Longarm and the Deadwood Shoot-out (9781101619209) (11 page)

DiNunzio slapped his thigh and chuckled. “I like that, I do.”

“It gives us a peg to hang some serious time on. If we can catch the assholes that are doing it, anyhow. Do you know anything, Noogie? Hear any rumors? Anything at all?”

“You know I wish I could help you, hoss, but I haven’t heard a thing. I’ll take you around and introduce you to the bankers, of course. I know they’ll be pleased to know that you’re on the case for whatever that’s worth. Then tonight you are gonna be my guest for supper. There’s a place in town…I’m pretty sure it’s new since the last time you were here…they have the best meat you ever put a tooth to, I guar-own-tee it.”

Longarm feigned shock. He put a hand to his chest and flapped it like he was feeling his beating heart.

“What, you don’t think we can come up with some decent food in this town?” Noogie asked, acting insulted.

“No, you idiot, I didn’t think you knew how t’ pay for a meal. I thought all you local coppers walked around with your hands in other people’s pockets.”

“Aw, Longarm, you know that’s politicians you’re thinking of.”

Longarm slapped himself on the forehead. “Silly me. Of course.”

“So how’s about you buy us some coffee. We can sit and tell some lies and you can fill me in on everywhere you’ve been and everything you’ve done since the last time I saw you.”

“Sounds fine t’ me, Noogie. Lead the way.”

Chatting over coffee was pleasant enough, but it did not get the job done. After no more than three cups of coffee and a piled-high plate of crullers, it was time to get down to work.

Noogie took Longarm first to the Charter Bank of Deadwood, where the manager practically wept to know there was a federal man on the case.

“You can’t know how important this is to us, Marshal,” the banker said.

“Didn’t you have insurance?” Longarm asked.

“Oh, we did indeed. After the first two holdups the stagecoach line refused to insure our money shipments. After the next two our insurance carrier raised our rates and said they would drop us as customers if another shipment was stolen.”

“No wonder you’re anxious to get this problem resolved,” Longarm said.

“Anything I can do, Marshal. Really. Anything at all. You just let me know, and it’s yours.”

“Information is what I need now,” Longarm told the man. “Anything you know and everything you guess.”

The banker merely shrugged. “I wish I did know.”

They walked over to the Fremont Stage Company office and spoke with the manager there with no greater result. He knew nothing helpful but offered any assistance Longarm might require.

At the next stop, Noogie introduced Longarm to a tall, balding fellow named Tom Bligh. He was every bit as eager to help.

Longarm asked the routine questions including, “Who in the bank knew to expect a transfer of cash?”

“I’m the only one who knows in advance,” Bligh said, “and I don’t mention it to my people.” He sighed and said, “For probably the same reasons that you are asking the question. I can tell you with certainty that none of my people got wind of the shipments and tipped off the robbers.”

Bligh grimaced. “Just last week there was another robbery. Same deal all the way around. Two people in dusters with flour-sack hoods and what I am told were very large shotguns. They took everything.”

Longarm grunted.

“It’s like I told you,” Noogie said. “None of us can figure it out, Longarm. I truly hope you can come up with something.”

“So do I,” Longarm admitted. “So do I.”

“We might see Tom again later,” Noogie said as they left the bank.

Longarm raised an eyebrow, but DiNunzio did not add to the comment. Instead he changed the subject and pointed down the street toward a tall building that was obviously a commercial establishment of some sort but had no sign posted outside.

“That’s our other bank,” he said, “but there’s no point in us talking to them.”

“They haven’t been robbed?” Longarm asked.

“Nope. But then they’re a different sort of bank. I don’t understand it, really, but they’re what they call an investment bank. They deal mostly in paper and promises, not cash. They’re for the high rollers, not for us working guys.” Noogie smiled. “Anyway, I got some things I need to do. What do you say I meet you back at my office about, oh, six o’clock. We’ll go have supper and then I’ll take you to a place that I like.” He winked. “You’ll like it, too, and that’s a promise.”

“What sort of…?”

DiNunzio held his hand up to stop the questioning. “You’ll see. Trust me.”

Longarm grinned. “The last time you told me that I damn near got shot by a jealous husband.”

“Hey, give me a break here. How was I to know the woman was married!”

