Longarm and the Voodoo Queen (5 page)

He got his feet underneath him and struck again, clubbing at the man's head with the gun. The intruder's derby kept the blow from landing with full force, but it was still powerful enough to make the man's eyes roll up in their sockets as he went limp in Longarm's grasp. Longarm let go of him and let him fall.

He turned, looking for another opponent, and saw a knobby fist coming straight at his face. There was no time to avoid it completely, but he moved his head aside enough so that the blow only grazed him and knocked him back against the bar. He was grateful for the solid hardwood, which kept him from falling. He was able to block the next punch and strike back, reversing the Colt in his hand and using the butt to hammer the face of his attacker. The man stumbled backward, moaning, and was lost in the mob.

The booming of shotguns and the shrilling of whistles assaulted Longarm's ears. He looked toward the entrance and saw blue-uniformed figures bulling their way inside. The New Orleans police had finally arrived. At the sight of the police, the masked men broke off their wave of death and destruction and headed for the back door of the club. No one was left to stop their flight. Millard's bouncers were all down, and none of the Brass Pelican's patrons wanted to interfere. They were concerned only with saving their own skins.

There was nothing Longarm could do either. Too many people surrounded him on all sides. The best he could manage was to holster his gun and wait to see what would happen.

And look for Annie and Paul Clement while he was waiting. Concern for their safety gnawed at him.

The sounds of battle died away. The intruders had made good their escape. But they had left carnage and devastation behind them. Several women still sobbed softly, caught in the grip of fear. Men cursed bitterly and did some sobbing of their own.

Millard shoved several men aside and shouldered his way roughly through the crowd to confront one of the policemen. The badge-toter was as burly as Millard himself, and he had a bulldog face and a thick graying mustache. Millard glowered at him and said loudly, "Damn it, Denton, you and your boys sure as hell took your time about getting here!"

The officer was just as angry and stubborn as Millard. "You can't expect us to come into this hellhole you call Gallatin Street with any less than a full squad!" he blazed back at the club owner. "When the report of trouble came in, I rounded up my men and got here as soon as I could."

Millard waved an arm at the wreckage around him. Not soon enough to keep Royale's men from busting in here and ruining my place! They killed Luther, damn it, and who knows who else is dead!"

Longarm turned his back on Millard and the policeman called Denton. He pushed his way through the crowd toward the roulette table where he had last seen Annie and her brother. As he came up to the table, he saw that one leg of it had been broken, so that it tilted sharply down to the floor on one corner. Longarm didn't care about that. What mattered to him was that he saw Annie and Clement standing on the other side of the busted table. Both of them were pale and shaken, but other than that, they appeared to be all right.

Annie cried, "Custis!" when she saw him, and Longarm made his way through the crowd to her side. She clutched at his arm, and he said over the hubbub, "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. "No, Paul and I are fine. How about you?"

"Knocked around a mite, but I'll be fine."

"That is what happened to us too, M'sieu Parker," said Clement as he slid a protective arm around Annie's shoulders. "Annie was very frightened."

"You got any idea who those fellas were?" asked Longarm. "I heard the name Royale a couple of times. I guess it's a name anyway."

Clement nodded grimly. "It is indeed. A nom de guerre, to be sure, belonging to one of the cleverest criminals currently operating in New Orleans."

Longarm filed away that bit of information with interest. If Millard was actually connected with one of the smuggling rings, as rumor had it, then this attack tonight had likely been carried out by a rival gang. What Clement had said about the individual known as Royale supported that theory.

Nodding toward the bar, Longarm asked, "Who's the badge-toter jawing with Millard?"

"That's Captain Denton of the New Orleans police," said Clement.

"Appears the two of 'em don't get along very well."

Clement summoned up a laugh. "Captain Denton fancies himself an honest man, which makes him something of a rarity on the New Orleans force. He'd like nothing better than to close down the Brass Pelican for good. However, Jasper has friends who are well connected at City Hall, which makes it impossible for Denton to really do anything to him. I believe the situation frustrates the poor captain to no end."

Longarm told himself to remember what Clement had just said about Captain Denton. If Longarm was in bad enough trouble and needed a helping hand from an honest lawman, he might have to reveal his true identity to someone like Denton... and then hope that he would be believed. Supposedly, only the special prosecutor was aware of the password "Pikes Peak" and what it signified.

Beside the bar, Denton turned away from Millard with a curt, angry gesture and began gathering his men, who had spread out through the club with their shotguns. Unfortunately, anyone who might need a greener used on them was long gone. Denton and the other officers began trooping out of the club. Pausing near the door, Denton pointed his shotgun toward Luther's sprawled, bloody corpse and growled, "Bring him along for the undertaker."

A couple of the policemen bent and grasped Luther's fancy coat, which was now sodden with blood, and began dragging him out of the club. An ugly red and gray stain was left on the sawdust-littered planks of the floor.

"Hey!" Millard called to Denton. When the captain looked back, Millard pointed to the two men Longarm had killed. "What about these bastards?"

"I'll send a wagon for them," replied Denton wearily.

"The hell you will! I want 'em out of here now."

Denton
sighed and motioned for more of his men to retrieve the other two corpses. With grunts and groans of effort, all of the bodies were soon hauled out of the place. Other men had suffered wounds in the melee, but none of them had proven fatal. Some of the women who worked for Millard were already patching up cuts and scrapes and bullet holes with practiced ease that spoke of repeated trouble in the club. The woman whose clothes had been torn off of her was still sobbing, but at least she was no longer naked. Someone had wrapped a frock coat around her, and her escort was leading her to one of the tables that was still upright and undamaged.

