Longarm 243: Longarm and the Debt of Honor (15 page)

“Good morning.” He planted a kiss behind Eleanor's ear, and got her butt pushed backward into his crotch by way of a response.

“You look like a Roman senator,” she told him, “toga and all.”

“An' you look like one of those Greek statues. Except you got all your arms.”

She laughed. Eleanor was still bare-ass naked. Longarm decided he approved of her costume. On the other hand . . . “Isn't that kinda dangerous? I mean, if the bacon splatters or something?”

“If anything gets burned, will you kiss it and make it well?”

“Woman, I reckon I got to take that for a challenge. We'll see if I'm up to it. But I'm warning you. I bet you're the one walking funny when you leave outa here.”

“I'll take the chance, baby.”

Longarm spotted a coffeepot bubbling behind the skillet where bacon was frying. There was something in the oven too, although he couldn't tell what. Biscuits, he hoped. Biscuits, bacon, and bacon gravy. That sounded like just the ticket to get him set for another wrestling match with the big girl from ... wherever. They hadn't yet gotten around to having any personal discussions. No time for inconsequentials like that. Longarm found a mug and helped himself to coffee, then poured another for Eleanor.

“Why don't you set the table for me, dear? This will be ready in a few minutes.”

Longarm grunted and laid out places for two, then settled down comfortable and sassy, to enjoy the coffee and the rest of his smoke while admiring Eleanor naked in full daylight. Lordy, but she did have a round, plump, almighty pretty ass. He definitely liked what he saw.

Liked the way she acted afterward too. Eleanor was not a lady to squander time, nor was she sidetracked by unimportant details like clearing the table or washing dishes. Her thoughts were fixed on one thing, and they both hadn't much more than swallowed their last bites of food, nor drained off those last swallows of coffee, before she was reaching under the bedsheet toga in search of a pecker to play with.

Damned if she didn't find one too. Longarm didn't mind a little bit when she gave it a tug and pulled him back into the bedroom with it.

Didn't mind it either when, several hours later, Eleanor rolled over and said, “I hope you won't mind if I have to spend the day here.”

“Mmm?”

“I overslept this morning, dear. But gracious, I can't be seen leaving this house. The whole town would know about it in ten minutes. Less, probably. I'll just have to stay here until after dark. Is that all right?”

Longarm grinned. “Does that mean you'll still be here to cook me some supper?” The grin got wider. “And maybe grease my skids for dessert?”

“Don't tell me you can still be thinking about sex that quick again?”

“That quick?” he returned. “Hell, lady, I'm thinking about it again right
now,
never mind what might could happen tonight.”

“Longarm, dear, I do like the way you think. Is it all right if I stay here then?”

“Yeah, I reckon so.”

“Norman wouldn't mind.” She giggled. “I've had to do it before a few times. When we've gotten carried away and ... you know.”

“Sure. I know.”

She made a face. “I shouldn't have brought that up, should I?”

“I didn't say anything.”

“No, but I can see it in your face. You disapprove of me.”

“No, Eleanor. If I disapprove of anybody it's me, not you. But what's done is done. An' I expect I wouldn't take it back even if I could. I like you. You're straightforward.” He softened his expression with a smile. “An' you're a damn fine fuck too if I do say so. No, I wouldn't change it now. But the man's my friend. I can't help feeling that I did him wrong here.”

“Norman is my friend too, dear. I love him. No, don't look at me like that, I really do. Enjoying this time with you doesn't take anything away from that. And after all, what I have with Norman is love. What you and I have is sex. Delightful sex. Great sex. But that's all it is, Longarm, dear, is sex. I hope you understand the difference.”

“That sounds like something the man oughta say.”

“If you disapprove of me, dear, I can get dressed and march right on out of here. The town can say whatever they damn please. Just tell me if that is what you want.”

He looked at her, and decided that damned if Eleanor didn't actually mean that. It surprised him.

He answered her by wrapping her up in a bear hug that would have broken a smaller woman's ribs. He planted a kiss on her that was intended to curl her toes—and very likely did—then gave her right tit a squeeze for good measure. “All right?” he asked.

Eleanor laughed. “All right. But dear.”

“Yes?”

“Before you go off to chase villains or whatever it is you deputy marshals do, I want to make out a grocery list. There are some things I want you to pick up while you're out. For supper. I can cook as good as I fuck.” She showed him a dimple. “Maybe better.”

“Nobody could cook that good,” he swore. “But I'll give you a chance to prove your point this evening. Make out your list while I get dressed.” He smiled. “But make sure you're still bare naked when I get back here this afternoon.”

“It's a promise,” she told him.

Eleanor went off in search of paper and a pencil for her list, while Longarm sorted out the mess she'd made of his clothing and dressed himself ready to face the day at—he dragged the Ingersoll out of his vest pocket and checked the time—at 11:23 A.M. precisely.

It was, he thought, one hell of a time to be starting one's day.

It was fairly early to be quitting for the day, not yet quite five, but what the hell. It hadn't been much of a day anyway. He'd found half a dozen folks who agreed with the mayor that Dinky Dinklemann kept changes of clothes someplace. None of them had the least idea where Dinky's hole-up might have been. It wasn't the sort of question anyone bothered to wonder about, not right up until the moment when Longarm asked them about it. No one even bothered to take a guess. Dinky's private place could have been anywhere, several said, indoors or out. Anywhere within a couple miles of town even, for the boy walked incessantly.