“All right. I’ll trust you. But just this one more time.” Longarm laughed. “I’ll see you about six then, Noogie.”

Longarm left his friend and collected his carpetbag from Georgia, making the excuse that he needed to be able to observe the activities in town. Part of the job he was on, he explained. He did not mention the new husband’s incessant commentary as the reason for his flight from Georgia’s house. Instead he gave her a kiss on the cheek and his thanks and let it go at that.

He carried his bag in town and stopped at the first hotel he came to. The place was not grand, but it appeared to be clean…and there was no Ben Andrews present to talk his ears off.

“Of course we’ll take your voucher for payment. You’re a deputy marshal, you say? Wonderful. That should make us safer, just having you here, right? Your room is upstairs and to the left. Number six. I hope you enjoy your stay with us.” The clerk handed Longarm a key with a numbered tag dangling from it and pointed to the staircase.

“Send up some hot water, please.”

“Do you need a tub or just a pitcher?”

“A pitcher will do,” Longarm told the man, rubbing his cheek to check the state of his whiskers. He definitely needed a wash and a shave before whatever Noogie had in mind because whatever it was, it was apt to involve
women. The ladies were Noogie’s vice, as Longarm learned long since.

Not that he was complaining, he thought with a wry smile as he stripped off his clothes and dipped a cloth into the basin of warm water.

“You’re right,” Longarm said as they walked out of the restaurant, picking his teeth and rubbing his very full belly. “That was the best meal I’ve had in a long while.”

“Glad you enjoyed it.” DiNunzio smiled. “Now we get to the good part of the evening.”

“And that would be…?”

DiNunzio’s smile only got wider. He did not explain.

He led Longarm to a quiet—or at least as quiet as Deadwood seemed to get—residential street at the edge of town and to a two-story house with flowerpots on the porch and lamps glowing in the windows.

“You’ll like this place,” Noogie said as they mounted the steps and approached the front door.

Longarm looked but there were no obvious indications of just exactly what sort of place it was. He could, however, guess.

Noogie tapped lightly on the door, which was promptly opened by a huge man, black as night and so filled with health and vitality that he looked like he had been oiled.
His smile when he saw DiNunzio was wide. “Marshal. Welcome. Come inside, sir.”

Noogie beamed as he turned toward Longarm and said, “Dennis, this is my old friend Custis Long. Custis, this is Dennis Demaio.” He laughed. “With a name like that we think Dennis must be Italian. Me and him could even be related.”

“Don’t pay attention to him, Marshal,” the bouncer said. “We don’t pay him any mind.”

Demaio had a slight accent. British, Longarm thought? He wanted to ask where the man was from but refrained, common courtesy overcoming curiosity.

“Come inside. Please,” Demaio said, ushering them into an opulently furnished parlor. “Miss Theresa will be out in a moment. Please sit down. She will be out in a moment.”

There were several whores already in the room. Two of them squealed with joy when they saw DiNunzio enter. The girls were young and pretty and elegantly dressed.

Miss Theresa, Longarm thought, must surely deal with an upper-crust clientele. He wondered how Noogie could afford girls like these on a town marshal’s salary.

Longarm was halfway across the room when it occurred to him that Dennis had greeted him as “Marshal.” He was only introduced by name, not by title.

Before he had time to chew on that thought the room was suddenly filled to overflowing with the presence of Miss Theresa.

Theresa Bullea was slim, elegant, every inch what Longarm thought of as a lady. When she spoke her accent matched Dennis’s. Probably, he guessed, the two came from the same distant place. They must have been together for some length of time.

“What a pleasure to meet you, Marshal Long,” she said, extending her hand.

On an impulse, instead of shaking the woman’s hand, Longarm bowed over it and kissed the air a half inch or so above the woman’s warm, scented flesh.

Theresa had light brown hair done up and pinned. She had golden brown eyes and a heart-shaped mouth. She was fairly tall for a woman, probably five feet six or seven. Her perfume was delicate, the scent indefinable. Not flowery but very sensual. But then Theresa herself was very sensual. An aura of sexuality surrounded her.

Longarm felt himself growing hard just from being in the same room with her. “My pleasure, ma’am,” he said.

