Longarm and the Whiskey Woman (5 page)

That night, he went out again, selecting a new section of the city in which to wander, going again from saloon to saloon. Once, he sat in on a poker game for a while, but it was slow-moving and such small money that he quickly became bored. He had managed to introduce the subject of whiskey into the game, but he got no takers. It was amazing to him how close-mouthed the whole town could be on a subject that was most probably their chief source of income. Yet, to a man, the people in Little Rock seemed to be unaware of the existence of any whiskey trade. He thought possibly the next day, if he could find one, he'd hunt up a church and ask one of the preachers about it. It was his observation that outside of bartenders, preachers generally knew more about whiskey and how much of it was in their town than anybody else.

At about ten o'clock that night, he gave up on the last saloon and started walking back toward his hotel. The Albert Pike Hotel was on Main Street, very near the center of town. As Longarm turned onto Main, returning from his wandering quest for information, he was about a block from the hotel entrance. As he cut across the street, he could see a vaguely familiar figure approaching from the opposite direction, cutting across the street just as he was. Even though it was still relatively early at ten o'clock, the town was quieter than most towns of its size that he was used to. He crossed the street, stepped up on the boardwalk, and headed for the hotel.

The other man did likewise. As they approached each other, Longarm recognized Frank Carson. They met almost at the hotel door, both of them illuminated by the light shining through the big plate-glass windows.

Longarm said, "Well, Mr. Carson, I'm surprised to see you out. From what you said, I thought you'd have been on down the road apiece."

Frank Carson gave him a friendly smile. He said, "Well, Mr. Long, I thought I'd hang around a few more days and maybe get a chance to play you some more poker."

Even though it was May, there was a nip in the night air and Frank Carson was wearing a leather coat over his vest. Longarm, who had on a corduroy jacket, said, "Well, that can damned sure be arranged, but let's not stand out in the cold. Why don't we go in and have a drink or so at the bar. Are you staying here at the hotel?"

"Oh, yeah. I've got a room up on the fourth floor. Highest I've ever been."

Longarm laughed faintly. He said, "If that's the highest you've ever been, then I reckon you'd better change your brand of whiskey."

Frank Carson shook his head. "Oh, are you back on that subject again?"

"I never left it, but I ain't having much luck."

They went through the hotel doors together and walked across the hotel's lobby, their boots echoing in the deserted common room. The bar was almost deserted, too. Longarm said, "What the hell is this? I thought this place was the capital of Arkansas, or at least the largest town. These folks go to bed with the chickens around here?"

Frank Carson gave him a wink. "Well, you've got to go to bed with the chickens if you're going to get up early enough to gather the eggs."

They found a table, and Longarm signaled to the bartender to bring them a bottle and two glasses. He called across, "The best you got. You know, the Maryland whiskey that I drink."

Carson
said, "Are you from Maryland? I didn't get that impression from your dress and your speech."

Longarm told him the same story that he had told Bob Greene. He said, "No, I'm just an old western hand. Been all over, but I've taken root in Arizona. Just looking to make a little money here or there. Got tired of the cattle business. The damned things kept wanting to eat and then you've got to keep giving them water. Hell, they're hard to keep alive."

Frank Carson said, "Well, that's a line I've never tried. I don't see no reason to start now."

The bartender came over with the glasses and the bottle. Longarm poured out a drink for each of them. They lifted their shot glasses, made a toast to luck, and then knocked them back. Carson looked at the remaining whiskey in his glass. He said, "Is this that Maryland whiskey you called for?"

"Yep."

"It's pretty smooth stuff. I reckon it runs pretty dear, though, doesn't it?"

Longarm shrugged and nodded. "It's my view that you get what you pay for."

Carson
said, "Does that apply to moonshine whiskey, also?"

Longarm smiled ruefully. "I wouldn't know. I can't get anybody to even admit they make moonshine whiskey around here, much less sell any."

Carson
gave him a slight smile. "Mr. Long, you look like a pretty intelligent man. Are you telling me that you expected to ride into this town, stone cold, and do some business the first day with a breed of people that are about as suspicious as a two-dollar whore?"

Longarm said, "Well, if it comes to that, I'm willing to put up the money first, just like you would with a two-dollar whore. I'll put it on top of the bureau, but hell, I can't get anybody to even act like they know what I'm talking about. All I get are these blank stares and cold looks and then they say, 'That'll be fifty cents for the drinks but don't linger.'"

Carson
said, "Well, can you much blame them?"

Longarm shrugged. "Hell, I don't know. I was told it was a going proposition. I mean, I came a long way to buy some of this whiskey and carry it back to Arizona and sell it for a profit. You know, we've got a lot of Indians and idiots back there that really don't give a damn what the stuff tastes like so long as it'll make them drunk. But I can't do any business if I can't find out the price. And what's more, I can't even find out if it exists."

Carson
laughed. "Oh, it exists. I hear you've been walking around town all day long drinking in different saloons. You've already had some of that whiskey."

Longarm turned his head and spat into a spittoon. He said, "Yeah, I know. I've tasted it." Then he gave Carson a look. "How the hell would you know what I've been doing all day?"

"Well, you haven't exactly been secretive about it. A man would have had to been blind and dumb not to have heard about this damned fool walking around asking bartenders where he could buy some whiskey in big lots."

Longarm narrowed his eyes. "I thought you told me you didn't live here, that you were a stranger?"

Carson
lifted a finger in the air. He said, "I don't live here, but I didn't say I didn't visit here pretty often, and I didn't say I was a stranger here. I said I was passing through. I didn't say how slow or how fast I was passing through."

