replaced the cork and put the bottle back in the drawer where he had found it.

  Whatever drug that giant had been full of, it was even stronger than laudanum, thought Longarm.

  Under a litter of old lottery tickets in the last drawer he checked, he found a small notebook. Flipping it open, he saw that someone, no doubt Millard, had used it to keep track of shipping activities. The names of ships, departure dates, and destinations had all been written down in a scrawling, looping hand. Longarm turned to the last page where entries had been made. Four ships were listed there, and the date of their departure had been one day before Longarm arrived in New Orleans.

  Their destination was listed as Saint Laurent.

  Longarm frowned. Saint Laurent was the West Indian island where Annie and Paul Clement lived most of the year, where they had their ancestral sugar plantation. Though Longarm hadn't run across any evidence linking them with Millard's smuggling operation, he could conceive of Millard and Paul Clement joining forces to bring in shiploads of contraband sugar. From what he had seen and heard so far, however, Clement paid the import fees and sold his sugar on the exchange, all open and aboveboard.

  Maybe Millard and Clement were smuggling in something else, although for the life of him, Longarm couldn't figure out what it might be. Or maybe Millard was smuggling something into Saint Laurent for the Clements, but again, Longarm had no idea what. And it was always possible that the ships bound for the West Indies had nothing to do with Annie and her brother at all.

  Longarm knew he would have to ponder those questions later, maybe do a little poking around down on the docks. For now, he closed the notebook and replaced it under the lottery tickets where he had found it.

  Just in time too, because he heard footsteps in the hall and Millard's voice. By the time the club owner opened the door and stepped into the room, Longarm was lounging in the chair in front of the desk, right foot cocked on left knee, one of the Cuban cigars smoldering in his fingers. He looked up and around at Millard, who had stopped short just inside the door, and put a slightly sheepish grin on his face. "Aw, hell," said Longarm, "you caught me."

  "What are you doing in here, Parker?" Millard asked sharply.

  Longarm gestured with the cigar. "I got a hankering for another of these fancy see-gars of yours, Boss. Didn't think you'd mind if I helped myself to one."

  "Well, you thought wrong," snapped Millard. "I don't like people poking around my office."

  Well then, old son, you ought to keep it locked, thought Longarm, but he said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Millard. I didn't mean no harm."

  Millard came around behind the desk and sat down. "Don't let it happen again," he grunted as his gaze quickly darted around the top of the desk. Longarm knew he was checking to see if anything had been disturbed. Millard wouldn't be able to tell by looking that the desk had been searched. Longarm was too good at his job for that; everything had been put back exactly the way he'd found it.

  "Any sign of trouble from Royale today?" asked Longarm, partly out of curiosity, partly to distract Millard from finding him in here.

  Millard shook his bald head. "It's been quiet. Maybe too quiet."

  That was a suspicious nature working on Millard, thought Longarm. After everything that had happened, he would spook pretty easily. Longarm told himself to remember that; it might come in handy later on. In the meantime, he was wondering about something else. In a tone calculated to seem only idly curious, he said, "That fella Luther who was your doorman, the one who was killed by Royale's men that first night... did he have a brother?"

  Millard looked at him with a confused frown. "Not that I know of," he said. "Why do you ask?"

  "Well... you might think this is a little strange but I would have sworn I saw Luther on the street last night when I was going home." Longarm didn't say anything about being followed, or the fight with the massive black man, or the fact that for a few harrowing moments, it had seemed like even bullets weren't enough to take down the man.

  Millard stared at him for a second, then clenched a fist and brought it down hard on the desk. "Shit!" he exploded. "I knew better... I knew we shouldn't-"

  Longarm sensed that he was on the verge of something important here, and it was all he could do not to lean forward eagerly. All he could do was allow himself to appear mildly surprised by Millard's reaction. "What's the matter, Boss?" he asked. "Did I say something wrong?"

  "No, damn it, it's just... Are you sure you saw Luther?"

  Longarm looked perplexed. "Why, how could I do that? He's dead. I just figured I saw somebody who looked a whole lot like him. That's why I asked you if he had a brother."

  "I don't know," Millard said with a shake of his head. "Could be, could be. I suppose that has to be the explanation." He didn't sound completely convinced of that, however.

  Longarm forced a chuckle. "The only other thing I could think of was that maybe Luther had been turned into one of those, what you call 'em, zombies or something. After all, this is New Orleans."

  The comment provoked a reaction from Millard, just as Longarm had thought it might. Once again the man thumped his fist on the desk and said tautly, "Forget it. That's all just a bunch of made-up mumbo jumbo, and I don't want to hear another damn word about it, understand?" His voice rose as he spoke.

  "Sure, Boss, sure," murmured Longarm. He was convinced now that Millard was scared to death of the very idea of voodoo and zombies and such. That meant he was unlikely to have been the one who'd planted the mutilated doll representing Douglas Ramsey on the chief marshal's doorstep.

