Longarm and the Voodoo Queen (6 page)

Longarm sipped his cognac and grinned. "You mean the way I was able to stop those two old boys from ventilating you? Hell, that was just good luck."

"And good shooting," grunted Millard. "But I don't really believe in luck, Parker. I believe in Fate. It had to be Fate that brought you here to New Orleans just when I was looking for a man like you."

Longarm frowned. "You mean-"

"I mean, how would you like to go to work for me?"

CHAPTER 5

Longarm tried not to stare across the desk at Millard. Good luck was still playing into his hands. He had wanted to work in amongst the smugglers, and here and now, on his first night in New Orleans, one of the reputed ringleaders was offering him a job.

Once again, Longarm's brain swiftly considered the possibility that he was being set up somehow. He came to the same conclusion he'd come to earlier when he was pondering Annie's invitation to join her and her brother tonight. There was simply no way that anyone in New Orleans could know who he really was. Fortune had merely been on his side so far on this assignment.

Which was enough to make him a mite nervous, he reflected. Good luck couldn't be depended upon, because it could run out at any time with no warning.

Those thoughts ran through his head in a matter of seconds, but the pause was long enough to prompt Millard to ask, "Well? How about it, Parker?"

Longarm nodded. "I appreciate the offer, Mr. Millard. Like I told you, I'm sort of between jobs."

"Does that mean you accept?"

"I sure do," Longarm told him.

"Without even asking what it is I want you to do?"

Longarm grinned easily. "I figure whatever it is, I'll be able to handle it all right."

Millard gave a short bark of laughter and said, "That's what I figure too."

"Despite the trouble, this evening has worked out well all around, I'd say," Paul Clement put in.

Millard scowled. "I don't know that I'd go that far. This business with Royale..." He shook his head, and the hand that wasn't holding the glass of cognac tightened into a fist.

"Tell me about Royale," said Longarm. "I reckon if I'm going to be working for you, I'd best know what's going on."

"I tell my people what they need to know, and that's all," growled Millard. His tone softened a little as he went on. "However, since I'm counting on you to be my right-hand man, Parker, I suppose you do have a right to know about Royale. Hell, I won't be giving away any secrets. Practically the whole town knows that we're enemies, Royale and I."

"Who is he?" asked Longarm.

Millard shook his head. "Nobody really knows. Nobody I've ever talked to has even seen him. I've gotten my hands on a couple of men who worked for him, and even they don't know who he really is or what he looks like." He scowled in frustration. "And I know how to ask questions that get honest answers too."

I'll just bet you do, old son, thought Longarm, but he kept the comment to himself. Aloud, he said, "Sounds like some kind of mystery man."

"Exactly. But as you saw tonight, it's no mystery what Royale wants. He wants to put me out of business."

"You reckon he owns another gambling club?"

"I don't think so." Millard glanced at the Clements. "The Brass Pelican isn't my only business. I have... other enterprises." It was clear that he didn't want to speak too openly about those enterprises in front of Annie and her brother.

Clement took the hint. He drained the last of his cognac and reached for Annie's hand as he stood up. "If it's all right with you, Jasper," he said smoothly, "Annie and I will go back out and see if the roulette wheel is functioning again. You know me--all this talk of business bores me."

Millard waved a hand toward the door. "Sure, go ahead. Just one thing, Paul..." Clement and Annie paused at the doorway. "Yes?"

"Thanks for bringing Parker with you tonight."

"It was our pleasure," said Clement with a grin.

Annie looked at Longarm and said, "I'll see you later, I suppose, Custis."

"I reckon you can count on that," Longarm told her sincerely.

Annie and Clement left the office. When they were gone, Longarm leaned back in his chair and puffed on the cigar while Millard refilled their glasses. "Martell," the club owner said, indicating the label on the cognac bottle. "The finest in the world. I bring it in from France."

"The same way you bring in cigars from Cuba?" guessed Longarm.

Millard's quick grin told Longarm he was right. "I don't pay customs duty on either one of them, if that's what you mean. They come in through the Delta."

"So one of those other business enterprises you mentioned is smuggling."

"That bother you?" asked Millard bluntly.

Longarm took another puff on the cigar and shook his head. "Nope. Not even a little bit."

"When I saw how handy with that gun you are, I knew you were the sort of man who wouldn't let anything stand in his way. That's good." Millard sipped his cognac and looked intently at Longarm over the glass, then added, "As long as you're not too ambitious."

"When I take a man's money, I back him all the way," Longarm said with conviction.

"Good." Millard leaned back in his own chair. "Royale runs a smuggling ring, just like I do. He'd like to see me dead, and I'm convinced that raid tonight was just a cover for an attempt to kill me. I was supposed to die in the confusion."

Longarm nodded slowly. "I can see that. Those two gunmen came straight for you while the rest of 'em were raising hell."

"That's right. And if the attempt failed--which, thanks to you, it did--at least Royale hurt me a little by damaging my club."

Longarm had no doubt that Millard was right, but he said, "Do you know for sure that Royale was behind what happened tonight?"

Millard snorted in disgust. "Of course Royale was behind it. Nobody else moves a fraction as many goods through the Delta as Royale and I do. Our organizations control the smuggling now. If Royale could get rid of me, he'd have the whole thing right in his hands." The club owner shrugged his burly shoulders. "Besides, Royale's men always wear those derbies and have masks over their faces. It's like a badge."

"Speaking of badges, how does Captain Denton feel about Royale?"

With a harsh laugh, Millard replied, "Denton hates Royale as much as he hates me. He'd like to see Royale behind bars--or dead, same as me. That stupid bastard actually thinks he can clean up New Orleans if he works at it hard enough." Millard laughed again. "But it'll never happen. This town doesn't want to be cleaned up. Nobody really gives a damn about the law."