“Please. Sit. Make this your home while you visit us here in our dear little Deadwood.” She made a moue. “Such a terrible name for such a dear town, no?”

Longarm found himself agreeing with her. Hell, he would have agreed with this woman if she said the sun was blue. And never mind that Deadwood, Dakota Territory, was a noisy, stinking, muddy hellhole of a place. If Theresa Bullea said it was a dear little place, well, then it was one awfully damn dear little place. End of subject.

“Custis is your name, yes?” she said, taking his arm and guiding him to a comfortable chair. “I had an uncle named Custis. Such a nice name. But oh, such a terrible end for my dear uncle. He died, you see. In Africa. Killed by some Hottentot or”—she waved her hand dismissively—“or one of those aborigines. I can’t begin to keep them straight.” She laughed—delightfully, Longarm thought—and added, “Even Dennis cannot keep them straight, and he comes from one of them.”

Theresa motioned to one of the girls, a stunning redhead with porcelain skin and artificially red lips, and said, “Bring the marshal anything he likes, Agnes.” She
turned back to Longarm, cocked her head to the side in thought, and said, “Let me see, your preference is for rye whiskey, is it not? Rye, Agnes. Our best.”

Noogie had been following them. He said, “The usual for me, Aggie. Theresa, these robberies are sure to be cleared up now that Longarm is here. He’s the best there is.”

“Is that why he is here, Noogie? Oh, I am so glad.” She shuddered. “We all worry.” To Longarm she said, “We are accustomed to the occasional strong-arm robbery. Even to a holdup now and then. But these road agents are frightening. I am afraid to have a drive in my phaeton.” She shook her head sadly. “And transporting my girls here from the east. It is all quite discouraging.”

“Don’t worry, Theresa,” Noogie said. “My pal Longarm already has some ideas about this. Those highwaymen will be behind bars before you can say Yankee Doodle.”

That was news to Longarm, but then Noogie never had been one to worry about anything as inconsequential as the truth when there were women involved.

Agnes returned with a tall drink for Longarm and a cup of steaming coffee for Noogie the teetotaler. A second girl, just as beautiful but a head shorter, was with her carrying a tray of iced cookies.

Longarm was still full from dinner, but…the cookies were every bit as good as they looked.

And the girls were not so bad-looking, either.

Noogie DiNunzio’s idea of a pleasant evening was not entirely terrible, Longarm decided.

“Agnes, we will not be needing your services, thank you.”

“But, Miss Terry…”

“Tish tosh, dear. No ‘buts’ if you please. I shall see that you are properly compensated.” She linked her arm into Longarm’s. “Tonight the marshal is mine, dear.”

“Yes, miss.” The girl bobbed her head and turned away.

It occurred to Longarm that “Miss Terry” ran a tight ship here. There would be no backtalk or misbehavior from her girls.

And what a splendid cadre of girls they were. While Longarm sipped his drink—the rye really was superb; he wondered where the hell she found it because he would love to lay in a supply of his own when he got back to Denver—a bevy of beauties wandered in and out of the parlor, as did a small but steady flow of customers, all of whom seemed to belong in the upper end of Deadwood’s social register.

There were girls of all description. Tall and short,
blond and brunette. White, black, brown, and yellow. And every one a beauty. There was even a fat girl with one leg. Longarm had no idea what sort of man might want her but obviously there was a need for her services or she would not be here.

Terry rested her hand on Longarm’s leg. On his thigh, actually. Very high up on his thigh.

She looked down and could hardly miss seeing the lump in his trousers caused by his hard-on, which had only become more insistent now that she was seated practically in his lap.

Terry laughed and leaned close to whisper, “Interested?” He was aware of the warmth of her breath in his ear almost as much as the meaning of that single word.

By way of an answer he reached over to cup her left breast in his hand and gently squeeze.

Terry laughed, took that hand in hers and stood. “Ladies,” she announced, “if there is anything short of the house catching fire, take your difficulties to Dennis. I shall be busy, thank you.”

Head high and smiling, she led Longarm through a narrow hallway into the back of the house where she had a suite of private rooms, including her office.

And a bedroom.

Quite a bedroom, in fact.

It was beautifully furnished in mahogany and satin, the predominant colors pink and white. The lady definitely had a fine and discriminating taste.