  But that still left Royale.

  Longarm went on. "I've been thinking that if we could get a line on Royale, maybe find out who he is-"

  "I've tried," Millard broke in. "Lord knows, I've tried. Nobody seems to be able to touch him."

  Before Longarm could continue the discussion, there was a soft knock on the office door. At a gesture from Millard, Longarm got up and moved to the side of the door. With all the trouble that had been going on lately, it paid to be cautious. He drew his gun and called, "Yeah?"

  The voice of the bartender Longarm had spoken to earlier said, "That you, Mr. Parker? You're the one I need to see, and I thought you might be in there with the boss."

  Long
arm opened the door a crack and saw the man standing in the corridor alone. No one was forcing him to say anything at gunpoint. Longarm hadn't really expected that to be the case, but it didn't hurt to be sure.

  "What is it?" asked Longarm.

  "There's somebody out here looking for you, Mr. Parker," replied the bartender. "She says you know her."

  "Miss Clement?"

  The bartender shook his head. "No, sir, she's, ah, definitely not Miss Clement."

  Longarm glanced back at Millard, who shook his head. "I don't know anything about it, Parker. You'll have to go see for yourself."

  "I'll do that," Longarm said. He holstered his gun and opened the door wide enough so that he could step out into the corridor. He followed the bartender back to the main room, and as they walked along the hallway, the man said, "I hated to bother you while you were talking to Mr. Millard, but the lady was very insistent that she see you."

  "Well, I'm glad you fetched me then," said Longarm, deliberately keeping his tone light. "A fella never likes to keep a lady waiting for too long."

  They stepped out into the main room of the club, and Longarm's companion pointed toward the bar. "There she is, over there."

  Longarm looked where he was pointing and stopped short in surprise.

  Standing nervously near the end of the bar, darting occasional glances at the door as if she thought this was a bad idea and wanted to flee, was Claudette.

  CHAPTER 10

  Longarm managed to overcome his surprise enough to put a smile of welcome on his face as he got his muscles working again and walked toward Claudette. He held out his hands and took hold of both of hers. "It's good to see you," he said honestly. "What are you doing here?"

  "Thought I come to see you, me," she said. "Time I got away from that bayou, you bet."

  The words were brave, but Longarm wasn't sure how sincere they were. There was a look in her eyes like a wild animal might have had after being dropped down in a place like this. The crowd inside the Brass Pelican, though small by some standards, probably seemed huge to her. And the noise--the piano, the spinning of the roulette wheel, the shrill laughter and coarse talk--had to be unsettling to someone accustomed to the whisper of the wind and the cry of the loon.

  Some of the club's customers were openly staring at her too, which had to make her even more nervous. Longarm took her arm, clasping it just above the elbow in a gentle grip, and led her toward one of the empty tables. "Let's sit down," he suggested.

  He noticed that Millard had emerged from the door to the rear corridor and was watching them curiously, but he didn't approach them. Millard had to be wondering who Claudette was, thought Longarm.

  At the moment, she didn't look much like the bayou gal she had been the last time Longarm had seen her. She had cleaned herself up and was wearing a simple, inexpensive gray dress. The other women in the Brass Pelican were dressed in much finer clothes, but none of them could hold a candle to Claudette when it came to sheer beauty. Her nervousness had reminded Longarm of a wild animal; she had a wild animal's fresh, unspoiled, clean-limbed beauty as well. Which did even more than her clothes to make her seem out of place in the gambling club.

  Longarm held her chair for her and then sat down beside her. "I'm mighty flattered you'd come all this way to see me," he told her. "You didn't have to do that."

  "I wanted to. Been too long in the bayous, me. The world is big-big. Thought it was time to see some more of her."

  Longarm could understand that. He had been fiddle-footed himself after the war, like a lot of young men. That restlessness had led him to go West, also like a lot of others. So he knew what Claudette meant about wanting to see something different. She might never be truly happy for long out of the bayou country, but for now a change of scenery wouldn't hurt her.

  "How'd you find me?" he asked her. "I don't recollect mentioning that I worked here."

  "You did not. I talk to that farmer man who bring you into town, I did. I know 'most ever'body round them bayous and shinneries, so it didn't take long to find him. He tell me he sees you walk off toward this street when he stop at the French Market, so I come a-knockin' on doors, askin' folks what answer if they know this mos' handsome man name of Custis."

  He tried not to grin at the flattery. From what she was saying, he had made quite an impression on her. They'd had a lot of fun on the bunk in that cabin of hers, but he didn't think that was enough to bring her all the way up here.

  He hoped she hadn't convinced herself that she was in love with him.

  That was a sobering thought. Longarm said, "I'm glad you came for a visit, but-"

  "No visit," she broke in. "Stay here in N'Awleans, I will. Get me a job." She looked around. "Maybe workin' in a place like this." Longarm shook his head. "You don't want to work here."

