Longarm 422

No Reservations About Killing . . .

Longarm did not think he had ever seen the man before. Certainly he was not a patron of the Star Saloon.

But the fellow recognized Longarm. And seemed to fear him.

His hand leaped toward his revolver.

Longarm had no idea why.

But he did not have time to ponder the question or to ask why. The man was drawing on him. That was introduction enough.

Longarm's .45 came to hand almost without him taking time to consciously reach for it.

His Colt spat its own brand of thunder and lightning as flame and smoke—and lead—belched from the muzzle.

Across the width of the café floor Longarm's first bullet took the man in the belly.

A second struck him high in the chest. And a third ripped into the left side of his face.

“Jesus!” Tisbury screamed.

Longarm came to his feet and stood poised to fire again if necessary. A fourth bullet was not needed. The man, a complete stranger as far as Longarm knew, crumpled. He toppled face-forward onto Tisbury's floor. He fell like a sack of grain, making no move to soften the blow or prepare for it. Once he hit, he lay completely motionless . . .

DON'T MISS THESE ALL-ACTION WESTERN SERIES FROM THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

THE GUNSMITH by J. R. Roberts

Clint Adams was a legend among lawmen, outlaws, and ladies. They called him . . . the Gunsmith.

LONGARM by Tabor Evans

The popular long-running series about Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long—his life, his loves, his fight for justice.

SLOCUM by Jake Logan

Today's longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail of hot blood and cold steel.

BUSHWHACKERS by B. J. Lanagan

An action-packed series by the creators of Longarm! The rousing adventures of the most brutal gang of cutthroats ever assembled—Quantrill's Raiders.

DIAMONDBACK by Guy Brewer

Dex Yancey is Diamondback, a Southern gentleman turned con man when his brother cheats him out of the family fortune. Ladies love him. Gamblers hate him. But nobody pulls one over on Dex . . .

WILDGUN by Jack Hanson

The blazing adventures of mountain man Will Barlow—from the creators of Longarm!

TEXAS TRACKER by Tom Calhoun

J.T. Law: the most relentless—and dangerous—manhunter in all Texas. Where sheriffs and posses fail, he's the best man to bring in the most vicious outlaws—for a price.

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China

penguin.com

A Penguin Random House Company

LONGARM AND THE STAR SALOON

A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

Copyright © 2013 by Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for having an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

JOVE
®
is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

The “J” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

ISBN: 978-0-515-15430-6

eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-63491-2

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Jove mass-market edition / January 2014

Cover illustration by Milo Sinovcic.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

“Pardon me for sayin' this, ma'am, but you got big tits.”

“That, sir, is
un
-pardonable. Have you never been taught how to speak to a lady?”

“Yeah, an' if there was a lady present, I wouldn't talk like that.”

“You son of a bitch!”

“You old bag.”

“Not so old that I couldn't fuck you into the ground, mister.”

Longarm threw his head back and laughed. “Yes, an' I believe you could still do it, too.”

“Oh, Custis, it
is
good to see you, dear. Thank you for coming.”

“Anytime you need me. I told you that once an' I meant it.”

Helen Morrow threw her arms around Longarm's neck and clung to him for a few moments before she lifted her face to his and kissed him long and deep.

Helen was a big woman, tall and thick and round. He suspected she would weigh in the neighborhood of three hundred pounds . . . if you could find a scale to take her. A livestock scale perhaps.

But she was all woman. A former lover, although she had been considerably thinner then. And he was genuinely fond of her.

Helen had to rise up only a little to reach Longarm's lips. Then she hugged him and stepped back a pace.

“Let me look at you, dear,” she said. “Good Lord, you've hardly changed over the years.”

Deputy United States Marshal Custis Long grinned and said, “It's the result o' clean living.”

His remark brought a bark of sharp laughter from Helen. She knew better than to believe that. “But you do look fine, dear,” she said.

Deputy Long, known as Longarm to friend and foe alike, did indeed look fit. He was tall, well over six feet in height, with broad shoulders and narrow hips.

He had brown hair, a broad sweep of brown mustache, golden brown eyes, and a firm jaw. He wore a brown tweed coat, brown corduroy trousers, and a flat-crowned brown Stetson hat. His gunbelt, rigged for a cross-draw, was polished black, as were his stovepipe cavalry boots. Beneath the coat he wore a calfskin vest with a gold watch chain stretched across his belly.

“I swear, dear, you haven't changed a bit. How long has it been?” Helen asked.

The corners of Longarm's eyes crinkled as he smiled and said, “Too long, darlin'. How've you been? An' why am I here?” The smile widened and he added, “Apart from the pleasure o' seein' you, that is.”

“Come into my office, dear. I don't like to talk too openly out here in the parlor where anyone might hear.”

Longarm glanced around at the bevy of ladies who were sitting in the overstuffed chaises, waiting for customers to arrive. He removed his hat and followed Helen down a short hallway and into a large, sumptuously appointed office and bedchamber.

“Would you like something to drink, dear? Rye whiskey, perhaps? I have a good brand. Bought it just for you.”

“And I'll enjoy it, I'm sure, but right now what I'd like, if you have some, is a cup o' coffee.”

“Right away, dear. Sit down. Make yourself comfortable. I won't be a moment.”

Helen left the room, her movements light despite her bulk, and Longarm perched on the side of Helen's big canopy bed. True to her word, Helen was back in less than a minute.

“I thought you were going for coffee,” he said.

“You never have had any patience, have you?” The big woman chided him. “It will be here in a minute.”

“Oh, my. Servants. You really have come up in the world, haven't you?” he said.

Helen nodded. “I've come a long way since you knew me, dear.” She sighed. “A very long way. That has a bearing on why I asked for your help.”

“I'm listenin',” he said.

There was a knock at the door, and a slender, doe-eyed girl whose skin tones suggested she might have been Mexican or perhaps Indian entered with a tray containing a carafe of steaming coffee along with cups and condiments. There was also a small plate of butter cookies.

The girl served the coffee, curtsied daintily, and silently left.

Longarm balanced his cup and saucer on his knee and said, “You were sayin'?”

Helen sighed again, and her shoulders slumped wearily. “Custis dear, there are five whorehouses in Quapah County, and I own three of them.”

Longarm's eyebrows went up. “Congratulations. No wonder you look so prosperous.”

“Oh, I have money, it's true. This is the most elegant of my properties.”

He nodded. The house was indeed splendid. And the girls he had seen out in the parlor were handsome, each of them impeccably dressed and made up.

“One of the others is, frankly, a dump. It's a cheap house for cheap whores.” She smiled. “And would you believe, I make more money off of it than I do from the other two combined. We have cowboys coming here to ship cattle, railroaders working on the line, and recently we got an influx of coal miners working the newly opened diggings north of town. The men like things simple and cheap, and they don't even seem to mind what the girls look like as long as they are willing to drop their knickers for half a dollar.”

“You aren't surprising me none,” Longarm said, trying the coffee and finding it very much to his liking. “So what does this have to do with . . . ?”

“Someone is trying to muscle me out, Custis. And I don't even know who is doing it,” Helen said.

“They're tryin' to hurt you?” he asked.

She nodded. “Financially, anyway. And there have been . . . suggestions . . . that I could be hurt physically if I don't play along with them.”

Longarm smiled. “In that case, darlin', you did the exact best thing when you sent for me, 'cause operators like that are just my meat. Hand me one o' them cookies, will you, please?”