“Coffee?” she asked.
“Black and hot and plenty of it,” said Longarm. He glanced at a menu chalked on a blackboard on the wall behind the counter and went on. “Bring me a stack of flapjacks, a pile of fried potatoes, and as much bacon as you can fit onto the plate around ‘em. Better have a steak and some gravy on the side too.”
“Goodness, you must be hungry this morning.” The woman’s smile widened. “What did you do last night to work up such an appetite, sir?”
Longarm patted his belly and returned her grin. “I’m just a growing boy,” he said, though he hadn’t been a boy of any kind since he’d left the mountains of West-by-God Virginia all those years ago, during the Late Unpleasantness.
The waitress laughed and hurried off to begin filling his order. Longarm glanced around the dining room. It was early, with sunrise still a quarter hour away, but quite a few customers were seated at the tables scattered around the room. More men were sitting at the counter. Most of the diners were townsmen who probably stopped here for breakfast every day before going on to their businesses. Longarm saw a few cowboys, all of whom seemed to have hangovers. The lawman chuckled as he noted the greenish tinge on their faces. He remembered all too well what it was like to be young and sick as a dog from too much Who-hit-John the night before.
He had been sitting there only a few minutes when a big figure loomed in the arched entrance that led to the hotel lobby. Lazarus Coffin had a scowl on his face, and the townsmen who glanced at him looked away quickly, unwilling to meet his squinty-eyed glare. Coffin spotted Longarm and started across the room toward the table, moving stiffly as if his muscles were sore. Longarm knew that feeling quite well too. He had some aches and pains this morning from the ruckus with Coffin the night before.
“You seen Anna Marie?” Coffin demanded as he came up to the table. “I never did find her last night so’s I could tell her how sorry I am.”
“Haven’t seen hide nor hair of her this morning,” Longarm replied truthfully. He hoped Coffin wouldn’t press the issue. The last thing he wanted was another brawl with the massive Texas Ranger. With a wave at the chair on the other side of the table, Longarm said, “Have a seat and join me for breakfast.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” said Coffin. “I’m so damn hungry my belly thinks my throat’s been cut.” As he sat down, he turned his head in the general direction of the counter and bellowed, “Coffee, damn it!”
Longarm saw the cowboys wince as Coffin’s roar assaulted their fragile senses. Coffin looked a little green around the gills himself, but if he was feeling the effects of too much whiskey the night before, he seemed determined not to let it bother him. Longarm asked, “You got any thoughts on how we ought to go about the job that brought us both here?”
“You mean-“ Coffin began loudly, then stopped, remembering that Longarm didn’t want a lot of talk about the specifics of their mission. Lowering his voice, he continued. “I figured we’d just corral them old boys here in the hotel.”
Longarm nodded. “That was my thought too. They ain’t coming here to sightsee, so they might as well stay inside and get their work done.”
The blond waitress approached the table tentatively carrying a tray that contained a pot of coffee and two cups. She set it on the table and then scurried back a couple of steps, as if afraid that Coffin would lash out at her. The Ranger didn’t seem to notice how badly he’d spooked her.
“Damn well about time,” muttered Coffin as he filled one of the cups and then passed the coffeepot to Longarm. Longarm took it carefully, using the piece of leather that was wrapped around the handle to keep from burning his fingers. While Longarm was filling his own cup, Coffin slurped down about half of the blistering hot brew, then smacked his lips. “Not quite strong enough, but I reckon it’ll do.”
Any stronger and it would have eaten a hole in the cup, Longarm thought as he sipped the stuff.
Sheriff Sanderson strolled into the dining room, spotted his fellow lawmen, and came across the room to join them. He was wearing a battered old hat and a stained vest this morning. “Hidy,” he greeted Longarm and Coffin. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Help yourself,” said Longarm with a gesture at one of the two remaining empty chairs. Sanderson sat down and dropped his hat on the floor beside him. His thinning brown hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a comb in weeks.
Sanderson and Coffin made quite a pair, Longarm thought as he looked at them. They were about as disreputable-looking as any badge-toters he had ever run across. But how they looked wasn’t nearly as important as how well they did their jobs, and so far Longarm didn’t have any real evidence either way on that score.
The sheriff motioned for the waitress to bring him a coffee cup. When she had done that, Sanderson picked up the pot and looked over at Coffin. “You been behavin’ yourself since you went up to Austin and joined the Rangers, Lazarus?”
“Sure I have,” said Coffin. “I been a model citizen, Sheriff.”
Sanderson grunted. “You best stay that way, or you’ll wind up in my jail again. Couldn’t hardly believe it last night when somebody told me you was the Ranger sent down here to give Marshal Long a hand.”
Coffin’s bearded jaw tightened. “No offense to Long here, but they didn’t need to send no federal lawman. I coulda taken care o’ things just fine by my ownself.”
“It never hurts to have two good men on a job,” Longarm said mildly.
“It might if they keep trippin’ over one another,” said Coffin.
“That won’t happen.” Longarm’s voice was flat, but it left no room for argument.
The three men kept the waitress busy for the next half hour as she hurried back and forth between the table and the kitchen, carrying platters of food that seemed to be consumed almost before she could make it back to the kitchen. As Longarm would have expected, Coffin was a prodigious eater, and the sheriff put away quite a bit of food for a medium-sized fella. Longarm’s own appetite was keen this morning, and he wasn’t satisfied until he had cleaned four plates of his own.
Finally, Coffin leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. “Reckon I’ve exercised the ol’ table muscle enough.” He let out a loud belch and undid the top button of his denim pants.
“You’re still a crude son of a bitch, ain’t you, Lazarus?” said Sanderson. Coffin just grinned at him. Sanderson put a little more coffee in his cup and turned to Longarm. “Anything special you want me to do whilst you’re in town, Marshal?”
“Nope,” said Longarm. “Until we see how things are going to go, we won’t know exactly what we’ll need to be doing.” He checked his watch. “It’ll still be a while before the parties from both sides get here.”
Sanderson’s chair scraped as he pushed it back and stood up. “Well, I reckon I’d better mosey on then. I’ll make my mornin’ rounds, make sure nothin’ happened durin’ the night.”
The sheriff fished some coins out of his pocket and left them on the table to pay for his breakfast, then started slowly toward the door. Longarm had the feeling that the local lawman didn’t get in any hurry unless he had to. A glance out the front window of the dining room showed Longarm that the sun was up now, the reddish-gold slanting rays lighting the street outside.
Illuminating, as well, were the armed men who suddenly raced by on horseback, yelling and shooting.
Chapter 4
For an instant, Longarm sat there, too stunned by the sudden outbreak of violence to move. Then instincts honed by long years in a very dangerous profession took hold, and he surged up out of his chair, overturning it behind him. His hand flashed to his gun and jerked the Colt from its holster.