Longarm 422 (7 page)

Longarm handed the keys off to Robert to handle for the rest of the evening.

He turned, took Iris Tyner into his arms, and kissed the lady most thoroughly. “Is it just me, or are you getting prettier every day?”

“Flatterer,” she said, laughing. “I know why you are saying sweet things to me. You just want to get into my pants.”

“Of course I do,” he said. “And is there anything wrong with that?”

Iris pretended to ponder the question for a moment, then shook her head and said, “No, now that I think about it. There isn't a thing wrong with it. In fact, I'm hoping you will.”

“Will what?” he teased.

“Will fuck my brains out,” Iris said.

“Well I certainly intend to give it my best shot, ma'am.” He swept her up off the floor—she seemed to weigh next to nothing, but then she was a very small girl—and carried her into her quarters in the back of her shop.

It took only a few moments more for the two of them to get their clothes off.

“Damn, you look good, lady,” Longarm said, smiling.

“Why, thank you most kindly, sir. May I say that you are not exactly unpleasant to look at yourself.”

Longarm wrapped his arms around her and kissed her again, then picked her up and placed her onto her cot.

“One thing,” he said. “You got to get a bigger bed for this place. Or take on smaller lovers. One or the other.” He winced and rubbed the top of his head where he had just bumped it on the wall at the head of her bed.

Iris laughed and said, “Here, let me kiss the spot.”

“It's down here,” Longarm said, directing her attention to a very erect cock.

“You liar,” she giggled. “I saw what you bumped, and it wasn't that.”

“True,” he agreed, “but bumps up here tend to come out down there. So down there is where it needs to be kissed if you really want to make it well.”

“I certainly want to make it better,” she said, “so I suppose I ought to . . .” She completed the thought by wriggling down to his waist level and taking his prick into her hand.

“I thought you said you were gonna kiss it,” Longarm said.

“I did. And I will. Now, shut up and let me admire this thing of yours for a minute, will you?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Iris contemplated his cock for a long moment. She rose to her knees and reached to turn up the wick on the wall lamp overhead, then returned to the subject at hand. She peeled his foreskin back, then leaned forward and took the head of his cock between her lips.

She licked him thoroughly, running her tongue around the head then down into the folds of skin that had been pushed below the red, engorged glans.

“If you knew how that feels . . . ,” he said.

Iris did not answer except by taking him into her mouth. She had a rather small mouth. But a talented and accepting throat.

“Oh, jeez,” he mumbled as his cock pushed past the tight constriction at the back of her mouth and on into her throat.

As big as he was, Iris was able to take all of him into her mouth. She gagged only a little and only at first. After that she moved up and down on him, slowly at first but then soon accelerating the pace, until he had to reach out and put a hand on the back of her pretty head to stop her.

Iris looked up, his dick still lodged deep inside her mouth. She lifted her eyebrows in inquiry.

“You'd best leave it be,” he answered the unspoken question, “unless you want me to spray your tonsils with a load o' cum, lady. And it's only fair to tell you that it's been a while since I was able to unload that thing, an' my balls are awful full.”

The corners of Iris's eyes crinkled with silent laughter.

And she went back to riding him, pushing him deep into her throat and back out to her mouth, over and over, faster and faster.

“I warned you,” Longarm mumbled.

And shot his load into Iris's throat.

“You're a darlin',” he mumbled as he nuzzled Iris's ear.

“And you're a stud,” she responded.

Longarm kissed her and worked his way lower, taking first one nipple and then the other between his lips, sucking and licking as Iris wriggled beneath his touch.

“Yes,” she hissed as he licked his way down beneath her belly button. “Please.”

He obliged, lightly flicking his tongue over her clitoris. Back and forth. Time after time. Until Iris stiffened and cried out, reaching her own strong climax.

“Now, aren't you glad you agreed to have supper with me tonight?” Longarm said.

“Yes, but you haven't fed me, you cheap son of a bitch,” she said, laughing.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Of course I'm hungry. Do you know what time it is? We've been lying here screwing for almost two hours,” Iris said.

“Huh,” Longarm grunted. “Only a woman would keep track o' such things as that.”

“Only a
hungry
woman,” she corrected.

“Does this mean we gotta get dressed?” he grumbled.

“Only if you don't want to go out on the street naked and get arrested for, well, for whatever they call that sort of thing.”

“Indecent exposure,” he offered, then sighed. “Fact is, I don't mind getting dressed myself, but I sure as hell hate the idea o' you covering up that pretty body o' yours. Fact is, I like lookin' at you naked.”

“Custis, you are a man, and men like to look at any woman naked.”

“Yeah, but you're handsomer than most,” he said, sitting up and looking around to see where he had tossed his clothes when he and the pretty lady were preparing to do battle. He spotted his balbriggans and reached for them. “It is kinda late, isn't it? I hope we can still be served.”

“This is a railroad town,” Iris said. “Something is always open.”

He grinned and squeezed her left tit. “Something, maybe, but I got something better than mere something in mind, lady.”

“Like what, for instance?” she asked.

