Longarm and the Whiskey Woman (2 page)

Colton
said as he edged away from the table, "I won't forget you. I won't forget this." He looked around the table. "You know, you people may be making a mistake. Maybe I was the one set up. How do you know this yahoo," he jerked his thumb toward Longarm, "didn't set it up with that guy leaning up against the wall just to rob me?"

Longarm said, "Now, Mr. Colton, you are starting to ask for some bruising. I don't much care for that kind of conversation. I think if you're still here by the time I count to five, I'm going to put this gun away and beat you to a small pulp myself."

Without a word, Colton walked around behind Longarm and straight through the door and out of sight. Longarm slowly holstered his gun and then sat down at the table. He said, "Y'all get busy and divide that money up. Everybody knows who lost what, so try and parcel it out evenly."

Frank Carson said, "What about that son of a bitch frozen up against the wall there?"

Longarm said, "I'm just going to let him stay there."

Carson
said, "What makes you think he'll stay there?"

"Because if he moves, I'm going to shoot him in the leg."

One of the other players said, "Won't they miss him back at the bar?"

"I would imagine that Mr. Colton will tell them out at the bar that his partner is slightly tied up and likely to stay that way for some while. Meanwhile, let's get that money distributed, courtesy of Mr. Colton, and get on with this game. I can't believe this, but I'm down about fifty dollars, and the idea of me being down fifty dollars to the caliber of poker players like y'all is galling to me."

Frank Carson was busy counting the pile of money, including Colton's. He looked up and gave Longarm a look. He said, "Well, now. I don't know what caliber poker player you are, but I know that's a.44-caliber revolver you just used very nicely. Are you a bigger or smaller caliber poker player than that?"

Longarm gave him a smile. He said, "As it happens, I'm exactly the same caliber. Saves me from investing extra money in cartridges, if you understand what I mean."

Carson
smiled and said, "Oh, yes. I understand exactly. But just for fun, let's play a few hands and see if you're as good at making money as that big revolver of yours." He gave Longarm an amused look. Carson, in spite of his crooked nose, looked friendly enough.

Longarm said, "Well, just deal the cards and see."

The man who had dealt the hand that exposed Colton sat holding the cards. He looked first at Frank Carson and then at Longarm. He said, "I take it that you two gents ain't from around here."

Carson
looked curious. He said, "No, I'm just passing through, myself. So what? Is this a hometown game?"

Longarm said, "Yeah, what difference does it make if we're strangers?"

The man shrugged. He said, "Well, maybe you noticed that me and these other two fellows didn't take much of a hand in that business. We kind of left the play up to you two. Did you notice that?"

Longarm said, "Well, at that time, it wasn't your affair. I was the one who caught him, and I was the one holding the gun and giving the orders."

One of the other men smiled ruefully. He said, "I sure as hell hope that Morton Colton saw it that way."

"Why?"

The man holding the deck said, "Colton is bad news. He runs with a rough bunch, and he's some kind of kin to the sheriff. Word is that he can get even with you on either side of the law."

Longarm looked at the man. He said, "is that a fact?"

He looked slowly around the table and said, "Did you boys think he was cheating, or did you think he was just uncommonly lucky?"

The dealer said, "It was always just healthier to figure he was uncommonly lucky."

Longarm smiled without humor. He said, "Maybe his luck just ran out." He glanced over at Frank Carson. "Now, why don't we play cards and let the matter drop. It's come damn near to ruining my afternoon."

Carson
said, "I'm in favor of that. I've just about got this money cut up, so I reckon it's about time to turn the crank on that deck of cards." Carson glanced toward the wall. He asked Longarm, "What are you going to do about small potatoes over there? I think he's about pissed his pants."

Longarm looked around at the quivering waiter. He smiled and said, "Oh, I reckon he can run on out of here now. I would imagine that he's learned to quit sucking eggs. In this particular hen-house, anyway."

The man with the cards said, "Ante up."

After the game was over, Longarm and Frank Carson stood at the bar of the saloon, having a drink. Longarm had enjoyed the afternoon of poker, though his skill and luck had been somewhat distracted, enough so that he had only won slightly over a hundred dollars. Carson had done better. He said, "Well, I pulled nearly three hundred dollars out of that game, so I reckon that I'll be paying for these drinks." He slapped a five-dollar gold piece down on the bar and motioned for the bartender to bring over the bottle.

Longarm studied his companion. They were very much alike in the set of their shoulders, but Carson was a few inches over six feet, an inch or two taller than Longarm. He reckoned that the man had seen his share of rough living, judging from his face and his scarred fists. They were the big fists of a man who could use his hands to either make something or tear something down, even if that something was an opponent's health.

They made a toast to luck and then knocked their drinks back. Longarm had introduced himself to Carson, giving his correct name of Custis Long rather than his nickname. He had not, of, course, told him that he was a United States deputy marshal and that he had the badge inside his shirt pocket to prove it. Something was bothering Longarm about Carson. It wasn't much, just something that Carson had said that contradicted something else he had said. It wouldn't be polite to up and ask the man, but then, Longarm wasn't necessarily in a polite business.

Carson
seemed a likable enough fellow, quick to laugh and with an easy manner about him that Longarm thought belied his obvious physical strength. He guessed the man to be somewhere in his mid-thirties. They were dressed alike in denim jeans and cotton shirts and high-heeled boots, but Carson wore the narrow-brimmed hat of a man from not as far west as Longarm. He also wore a leather vest. Longarm had not been surprised to see that he carried his side arm, what appeared to be a navy Colt, in a cutaway holster, one that was designed to bring a gun into quick play but that wouldn't hold it if a man were on, say, a bucking horse or in a rough-and-tumble fight.