That was where he was wrong, thought Longarm. Somebody cared about the law--even if he was from out of town.

"So Denton can't bother you because of your connections, and he can't get to Royale either, I'd wager. Any trouble from any of the other local lawmen, or any federal boys?" The way the conversation had been going, Longarm didn't think it was too much of a risk to pose the question. After all, if he was going to work for Millard, he had a right to know what he was getting into.

Millard shook his bald head. "Nothing to speak of. Nothing we can't handle."

"Sounds good," said Longarm with a nod, concealing his disappointment. But it would have been too much to hope for if Millard had upped and confessed to killing Douglas Ramsey just like that. Still, there had been a chance that he would, since he was feeling expansive and grateful to Longarm for saving his life.

But maybe Millard wasn't responsible for Ramsey's murder. Maybe Royale or some of his men had been the ones who had put the knife in Ramsey's back and then dumped him in the bayou. Longarm would just have to keep poking around until he knew for sure, and the unexpected foothold he had gained in Millard's organization was the perfect place for him to start.

Millard tossed back the rest of his drink and set the empty glass on the desk with a thump. "I'm going down in the Delta tomorrow," he said. "I want you to come with me, Parker. I'll show you the ropes, and it won't take long for you to catch on to the way we do things down here."

Longarm finished his cognac. "I'll be looking forward to it," he said honestly. "You expecting any more trouble from Royale?"

Millard grinned coldly across the desk at him. "I don't know. But if we run into any, you'll be there to handle it, won't you?"

Most of the damage in the main room of the gambling club had been put right with surprising speed. The broken tables had been propped up, a cloth had been spread over the poker table with the slashed top, and the games were under way again when Longarm and Millard left the office a few minutes later.

Paul Clement had left the roulette wheel for the blackjack table. Annie was still at his side, one of her hands held firmly in both of his except when he had to let go to push chips up to the betting line. Unobtrusively, Longarm watched him play several hands. Clement was a plunger, Longarm decided, unable to stay even when the odds were on his side. On nearly every hand, he leaned forward and said in a breathless voice, "Hit me," succumbing to the siren call of the next card, whatever it might be. Not surprisingly, he lost more than he won, though he hit blackjack a couple of times and exclaimed happily.

Annie glanced over her shoulder and saw Longarm watching them. She slipped her hand out of her brother's grip, and Clement looked over at her sharply, almost angrily. Longarm saw her say something in his ear, and after a second, he nodded grudgingly. Annie walked toward Longarm with a smile.

"I told Paul that all the excitement earlier has given me a headache," she said as she came up to him. "I thought perhaps you would accompany me back to our mansion."

"I'd be happy to," Longarm told her, "but isn't that something your brother really ought to do?"

Annie made a face. "Paul would never forgive me if I dragged him away from his games of chance so early in the evening. He probably won't stop playing until the sun comes up. You can take me home, then return here or go back to the St. Charles, whatever you wish. The driver will come back here to get Paul later."

Longarm nodded. "All right. Let's go."

Annie stopped long enough to get her lacy shawl from the cloak room. She wrapped it around her shoulders as they stepped outside. The evening's festivities on Gallatin Street were still in full swing. The warm night air was full of tinny music and shrill laughter.

The black carriage was waiting nearby at the curb. Longarm helped Annie in, then said to the wizened driver, "The lady wants to go home. I'll be going with her, then back to the St. Charles." He swung up into the carriage, and was about to sit on the front seat when Annie said, "Sit beside me, Custis."

"Always glad to oblige a lady," he said with a grin as he settled down on the rear seat next to her.

"I'm very glad to hear that." Her voice had an undertone that was almost a purr.

Almost instantly, Longarm felt himself growing aroused. Annie was sitting close enough to him that he could feel the warmth of her body, and her perfume, subtle yet insistent, filled his senses. She reached over and caught hold of his hand, twining her fingers with his.

"I am so glad I met you today, Custis, and that you were with us tonight at the club. When those horrible men came bursting in, I was frightened, and yet... I knew I would be all right. I knew you wouldn't allow any harm to come to me."

She was giving him more credit than he was due. In the confusion of the raid, with all those bullets flying around, almost anything could have happened to her, and likely there wouldn't have been a damned thing he could have done to stop it.

But she had come through the violence all right, and if she wanted to think that he was partially responsible for that, he supposed it wouldn't hurt anything. "I'm glad I was there too," he told her. "It means a lot to me, the way you and your brother have sort of taken me under your wing."

She laughed, but didn't sound particularly amused. "You won't need our help anymore, now that you're working for Jasper Millard. He's one of the most powerful men in New Orleans."

"Him and that fella Royale, huh?"

A tiny shudder ran through Annie's body. "Don't even talk about Royale. He... he frightens me."

"But you don't have any real connection with Millard except patronizing his club, do you?" asked Longarm.

"No, of course not, but you saw what happened tonight. As long as Jasper and Royale are at each other's throat, no one in New Orleans is really safe."

She had a point, thought Longarm. He had seen other towns where two or more factions of owlhoots had been feuding, and what usually happened was that more innocent folks were killed in the fighting than members of the opposing outlaw gangs. It was the same here in New Orleans. Everyone was at risk while the war between Millard and Royale continued.

He would just have to see what he could do about that, Longarm decided. Though his real job was to find out who killed Douglas Ramsey, maybe at the same time he could bust up the smuggling rings and put an end to the rivalry between Millard and Royale. Of course, somebody else would probably just come along and take their places later, but that was out of Longarm's hands. He couldn't be responsible for ridding the world of all its crooks and killers.