Longarm sat back in his chair and studied Frank Carson for a long moment. "You wouldn't be getting around to telling me that you might could be some help to me on this matter, are you?"

"What gives you the idea that I would know anything about the whiskey business, Mr. Long?"

Longarm frowned. He said, "Well, you seem to be pretty well up on everything else around town."

Carson
said, "I know that the subject you're asking after is not one that most of these folks will open up to with a stranger." He yawned. "Speaking of chickens, it might be getting past my bedtime."

"You say you don't know anything about the whiskey business?"

"I didn't say that, Mr. Long." Frank Carson's face was still friendly, but there was a slight edge in his voice. "Of course, you didn't get off to a very good start in that poker game. Not that I blame you."

Longarm's ears pricked up. "Are you talking about that Colton fellow?"

Carson
shook his head slowly. He said, "I'm not talking about anything, Mr. Long. I don't know anything. That's how I keep my welcome in this town."

Longarm poured them both another drink. Carson started to protest, raising his hand, but then he let it drop. He said, "Oh, what the hell. I'll have one more, but then I really do have to hit the hay. I've got a pretty long ride tomorrow."

Longarm said, "Are you leaving town?"

Carson
smiled. "Now who's asking about the other person's comings and goings?"

"Well, it seems only fair since you know considerable about mine," Longarm said.

"You weren't making no secret of them."

Longarm said, "You going to be back in time tomorrow afternoon to help us find a poker game?"

Carson
frowned slightly. "I can't say that. Can't you find a poker game on your own?"

"I've found some fifty cents and a dollar game, but I can't find any real poker game. I looked around all afternoon."

Carson
scratched behind his ear. He said, "Well, it could be that I'll be back here in time. You be around the hotel in the evening, sometime after supper?"

Longarm said, "I'll make it a point to be."

After breakfast the next morning, Longarm went back up to his room on the second floor. His room faced onto Main Street, and he looked out onto the scene below him, watching horsemen and wagons and carriages going back and forth. There was also considerable foot traffic up and down on the sidewalks in front of the stores. Little Rock was a busy town during the day and the early evenings, but it seemed to come to a trickling halt as the night wore on. At least, that had been his observation through two evenings and nights.

After a while, he left the window, sat down on the bed, poured himself a short drink of whiskey, and lit a cigarillo. Things were going much slower than he had expected, and he could see time stretching out in a long, boring span with no sign of light on the horizon. Thus far, he not only hadn't found out anything about the whiskey, but he hadn't been able to find a good poker game and he hadn't seen a girl he could even halfway describe as pretty.

His mind turned over and over any plan of attack that would shorten his time in Little Rock. Nothing presented itself. All he could see were boring days and worse nights in one of the worst towns he had ever been in. He would have much preferred to be in one of the little towns on the Tex-Mex border than to be in this strange place where there seemed to be a tremendous undercurrent somewhere below the surface with nothing going on above the top. He was pretty certain that if he was forced to spend more than a week in Little Rock, he would shortly either quit the service and turn in his badge or else go completely insane.

There didn't seem to be much point in repeating his endeavors in circulating around among the saloons, so he had contented himself with walking around the different stores and then going back to the hotel for lunch. After that, he went down to a livery stable and rented a horse and saddle to take a ride out into the surrounding countryside. The horse was about on caliber with his impressions of the city: slow and dull. He had asked for the best animal they had, but the chestnut gelding they had given him was about as listless and tired an animal as Longarm could remember ever riding in many a day. Hell, he thought, the horse acted like he was on the last mile of a thirty-mile trip across the desert without feed or water.

Out of pity for the poor beast, he cut his ride down to a couple of hours and headed back into town. There hadn't been much to see, anyway. Just some chopped-up rocky ground and some poor one-mule farms and little else. He hadn't expected to see any smoke rising from any stills, and he hadn't been disappointed. As a consequence, he was back into town by four o'clock in the afternoon, turned the horse back, and had returned to the hotel.

He walked out a little after five, planning on making the rounds of the saloons. Frank Carson didn't show back up and Longarm was disappointed. Hell, he thought, he was actually feeling lonely. He didn't recall ever being in a town where the people were so unfriendly, suspicious, and silent. As near as he could figure, in the three days he had been in Little Rock, he hadn't really had any conversation with more than two or three people, and none of them were female.

He soon got discouraged hitting the saloons. It was the same story all over again: blank faces and shut mouths. He turned and headed back for the hotel. It was coming on toward dusk, that time of the evening when the sun mellows and the air softens and you know that night is not too far away. Even the patrons and the traffic in the downtown area had slowed so that there were only a few people on the sidewalks and fewer still going down the main road running through the middle of the little city. Everyone, Longarm supposed, had headed home for their supper. It was a shade early for his taste, but without anything else to do, he figured he might as well make his way to the hotel and join the crowd in the dining room.

He was walking down the sidewalk opposite the hotel, about half a block away, and was almost ready to cross the street when his attention was caught by two men hurrying toward him. They were both young, strong-looking men wearing khaki shirts. The khaki only served to make the deputy sheriff's badges more visible on their chests. Some instinct caused Longarm to pause. He wasn't sure that they were heading for him, but they were moving in a very purposeful way, and they were coming in his direction. He glanced behind himself. The sidewalk was empty. As he turned his face forward, the men were upon him.

The nearest said, "Hold it right there, mister. Don't you move."

Longarm stared at him. He said, "Who the hell do you think you're talking to, buster?"