Carson
said as he poured them another drink, "That was pretty slick, you catching that old boy like that." He frowned, his expression disturbing his otherwise good-natured features. "I can't stand a damned cheater. Just something about me can't flat abide a son of a bitch that would cheat and make a fool out of me. I'd rather a man would come up and take my money with a drawn pistol than to try and slick me out of it. That son of a bitch, if you hadn't caught him, would have cleaned my money out in one hand. Hell, three jacks in a game of five-card draw is a pretty damned good hand. I'd have bet my pile into it."

"Yeah, and I had three tens and I would have been betting with you," Longarm said, nodding. "Betting with every raise. He sure would have cleaned us out."

Carson
's face screwed up tighter. "By golly, I've about half a mind to hunt that son of a bitch down and beat him half to death, anyway, Even in spite of the fact that we took his money."

Longarm said, "Did you believe Colton when he said he'd come into the game with twelve hundred dollars?"

Carson
shook his head. "Hell no. I saw the son of a bitch put down two hundred dollars when he cashed in to the game. The rest of that thousand in front of him, he'd won. He came into that game with two hundred dollars, so he ain't only a cheater, he's a liar on top of that."

Longarm took a moment to rustle around in his right front shirt pocket to find a cigarillo and a match. He stuck the smoke in between his lips and then thumbed the match into a flame. When he had the cigarillo drawing, he said casually, "Did I understand that you don't live here in Little Rock?"

"I don't recollect saying whether I did or didn't." Carson had stiffened slightly. It was only a slight motion, but Longarm had caught it.

"Oh, I just thought you had mentioned, when that gentleman said he took us to be strangers, that you were just passing through."

Carson
gave him a keen glance. He said, "Well, there's all kinds of ways to pass through, Custis. What're you getting at?"

Longarm shook his head from side to side hard. He said, "I ain't getting to nothing, Mr. Carson, just that you said that you were passing through and then you made the remark that you'd see that the man would never play poker in this town again. I couldn't figure that one out."

For a second, Carson stared at Longarm and then suddenly laughed. "Oh, I see where you got confused. I understand now. Fact is, that's just kind of an expression, something a man would say on an occasion like that. Wouldn't have anything to do with whether I lived in Little Rock or was just passing through."

Longarm nodded. He said, "I see." But he didn't really.

Carson
looked back at Longarm. He said, "How about you? You just passing through or have you decided that you live here?"

They were both very near to stepping over a line, but since Longarm had asked first, he knew that Carson was within the bounds of politeness to ask the same question. Longarm studied his drink for a moment. He said, "Well, I'm passing through in one way and in another way, I ain't."

"How's that?"

Longarm glanced up at Carson. He said, "I generally stay so long as it's profitable. When it ain't profitable no more, I pass on. If you know what I mean."

Carson
nodded and laughed. He said, "Yeah, I understand that. I believe we might be cut out of the same bolt of cloth."

Longarm smiled big. He said, "Reckon? I'm trying to get into the whiskey business. What about you?"

For a long second, Carson looked at him and then he lifted his shot glass. He said with no emotion or meaning in his voice, "Well, for the time being, this is the only whiskey business I care to be in."

Longarm nodded back. "I reckon you're right. A man ought not to mix business with pleasure." As he said it, he gave Carson a significant look, but Carson's face registered nothing back.

CHAPTER 2

Longarm did not want to be in Little Rock, Arkansas. That night, after he had his supper, he sat in his room at the hotel thinking about the circumstances that had put him in Little Rock. He was the famous United States deputy marshal, given the nickname of Longarm because he was the long arm of the law. It was said that no outlaw could run far enough or fast enough or hide himself well enough without the day coming, just as sure as the sun rising in the morning, when Longarm would show up to bring that outlaw back to justice. Custis was never exactly sure who had first begun calling him that. In the Marshal's Service, it was an article of belief that the name had been given to him sarcastically by his boss, Chief Marshal Billy Vail. Longarm wasn't so sure about that. The name was actually too complimentary for Billy to ever have done him such a favor. Billy's idea of a favor was to send Custis on just such an errand as he found himself doing in Little Rock. Longarm was pretty sure that he drew such assignments because he consistently beat the old goat at poker. In his mind's eye, Longarm could see Billy with his fluffy white hair and his little developing belly, just rubbing his hands in glee at the idea of sending a man who really deserved to be back in Denver with his dressmaker lady friend or one of several other lady friends available right there in the biggest city in Colorado.

Yet here he was in the state of Arkansas looking at some of the ugliest women he'd ever seen allowed to roam around on the streets. No, that was more of Billy's idea of a good joke. Someone else had named him Longarm, not that Billy didn't use it when it served his purpose. Hell, he'd use anything if it served his purpose.

Longarm was never quite sure how many years he had been working for the white-haired old devil who never stopped complaining about innocent practices, such as Longarm's shipping back horses to Denver at government expense to later sell for profit, and now and again trying to get a square deal on his expense voucher. Longarm was pretty sure that Billy calculated to the penny how much he had lost to Longarm playing poker and then knocked off an amount equal to that on Longarm's expense vouchers. Billy Vail was a good man to have around if you were wounded--especially if you liked salt rubbed into an open wound.

The trip to Little Rock had begun not quite a week before in Billy Vail's office. Longarm had come wandering innocently enough into the chief's office and had made himself at home in a big easy chair. He was confident of a few days' rest and pleasure around home base after having a hard couple of weeks chasing the Gallagher gang in northern Oklahoma.

But then Billy Vail, who had been staring out his office window, had wheeled around in his chair and said, "Custis, I'm damned if I can trust this job to anybody else. No, it's got to be you. I've given it considerable thought, and I don't see any way I can send anybody else."