Longarm 422

by Tabor Evans

“Mister. Sir. Did you say I can get out if I pay a fine of three dollars?”

  “That’s right. Three dollars or three days, whatever you like.”

  “I’ll pay the three dollars,” Longarm said.

  “Cash money? We don’t take no jawbone here.”

  “Cash money,” Longarm assured him.

  “Give me a minute to get my keys then, and I’ll let you out.”

  Longarm stood. He felt wobbly and a little nauseous, but that would pass. Right now what he wanted was to get out of this cell, get back to the hotel, and clean up. He needed to send his clothes out to be cleaned too.

  And he needed to see Helen again.

  Come to think of it, his wallet would probably be safer with her than with some hotel clerk who might very well have sticky fingers to finish the job those robbers had started.

  The jailer reappeared, carrying a steel ring with half a dozen keys attached. The only key Longarm was interested in was the one to this cell. The man found it on the second try, and Longarm was a free man again.

  Chapter 15

  “Send a boy up to my room, would you. I need to have some clothes dry cleaned.”

  The desk clerk at the Pickering nodded and yawned.

  “And if you don’t mind, what time is it?” Longarm asked.

  The clerk pointed toward the wall-hung regulator clock to the right of the hotel desk. It was only nine-thirty in the morning, much too early to be seen calling on Helen.

  “Thanks.” Longarm wearily climbed the stairs and let himself into his room. He barely had time to strip off his clothes before the boy showed up at his door to collect them.

  “I’m sorry, but I forgot to mention to the clerk, I need a tub and some bathwater too. And soap. I didn’t bring my own.”

  “All right, sir. I won’t be long with your water. The tub is in the closet just down the hall there.” The boy pointed and left, carrying Longarm’s filthy clothes wadded into a bundle.

  Longarm wrapped a towel around his waist and trudged down the hall to locate the copper tub and drag it back to his room. By the time he was done with that, the boy was back with the first two buckets of water hot from a reservoir downstairs.

  There was barely enough to cover his butt, but he sank down into it with a loud sigh. The heat felt mighty good on his battered body. He scooped some water up with his hands and spilled it over his head. He used a dab of soft soap to cleanse the dried blood that was caked in the hair on the back of his head, then used more to bathe his face and wash under his arms and in his crotch.

  The kid came back with two more buckets.

  “Just pour those over me, boy.”

  “The water is pretty hot, sir.”

  “That’s all right. It feels good.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Damn kid was right. The water felt like surely it must be close to boiling. No matter. Longarm let the heat soak into his bones. If this kept up, he thought, he might get to feeling human in another half hour or so.

  “Boy, hand me that wallet you see laying on the bureau there.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Longarm took the wallet and extracted a dollar bill. He handed it to the kid.

  “I don’t have any change, sir, but I can run downstairs and get some.”

  “I don’t want no change back, son. You earned it.”

  The boy’s eyes went wide. “The whole dollar, sir?”

  Longarm nodded and closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “One more thing before you go, please.”

  “Yes, sir. Anything you want, sir.”

  “Hand me one o’ them cigars you’ll see over there. And a match.”

  Longarm fired up a cheroot, thanked the kid again, then slid as far down in the warm water as he could get, his cigar leaving a stream of smoke hanging above the tub.

  He relaxed and let the warmth soothe his aching muscles. He had forgotten to grab the towel out of the wardrobe and would likely half freeze when he got out of the tub and the air reached his wet skin, but no matter. There would be time enough to worry about that when it happened.

  Right now all he wanted was to stay where he was and soak. Later on he could think about something to eat. Maybe a shot or two of rye whiskey.

  And this evening he would be like any customer with a hard-on and a little money to spend and go visit with Helen at her place.

  Chapter 16

  Longarm slept the afternoon away, then got up and dressed in his spare clothing. It was good to feel clean and dry and reasonably well rested again. He went downstairs and turned his key in at the desk, then walked over to Tisbury’s for a steak, fried, and potatoes, also fried, and a slab of dried apple pie, all of it very good stuff.

  After supper he made his way over to Helen’s whorehouse. Her ladies were pretty, but they were not tempting. Given the choice he would have rather been with Iris than with any of these working girls, no matter how pretty they were.

  If, that is, Iris would have him. She had made it abundantly clear that one romp in her bed did not give a gent a free pass for future pleasures.

  Right now, though . . .

  “Is Miss Helen here?” he asked the girl who answered the door. He had forgotten to ask Helen if she was using her real name, so he was not sure if he should ask for Helen Morrow or . . . who knew what else.

  “Have a seat in the parlor, sir. I’ll see if she is available. Your name, please?”

  “Custis,” Longarm said. “She knows me.”

  “Yes, sir.” The girl bobbed her head and headed for the back of the house. Longarm entered the parlor and settled onto an overstuffed chair.

  The bevy of whores preened and postured, vying in their own fashion to be the one the tall gentleman chose. The room smelled of perfume and powders. The girls were pink and many of them plump, with plenty of tit for a man to play with, and their gowns made the most of what they had to offer, barely covering the essentials.