  "Why not? You do," she pointed out with impeccable logic.

  "That's different. I'm a man, and you're-"

  She pointed at one of Millard's hostesses, who was wearing a lacy, low-cut gown and hanging on the arm of a gambler at the roulette table. "I could do a job like that," said Claudette. "Look pretty an' be nice to the gentlemans."

  That was true enough, Longarm supposed. Claudette was certainly pretty enough to be one of the Brass Pelican's hostesses. But he knew there was more to their job than that. Some of them worked the upstairs rooms, and they also had to make themselves available to Millard whenever he wanted one of them. Working at the Brass Pelican was a step up from whoring on the street and in the cribs--but only a step.

  "Forget it," Longarm said flatly. "You don't want to work here, Claudette."

  Her eyes widened with hurt. "You don't want me here, you."

  "That's not it-"

  "Ashamed that you even know a bayou gal like me, you bet." She started to stand up. "Well, I won't bother you no more, Custis. I be gone out of here, and you not have to see me again."

  "Wait a minute, wait a minute," Longarm said in exasperation. "Let's eat this apple one bite at a time. Do you mean you're going back to the bayou country?"

  She shook her head emphatically. "No. I stay here in N'Awleans, fin' me some other job to do."

  Longarm sighed. If she stayed here, unaccustomed to city life, with no friends and no money, she would be working the streets within a week. He was certain of it. And he didn't want that for Claudette. She deserved better. If he got her a job here at the Brass Pelican, at least he could keep an eye on her.

  "All right," he said. "I ain't promising nothing, but I'll see what I can do. I'll go talk to the boss right now."

  A smile lit up her face. "You would do this for me?"

  "Sure." Under his breath, he added, "Don't reckon I've got much choice."

  With all the threads of the investigation he had picked up, anxious to follow them to their source, this problem with Claudette was an unwelcome distraction. But then, most of life was a distraction, and a hell of a lot of it was unwelcome, he reflected. He'd just have to make do as best he could, and by the time he wrapped up the case and left New Orleans, maybe Claudette would be ready to go back home.

  While Claudette waited anxiously at the table, Longarm went over to Jasper Millard, who was standing at the end of the bar, and said, "Boss, I've got a favor to ask of you."

  "I'm not sure you've been working for me long enough to ask favors, Parker," said Millard. "But then, you seem to figure you've got some special privileges."

  Clearly, Millard hadn't forgotten about finding Longarm in the office. Longarm said, "I told you, that won't happen again." He shook his head. "Lord, the trouble a man gets into sometimes just because he wants a smoke."

  In spite of himself, Millard chuckled. "Go ahead, Parker," he said. "Ask your favor. I'm not promising anything, but I'll listen."

  "Thanks. You see that lady over there at the table, the one who came looking for me?"

  Millard glanced over at Claudette, then looked again. "She's a good looker. Friend of yours?"

  "You could say that. She's trying
to find a job."

  "And she wants to work here? She must really want to spend time around you, Parker."

  Longarm gave a slight shrug. "I told her I'd ask you about it."

  "Let me see..." Millard studied Claudette for a long moment, then said, "At first glance, she doesn't seem the type. But if she was cleaned up a little more and borrowed some dresses from the other girls... I suppose I could use her. If that's what you really want, Parker."

  Longarm wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. "I'm much obliged, Boss," he told Millard. "I'll tell her she's got the job."

  "Why don't you let me do that?" asked Millard, surprising Longarm. Without waiting for Longarm's reply, he sauntered over to the table where Claudette waited. Her eyes got big as he approached.

  "Welcome to the Brass Pelican, my dear," Millard said as he came up to the table. He leaned over, took Claudette's hand, and brushed his lips across the back of it. It would have been difficult to say who was more surprised, Claudette or Longarm. Millard went on. "Our mutual friend Mr. Parker tells me that you'd like to work here. As it turns out, I'm in need of another hostess, so if you'd like the job..."

  "Oh, Lordy, I sure would, me," said Claudette breathlessly. "Thank you, Mr.?"

  "Millard, Jasper Millard. I'm sure we'll become very well acquainted while you're here, my dear."

  Longarm's hackles rose at the suggestive tone in Millard's voice, but he drew a tight rein on his temper. Claudette was a grown woman, and she hadn't been a virgin when he met her. So she wasn't completely unaware of the ways of the world. He would look out for her as best he could, but she would also have to take care of herself. Besides, no one had appointed him her guardian.

  Millard crooked a finger at one of the hostesses, a blonde in a tight red dress. "Tessie, this is... I'm sorry, I don't know your name, my dear."

  "Claudette," she supplied with a smile.

  "This is Claudette, Tessie," continued Millard. "Take her upstairs, get her settled in, and see about arranging for the temporary loan of several gowns. Claudette's going to be working here, and since she's a friend of Mr. Parker's, I want her treated right."