“Like that fancy place where we ate before. You liked it there, didn't you?”

“Can you afford it again?”

“That wasn't the question I asked you,” he said.

“Yes, I liked it,” Iris said. “A lot.”

“Then let's us go see if they're still serving.”

Iris practically leaped out of bed and began hurriedly throwing clothes on, first one outfit and then another, until she arrived at a combination that she thought would be acceptable.

They were only halfway to the hotel when they ran into George Stepanek.

“You son of a bitch, you haven't paid Mr. Collins your rent yet,” Stepanek growled, stepping so close that Longarm could smell the whiskey he had been drinking.

“That's right. I don't owe Mr. Collins anything yet,” Longarm said. “And mind your language around the lady. We've discussed this before, you an' me.”

“Like hell you don't owe him. It's been almost a month. And I'll talk any way I like since this bitch is no lady.”

“George, am I gonna have to beat your ass again?”

“Give me Mr. Collins's money, you cocksucker,” Stepanek said.

“First off, our agreement was that he gets a percentage of my profits. I don't have any profit yet. Won't until everything is paid for. So I don't owe the man anything. And I'm telling you clear enough to watch your language around the lady or I will personally teach you some manners, Georgie.” Longarm smiled. “Keep in mind that you don't have your bullyboys with you tonight. You don't have anyone to sneak up behind me this time.”

Stepanek's answer was to go for the ivory-handled revolver under his left arm.

He was too close for that to be a good idea.

Longarm snatched the gun out of its leather before Stepanek's hand got there. He tossed it into the street, where it bounced into one of the many ruts.

Stepanek tried to return the favor by grabbing at Longarm's holstered .45. That was not any better an idea than going for his own gun had been.

Longarm chopped the edge of his hand down hard on Stepanek's wrist and followed the chop with a punch to Stepanek's gut. He swayed back to give himself a little more room and planted a right cross on Stepanek's jaw. He heard something break. Perhaps the jaw itself or, possibly, probably, just a tooth or two.

George Stepanek cried out aloud and staggered backward. Longarm followed, slinging punches left and right into Stepanek's face until the man reached the edge of the sidewalk boards and tried to step back, only to encounter thin air.

The tall man toppled over backward and landed on his ass in the mouth of an alley.

Longarm glanced at Iris. She was trying—with limited success—to stifle laughter at the sight of Ira Collins's feared enforcer manhandled like that.

Longarm turned to her, bowed and lifted his Stetson in the lady's direction. “My apologies, ma'am. Shall we proceed? I see lights in the dining room there, so we may be in time for the dinner I promised.”

Iris took his arm, and he escorted her down the block to the Chauncey Hotel.

They were still serving, and both meal and service were every bit as good as he remembered.

Longarm had not thought to rent a post office box. Perhaps he should have. It would have made things much more convenient for the local shakedown artists. Instead they—represented presumably by one of Ira Collins's henchmen—left an envelope with his name on it at the front desk of the Pickering Hotel.

“Message for you, Mr. Long,” the pimple-faced kid on the desk called when he came in a week or so after his dinner with Iris.

“Thanks, Jersey.” For some reason the young fellow loved it when someone referred to him as the Jersey Kid. Longarm supposed the nickname made the youngster feel adventuresome. It did
not
make anyone else think the boy was dangerous.

He carried the message upstairs to read in private. After making sure the room door was locked, he lighted his lamp and turned the wick up high. Then he examined the thing as best he could.

It was the same sort of cheap envelope that Helen had showed him, one of those that had contained threats to her girls.

The message inside was much the same as well. Not threatening to expose Longarm to anyone. He had no one to be exposed to other than Billy Vail, and as far as Billy was concerned Longarm was taking some time off. Lord knew he had accumulated enough vacation time. Unused convalescent time too.

Besides, no one here other than Helen knew that he was a lawman.

YOU ARE IN THE WRONG PLACE. YOU REALLY NEED TO CLOSE UP AND GET OUT BEFORE SOMETHING BAD HAPPENS. THIS IS SENT AS A FRIENDLY WARNING. SO TAKE HEED OR YOU WILL BE HURT.

There was, of course, no signature, nor were there any markings on the envelope to suggest who might have sent it.

Longarm went back downstairs and asked the Jersey Kid who had left the message.

“I don't know, Mr. Long. I took my supper break around six. When I came back on duty, it was there in your slot along with your key. I never saw the person that left it for you. Is that all right? I mean, I didn't do anything wrong, did I?”

Yeah, this was one wild and woolly hombre, all right. Danger on the hoof. “You did exactly right, Jersey. You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Thanks, Mr. Long.” The boy's smile was wide at discovering he had done nothing wrong and was not in trouble. You would have thought he had just been given a brand-new double eagle.

“Let me know if I get any more messages, Jersey.”

“I will, Mr. Long. You can count on me, sir.”

“I know I can, Jersey.” Longarm smiled at the kid and added, “Hell, I do count on you. Good night, Jersey.”

“Good night, sir.”