  The girl who had greeted him returned quickly. “Miss Helen said you are to go right back, sir. Do you know the way?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Longarm headed down the hallway toward the back of the house. He stopped at Helen’s door and knocked.

  “Custis? I’m glad to see you, dear,” Helen said, opening the door and ushering him inside. “Can I get you something? Are you hungry?”

  “I’m fine. Just ate, thanks. But about that rye . . . ?”

  She laughed and took him by the elbow, leading him into her office and living quarters and seating him in a comfortable armchair. That was followed with a generous measure of her excellent rye whiskey. “Now,” she said. “Tell me what you have learned.”

  Chapter 17

  “Do you think you are making any progress?” Helen asked after Longarm had brought her up to date with the little he had learned so far.

  Longarm shrugged and took a small sip of the superior rye whiskey. “It’s too soon to tell, darlin’. Something like this, ’bout all a man can do is to throw some chum in the water an’ let it float. Maybe something will turn up, maybe not.”

  “You aren’t giving up, are you?” Helen sounded worried.

  “Course not. I’m just getting started.” Longarm set his whiskey aside and reached for a cheroot. Helen quickly struck a match for him and held the flame to the end of the cigar. “Thanks,” he said and leaned back to pick up the whiskey glass again.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked. Before he had a chance to answer, Helen said, “One thing I insist on doing is replacing the money those robbers stole from you. How much was it?”

  Longarm shook his head. “That don’t matter. Wasn’t none o’ your fault.”

  “Of course it matters, dear. You would not have been here if it weren’t for me and my problems. Besides, I want to.”

  “It’s all right, I tell you,” he insis
ted.

  “It isn’t all right. And you wouldn’t believe how much I make with these houses. I can certainly afford it. Now, how much was it? Three hundred? Four?”

  Longarm laughed. “Darlin’, you’ve got an inflated idea of how much money a deputy marshal makes and is apt to have in his pockets.”

  “A hundred then.” Helen got up, opened a drawer in her rolltop desk, and pulled out a handful of gold coins in the smaller values. Without bothering to count them, she dropped the gleaming disks into Longarm’s shirt pocket. “And don’t you say a word about not taking that,” she said. “As it is I owe you more than I could possibly pay, just for you coming here to help me. So shut your mouth, sonny, and do as you’re told.” But she was laughing when she added that last part.

  Longarm shut his mouth. And reached for the rye.

  “Do you know what you want to do next?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I think I’m gonna open me a saloon.” Then, a twinkle in his eye, he added, “An’ maybe run me some whores of my own.”

  “Collins won’t let you do either of those without his blessing,” Helen said.

  Longarm chuckled and said, “Exactly,” emphasizing the word with a string of smoke rings that drifted toward the ceiling before they dissipated into the perfumed air.

  Chapter 18

  “I almost forgot,” Helen said.

  “Mm?”

  “You said you wanted to know if any more of those letters came?”

  “That’s right.”

  “There were three more in the box today,” Helen said.

  “Did you save them for me?”

  She once again left her chair and crossed heavily over to the rolltop. From one of the pigeonholes she produced an envelope. The glue on the envelope flap had been carefully opened—steam, Longarm guessed—and the note inside exposed.

  “There were three, but they were all the same,” Helen said. “I burned the other two, but I saved this one to show to you.” She handed the opened envelope to him.

  Longarm pulled the note out.

  I KNOW YOU, SARAH. I KNOW YOUR PARENTS. DO THEY KNOW WHAT YOU DO HERE? I CAN TELL THEM. YOU KNOW, THIS MAY BE A GOOD TIME FOR YOU TO TAKE A TRIP—A LONG TRIP, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. THINK ABOUT THAT, SARAH. THINK ABOUT IT. TELL THE OLD BITCH YOU WANT TO GO HOME. THE TRAIN WILL TAKE YOU RIGHT THERE, SARAH

  Longarm read the note twice, then said, “You say they were all the same?”

  Helen nodded. “Except for the names, yes. Sarah is the girl who works under the name Daisy. She’s a good girl. All the gentlemen like her.”

  “I wonder why three letters,” Longarm said.

  “There was one addressed to a girl at each of my houses if that means anything.”

  “Whoever is doing this is trying to ruin you,” Longarm mused.

  “The son of a bitch could do it too if any of these letters got through. My girls are spooked enough without this.”

  Longarm raised an eyebrow. “Spooked how?”

  “Out at the hog ranch someone has started riding up in the middle of the night and yelling. Shouting ugly things. Some of the girls . . . they aren’t very bright, you know, even the not so pretty ones . . . some of the girls have decided there are haunts and goblins out there. I lost another girl just today. A lovely little Mexican thing. She came to me crying and clutching at her rosary. She said she was afraid of the ghosts of all the men she has been with. Not that the johns are dead. She is afraid of them anyway. She took an afternoon train south.”

  “I want to meet this Collins fellow,” Longarm said. “You think he’s the one behind your troubles?”

  “He almost has to be,” Helen said. “But be careful when you meet him. You don’t want to cross Stepanek.”

  Longarm grinned. “You got that wrong, darlin’. It’s Stepanek that oughta be careful not to cross me.”