Unproductive as the day had been, though, Longarm had higher hopes for the evening. He stopped at the butcher's and got the couple pounds of lean pork chops Eleanor asked for on her list, then went by the greengrocer's for the few other items she'd written down. He was careful to remember that he shouldn't show either of the merchants the actual list he was buying from. After all, they might well recognize the handwriting, and that would give Eleanor away for—as he was sure the small-town folks here would think it—a wanton woman. It was the least he could do to repay the pleasures she'd already given him ... and the additional ones he had every intention of collecting after supper.

He carried the groceries into Norm's little house, and let out a soft whistle to let Eleanor know he was back. She appeared seconds later, a broad smile lighting up her features, at the kitchen door.

And just as he'd requested, the smile was the only thing she was wearing.

“What a helluva sight to come home to,” he said with a grin.

“Is that a complaint?”

“Not hardly.” He wrapped her up in his arms and did his best to lick her tonsils. Eleanor began to wriggle, rubbing her belly hard against the erection that immediately swelled inside his drawers.

“No,” she allowed, “I guess maybe it wasn't a complaint after all. Not with a reaction like that.” She bent down and planted a brief kiss over the bulge at his crotch, then relieved him of the sack of food. “Did Ezra have lean chops like I asked for?”

“Romantic, ain't you,” he said.

“Oh, don't worry. We'll get to that, I promise.”

“He trimmed them to order,” Longarm said. “They look fine to me.”

“You do like pork, I hope.”

“Damn right.”

“Then make yourself comfortable in the parlor while I fix dinner. Will you have brandy or would you prefer coffee?”

“Coffee,” he said, not bothering to explain his distaste for the sweet, prissy brandy.

“I'll bring it to you in a minute then. Go along now. And stay out of my way.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, mock seriously.

There wasn't much of anything in Norm's limited collection of old newspapers and magazines that Longarm found of interest, but he made do. From out in the kitchen he could hear thumping and banging so loud he had to sneak back there and take a peek. Eleanor, for reasons entirely unknown to Custis Long, had cut the bone away from the meat of the pork chops—damn shame, he thought; he liked to gnaw on a bone near as much as your average hound did—and was beating the hell out of it with a wooden mallet. That didn't make a hell of a lot of sense to him. But then Longarm never made any claims to superior talents in the kitchen. He tiptoed back to the parlor and settled down to read a copy of the
Police Gazette
that he'd first read at least two months ago. The articles hadn't gotten any better with age.

“It's on the table,” Eleanor called after a considerable passage of time.

Now she was wearing an apron over her otherwise bare hide. Longarm was pleased to note that she removed it before she allowed him to hold her chair and seat her at Norm's kitchen table.

Longarm looked around, more than a little bit puzzled. “Where's the pork chops?”

“Here, of course.” She pointed to a shallow dish that held some yellowish brown stuff that looked unpleasantly like watery baby shit. With lumps.

“What the ... I mean, uh, what's that?” he asked just as polite and nice as he could while he tentatively sat and sniffed at the sharp, vinegary aroma that came off the dish.

“Medallions of cochon en Bernaise.”

It sure looked like something you'd find underneath a coach, all right. He didn't say so. One of the things a man learned—or damn sure better learn—was that sometimes in order to have one's ashes hauled, one had to keep one's mouth closed. This, he reckoned, was one of those times.

Longarm forced a bright and cheerful smile and tucked his napkin into his shirt collar. “Give me lots of it, if you please.”

“You didn't eat much. Are you feeling all right?” Eleanor asked.

“Fine. I was just feelin' in a hurry to get your pretty ass off that chair and onto the bed.”

She smiled. And opened her arms and legs wide for him.

Longarm obliged, mounting her with eager pleasure. This, he decided, was worth waiting for. Even though she'd taken some perfectly good pork chops and ruined them. This, though, was all right.

An hour or so later, Longarm crumpled a pillow into an untidy wad and propped up on it against the headboard. Eleanor peed, used a damp cloth to clean herself, and then thoughtfully fetched a cheroot, match, and rusting jar lid he could use as an ashtray. “I haven't asked about your day yet, dear. Are you getting anywhere?”

“With what exactly?”

She trimmed the twist off the end of the cheroot and handed it to him, then struck the match and held that for him too. The woman wasn't just good in bed; she was useful in other ways too. But he didn't tell her that. He was old enough to know better.

“You know. Clearing Norman's name. Finding out about Dinky. Everything.”

Longarm shrugged. “I feel like all I'm finding so far is dead ends.” He told her his theory about Dinky, that perhaps it was the boy whose death was wanted by someone as yet unknown, and about his search for Dinky's private place, whatever and wherever that might have been.

“That's only a what-if, though,” he said.

“A what-if? I don't understand the term.”

“Unfortunately a whole lotta law work is just that. You don't have any damn idea what's happened, so you make up some ideas about what if this happened, or what if that person wanted that, or ... anything. A lot of the time what you gotta do is look under all the rocks you can find an' depend on plain luck to turn up a worm or two.”

“Will you keep looking into Dinky and his doings?”

“Some, I suppose. I don't exactly have anything better to do at the moment. Except go back to the courthouse an' go through some more records.”

“I thought you already did that,” she said.

“Yeah, I finished with the county records. I suppose I should look at the town records too. I mean, some of them were in that same cabinet. Maybe I'll get some ideas outa those.” He made a face. “Sure as hell is boring work, though. Sometimes I think it'd be better to take a whipping than have to sit the whole day bent over a desk looking at stuff that I don't understand to begin with.”