Longarm trudged back upstairs, wondering just what this was all about.

When he thought about it, though, the message was something he could take as a good sign. It meant that Helen's tormentors were starting to expose themselves.

If they wanted to come after him now . . . good! He would love for them to come right out in the open.

He set the latch on his door, but this evening took the extra precaution of propping his room chair under the doorknob. Not that he was expecting company, but a boy never knew about these things.

Longarm stripped the cheesecloth off a three-pound wedge of cheddar and set it, along with a basket of hardtack, on the end of the counter. There were no customers in the Star at the moment, but soon the lunchtime drinkers would be coming in, and they would want some free eats to go with their beer.

He picked up a cloth and began polishing the bar. Needlessly, as Robert kept things tidy and clean, but at the moment Robert was off getting his own early lunch. He would be back in time to take over for the noon crowd. Or so Longarm hoped. He was not at all sure he could keep up with things by himself.

A bartender's work was more difficult than he had ever realized until he started doing it. Thank goodness for Robert Ware!

The batwings swung open, and a man in a dark suit and wide-brimmed black hat came in.

Longarm fashioned an automatic smile and said, “Welcome. What can I get you?”

By way of an answer the gentleman pulled his coat open to expose a tin star pinned to his vest. The star and a pistol carried in a shoulder holster.

“I didn't know the town had a marshal,” Longarm said.

“It doesn't. I'm Bert Anderson. I'm sheriff of Quapah County. And as such you are in my jurisdiction, Long.”

Longarm wiped his hand with a bar rag, then extended it to the sheriff to shake. “Pleased to meet you, Sheriff. Can I offer you a beer or something? Shot of whiskey maybe?”

“I'll take a beer and a shot,” Anderson said. “And you and me need to talk.”

Longarm poured the shot, leaving the bottle on the bar where Anderson could reach it, then drew the beer chaser and set it in front of the sheriff. “What do we need to talk about, Sheriff?”

Anderson looked around, as if to verify there was no one else in the place to overhear. Then he tossed back the whiskey and took a swallow of beer before he said, “You run some whores in here of an evening.”

Longarm nodded. “That's right, Sheriff. I have four girls.”

“You aren't licensed to have women. Just the, um, liquid goods.”

Longarm could not remember getting a license to run the saloon, never mind the whores. But he was not going to mention that to the county sheriff. “Where do I go to get a license for them?” he asked.

“There is no such license for a saloon,” Anderson said. The man poured himself another shot, downed it, and finished the rest of his beer.

“Another?” Longarm asked.

Anderson wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shook his head. “No, that's enough.”

“About that license . . .”

“I told you, there is no such. You aren't allowed to run whores out of a saloon. Period. Man wants a fuck, he knows where to get it. And it isn't in this saloon or any other around here.”

“What am I supposed to do with the girls I already have?” Longarm asked.

“Send them back where they came from. Or sell them. I, um, know a man who would buy them from you. He'd pay you a good price for them. What did you pay for them to begin with?”

“I'd have to look it up,” Longarm said. “I disremember at the moment.” The truth was that he had gotten the girls from Helen. But he was not going to tell Anderson that. He suspected the sheriff was acting on behalf of Ira Collins more than Quapah County.

“You're being cagey,” Anderson said. “That's fine. You don't have to tell me. But you do have to get rid of them. I'll give you to the end of the week. And I'll mention to this man I told you about that you might have some girls you want to sell.”

“What if I don't want to sell, Sheriff? What if I get stubborn and keep the girls anyway?”

Anderson shrugged. “Then pretty soon you wouldn't be able to find a supplier for your wet goods. Shipments to you might get lost in transit. You might have trouble hiring help to work your place. And your girls might be . . . shall we say . . . incapacitated.” The man gave Longarm a phony smile. “But it's all up to you, Long. You do whatever you think best. I'm just trying to let you know the way things are here. Consider it a favor.”

A favor, yes, Longarm thought. But for whom? For Collins more than likely. Certainly it did him no favor.

“I understand, Sheriff. I wouldn't want to do anything out of line here, me not knowin' how things are.”

Anderson nodded. “That's the right attitude, Long. Keep that up and you and me will have no problems. Cross me, though, and you could find yourself behind bars.”

“Thanks for setting me straight, Sheriff. Are you sure you won't have another before you go?”

“No, thanks. I've had plenty.” But the look he gave to the bottle on the bar said that he wanted it. Wanted it bad. The good sheriff, Longarm suspected, was a drunk who had pulled himself together for this little visit.

The man touched the brim of his hat, then turned and left in a hurry. Off to find another drink, Longarm thought, and no harm done. He had done his duty for Collins. Now he was entitled to his reward.

 • • • 

Longarm trailed him as far as the batwings and looked outside. Anderson was met at the end of the block by George Stepanek. The two spoke briefly, then walked together into the Red Lantern Saloon.

Longarm went back to his own bar and put the glasses Anderson had used into the washtub, where they would be washed and dried before being returned to the shelves later.

He hoped Robert got back before the noon crowd started showing up.