  Helen laughed, then got up and said, “Let me refresh your glass, sweetie.”

  Chapter 19

  Longarm woke early the next morning. He shaved carefully and used a splash of the smell-good stuff that a woman back in Denver had given him. While he was busy doing that, he sent a bellboy out to collect his clean clothes from the dry cleaner—who’d done a good job, not perfect but good—and freshly black his boots.

  He went from the hotel to Tisbury’s for breakfast, then over to the barber’s for a quick trim.

  “Who should I see about finding a place in town to rent?” he asked the barber who was working on him.

  “Like a house, you mean?” the barber asked.

  “No, like a storefront. I’m thinking this might be a likely place to open a saloon,” Longarm said.

  “Oh, now, that’s different. For commercial property there’s only one person you want to talk to,” the barber told him. “Go see Mr. Collins. He doesn’t own quite all the property in town, but he owns all of it that’s available.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Yes, sir. Positive,” the barber said.

  “Where would I find this Mr., er, Collins, did you say?”

  The barber stopped snipping and pointed. “You just go . . .”

  • • •

  Half an hour later Longarm stood on the sidewalk outside Western Land and Investments. He admired the sign for a moment, then took a deep breath and opened the door.

  The first person he saw when he stepped inside was the tall man named George with whom he’d fought inside Iris’s seamstress shop.

  The fellow named George was George Stepanek, it seemed.

  And the two men who were idling in the outer office looked vaguely familiar too. They could have been two of the three who jumped him on the street, although he was not sure about that.

  Stepanek, though . . . he was sure about Stepanek.

  “Hello, Georgie,” Longarm said with a grin as he removed his Stetson. “How’re you feeling today, Georgie?”

  Stepanek looked like he positively itched to go for that ivory-handled revolver that hung under his left armpit.

  But he swallowed back the impulse and said, “What do you want here, mister?”

  “Business,” Longarm said. “But not with you. I want to see Mr. Collins.”

  “Wait here. I’ll ask if he wants to see you,” Stepanek growled. The man whirled and disappeared into a hallway leading toward the back of the offices.

  Chapter 20

  Ira Collins was a surprise. The man was trim, fit, heavily muscled . . . and not much more than five feet tall. He had dark hair and a spade beard and was wearing a handsomely tailored suit on his tiny frame. Even from within the suit coat, though, his biceps were obvious, so much so that his arms hung a little apart from his body. Like those of an ape, Longarm thought. But the reason in Collins’s case was that his upper body was so muscular that his arms could not hang close to his body.

  He had another surprise to deliver when Longarm stood before him.

  “Greetings, Custis Long from Denver,” the little man said.

  “You’ve been checking up on me,” Longarm said.

  “Of course,” Collins replied. “You appeared like Galahad to rescue the fair maiden.” He smiled. “And quite thoroughly thrashed my man Stepanek in the process. Then you squired said maiden to a luxurious dinner and spent the ensuing night with her.” Collins laughed. “There is much about you to interest a man, Mr. Long. But the really important information is lacking. Who are you, Mr. Long? What do you want here?”

  “There isn’t much ’bout me that would interest you,” Longarm drawled. “I’m just a fella tryin’ to get along in the world.”

  “And the nature of your business with me today?”

  “I’m thinkin’ about opening a saloon. Just a small outfit. Maybe put in a few poker tables. Buy me a few girls since I know a fella down in Denver that will sell for a fair price.”


  Collins paused for a long moment, pulling at his beard and frowning. “Somehow, Mr. Long, you do not appear to be the sort of man who would be content with operating a saloon. In fact, you might be a threat to me if you enter business here. You might become . . . greedy. You might want it all.” He smiled . . . if the expression could be called that. “And in this town, I have it all. And I intend to keep it too.”

  “I’m no threat. Just a fella who wants to do a little business,” Longarm assured him.

  “I am not so sure,” Collins said.

  “Oh, I’m sure you’d have your people keep a close eye on me to make sure I ain’t no threat.”

  “You could count on that, Mr. Long.”

  “Good. Send ’em in in droves.” Longarm laughed. “Just make sure they buy some drinks while they’re there. They’ll all be welcome.”

  “Even George?”

  “Ha.” Longarm nodded. “Sure. Even Stepanek. Tell him he’s welcome anytime. But to mind his manners.”

  “I shall tell him,” Collins said.

  “‘Shall,’” Longarm repeated. “Does that mean we can do some business?”

  “Possibly. You are looking for a business location?”

  “That’s right. Not too big. Decent location. That’d be important.”

  “I have two properties that might suit,” Collins said. “George will take you to look at them. You should know, however, that my terms are not negotiable. Your rent will be forty percent of your trade. One of my people will audit your books to verify the amount. And mind you, that is forty percent of your gross.”

  “I’ll agree to forty percent,” Longarm said, “but of the net profit, not off the gross income. Unlike you, I have a stiff cost of doing business. Gotta lay out for product an’ so on. I might be able to live payin’ forty percent off the profit but not off the gross.”

  “I told you my terms are not negotiable,” Collins said.

  Longarm extended his hand to the man. “Then I thank you for your time, sir, an’ I’ll be movin’ along to another town.”