Millard jumped up onto the bar, the ease with which he did so rivaling that of Longarm's earlier move. He lifted his hands and shouted for attention. "All right, folks, it's all over! No need to worry anymore! We're going to set things right as quick as we can, so that you can go back to enjoying yourselves! In the meantime, drinks are on the house!"

Some of the club's patrons had been on their way to the door, but they stopped when they heard that offer. Slowly, like the tide running out, nearly everyone in the place began heading toward the bar. Millard hopped down behind it and took off his coat, rolling up his shirt sleeves so that he could help his bartenders pour drinks.

"Well, it shouldn't be long before things are back to normal," Paul Clement said to Longarm. "It's not as if this is the first time Royale's men have caused trouble for Jasper."

"The feud's been going on a long time, eh?" said Longarm.

"For over a year."

Annie shuddered. "This is the only thing I don't like about coming to the Brass Pelican. There's always the possibility of trouble."

"Ah, but that's part of the appeal of the place," said her brother. "One never knows what is going to happen."

"Some uncertainty I can live without!" said Annie.

Clement took her arm and steered her toward the bar. "Let's go get that free drink Jasper offered," he said. "Who knows how long such generosity will last?"

Longarm trailed along behind them, surveying the damage to the club along the way. Several of the tables were broken, and some of the chairs had been reduced to kindling. The green baize top of one of the poker tables had been ripped to shreds with a knife. The light in the place was dimmer than ever, since several of the fixtures had been shattered. It was damn lucky that a fire hadn't broken out, thought Longarm. Broken oil lamps were bad about starting blazes.

As for the human toll, none of Millard's bouncers had escaped unscathed. All of them had minor bullet wounds, or lumps on their heads from the clubbing, or both. Half a dozen or more of the customers had been hurt too. The most serious injury appeared to be the bullet wound in the shoulder suffered by the woman Longarm had seen go down early in the attack. She was being tended to by a heavyset man in evening clothes. Longarm nudged Paul Clement, nodded toward the man, and asked, "Who's that?"

"Doctor Deveraux, of course," replied Clement. "He's one of the best-known physicians in New Orleans."

Longarm grunted. Clearly, a respected doctor thought nothing of being caught in a gambling den like the Brass Pelican. Folks here in the Crescent City had their own way of looking at things, that was for sure. What would have been a scandal in a lot of places was just an everyday occurrence here.

The area in front of the bar was still very crowded, but Longarm and the Clements managed to finally make their way up to the hardwood. They found themselves opposite Jasper Millard, who continued to work alongside his bartenders. He stopped short in what he was doing, however, and pointed a blunt finger at Longarm. "You!" he said. "I want to talk to you."

Longarm felt a moment of... not apprehension, exactly. Puzzlement was more like it. Millard sounded angry.

Instead of harsh words, though, the club owner extended a hand across the bar to Longarm and suddenly grinned. "You saved my life, Parker!" he said. "I just want you to know I won't forget it."

Longarm returned the handshake, which was just as crushing as the one before. He nodded to Millard and said, "I never did like to see a fella being bushwhacked, and that's sure as hell what those gents had in mind."

"Yeah," said Millard as he released Longarm's hand. He frowned in thought for a moment, then jerked his head toward the door at the end of the bar. "Let's go back to my office. Paul, you and Annie can come along too since you're the ones who brought Parker here tonight." Clement looked excited at the prospect of visiting Millard's office. He said, "We'll take you up on that invitation, I

I Jasper. Come along, Annie."

Annie seemed less enthused at the idea of joining Millard in the club owner's office, but as usual, she went along with her brother. Longarm had already figured out that Annie might sometimes give in to impulses of her own when she was alone, as when she had invited him to join them tonight, but whenever she was with Paul, he called the shots. Now that the crush at the bar had lessened somewhat, Millard was able to leave it to his bartenders to handle things. He shrugged back into his coat and led Longarm, Clement, and Annie through the door and into a rear hallway. Several doors opened off the corridor. At the far end was a door leading out to a dark alley. That was the entrance that the second wave of Royale's men had used. From the looks of the splintered jamb, they had kicked their way in. Millard already had a couple of men standing guard there, both of them armed with greeners.

Millard led Longarm, Clement, and Annie through another door, this one opening into a luxuriously appointed office. A large desk was the main item of furniture inside the office, but there were also several chairs upholstered in dark leather. Bookshelves, a liquor cabinet, and another cabinet containing several shotguns lined the walls. A lamp on the desk was burning low, and the shadows were thick in the corners of the room. There were no windows, and Longarm wondered if that was so no one could take a shot at Millard through them. A man like Millard had to lead a worrisome life.

With a sigh, Millard lowered himself into the chair behind the desk and gestured for his guests to take the other chairs. Clement held Annie's chair for her. When everyone was seated, Millard reached into one of the desk drawers and brought out a bottle and some glasses. "This is my best cognac," he said. His eyes lifted to meet Longarm's. "I'd be honored to have you join me, sir. And you and Annie too, of course, Paul."

"Much obliged," said Longarm with a nod. He reached into his vest pocket for a cheroot.

Millard paused in pouring the cognac to gently push a fine wooden box across the desk. "Try one of those, Parker. I get a shipment of them from Havana every month."

Longarm lifted the lid of the box and took out a cigar. He sniffed it appreciatively, broke the band on it, and stuck it in his mouth. As Longarm scratched a lucifer into life, Paul Clement leaned forward and helped himself to one of the cigars too. Millard didn't seem to mind. Longarm puffed on his smoke and got it going, but Clement just tucked his away in a pocket for later. Millard handed glasses of cognac across the desk.

"To timely arrivals," said the club owner as he lifted his drink. Longarm nodded, wondering what Millard meant by that. He found out soon enough, because Millard went on, "I'm talking about you, Parker."