LONGARM AND THE DOUBLE-BARREL BLOWOUT [066-066-5.0]
By: Tabor Evans
Synopsis:
It started off as an honest-to-goodness vacation. But the smell of evil is never far from Longarm’s nostrils, and things got to stinking soon enough. One of his oldest friends is being hunted for a fortune in Spanish gold; a ravishing young woman has been kidnapped; and one of the most dishonest, disreputable, and disgusting outlaws in the West is responsible for it all. His name is Hank Bass. And his number is up. 223rd novel in the “Longarm” series, 1997.
Jove Books New York Copyright (C) 1997 by Jove Publications, Inc.
All rights reserved.
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.
ISBN: 0-515-12104-5
Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.
The Putnam Berkley World Wide Web site address is HTTP://WWW.BERKLEY.COM/BERKLEY JOVE and the “J” design are trademarks belonging to Jove Publications, Inc.
A Jove Book published by arrangement with the author Printing history Jove edition July 1997
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
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 U.S. Deputy Marshal 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 all-new series by the creators of Longarm! The rousing adventures of the most brutal gang of cutthroats ever assembled—Quantrill’s Raiders.
Chapter 1
When the small and very rumpled package landed on his littered desk, United States Deputy Marshal Custis Long paid it no attention as he struggled to complete some detested federal paperwork. By four o’clock, however, Custis had finally cleared his desk enough to rediscover the messy brown package. It caught his attention among a number of other unopened packages precisely because it was battered and disreputable looking.
When Longarm held it up for a closer inspection, he began searching for a postmark but it had been partially smudged. As best he could tell, the brown, string-tied package had been mailed from somewhere in Arizona. Whoever had addressed it was damn lucky because the package was inadequately addressed to LONGARM, U.S. GOVNMINT, DENVIR, COLORADOE. No department. No street address. “Watch out for that one,” a passing federal worker remarked. “Looks like it could hold a rattlesnake or some Indian curse.”
Longarm shook his head and massaged the package. “Nope. Nothing moving. Nothing to worry about.”
The man chuckled. “Then it might be some poison from one of your frontier women who discovered that you have a girlfriend in every town between St. Louis and San Francisco.”
“Oh, bullshit.”
It was obvious that Marshal Slim Behan was at loose ends with nothing of his own to do. The man was bored and loitering beside Custis’s desk waiting for him to open the package.
“Haven’t you got something of your own to do?” Longarm finally asked.
Slim sauntered over to his own desk, yelling back over his shoulder, “Hope it’s bad news, Longarm. You been having too damn much fun the last couple of times you went out.”
“Sure I have! If your idea of ‘fun’ is getting shot in the shorts and almost beaten to death by a couple of murdering whores I had to deliver to the federal prison.”
“Ha! I seen them whores! Was four of ‘em and they were all kissing you good-bye and trying to unbuckle your belt one last time! Some hardship assignment, you lucky bastard.”
“They weren’t trying to get into my pants! They were trying to get into my pockets so they could remove their handcuffs!”
“Sure they were!”
The entire office began to laugh, and Custis could feel his cheeks warming so he decided to call it a day. Snatching up the little envelope and his snuff-brown and flat-crowned Stetson, Longarm barreled for the door, and his exit caused even more laughter.
Longarm felt better the minute he was outside. The spring weather was invigorating and the trees in the nearby park were bursting with pale green leaves and sweet-smelling blossoms. The air was like perfume and so clear that to Longarm even the most distant snow-capped peaks seemed magnified and almost touchable. The day was a tonic and, best of all, Longarm was about to go on vacation.
Vacation. Even the word sounded strange because he hadn’t had one in so many years. Oh, sure, his friend and supervisor, Billy Vail, certainly wanted to give Custis a well deserved rest. It had been two years since Custis had taken any time off and he was mentally exhausted and physically exhausted. But their office was chronically shorthanded and Longarm, being the best and most experienced field marshal, was impossible to replace on the toughest cases. But this June, by damned, he was going on vacation. Maybe to New Orleans or St. Louis or even back to West Virginia where he still had a few relatives.
“Hey, Custis!” Ruben, the shoe shine man, called. “Need your boots worked on today?”
Ruben had been shining Longarm’s boots for years. The old man claimed to be part Apache Indian, and probably was, for his skin was the color of leather. Ruben was a colorful character and liked to wear a red bandanna like Cochise or Geronimo. His hair was straight and black, streaked liberally with silver hair and always bound in a pair of thick braids. Ruben had a great fondness for turquoise and silver jewelry. He liked to talk while he worked and his favorite customers were the frontier marshals that moved in and out of Denver’s federal building.
“My boots look pretty good, Ruben.”
“I can make ‘em look even better.”
“All right,” Longarm said, knowing that Ruben would be hurt if Longarm failed to tell him that he was about to go on a month-long vacation.
“Longarm, you jest sit right down and take a load off these feet. Wanna read yesterday’s newspaper?”
“No thanks,” Longarm said, stepping up onto the chair and resting his boots on iron pegs. “I’m going on vacation next week. Thought I’d let you know so you didn’t think someone out there plugged me this time.”
“A vacation!” Ruben grinned, always an interesting sight because of his missing front teeth. “Where you goin?”
“Haven’t decided for sure,” Longarm admitted. “Maybe New Orleans. Think I’d like to take the train to St. Louis and then ride the riverboats all the way down to the Gulf of Mexico.”
“Woo-wee! Now maybe you need old Ruben to come along and carry your bags and to keep these boots lookin’ good!”
“I couldn’t afford you,” Longarm said as he gave Ruben the customary five-cent cheroot and stuck one in his own mouth. He lit both and the two men puffed in contentment for a moment before Ruben started dabbing on brown shoe polish, saying, “That sure is a sorry-lookin’ little package you got there, Longarm. What’s in it?”
“Damned if I know. I guess I might as well find out.”
Ruben nodded to indicate he also thought that was probably a good idea. “Where’s it from?”
“Arizona, if I’m reading this smudged postmark correctly.”
Longarm reached for his pocketknife. He was a big man, standing six four and weighing over two hundred pounds. He was still in his prime and cut an imposing figure with his deeply tanned face, broad shoulders, and handlebar mustache. He had a notorious reputation as a ladies’ man, and not without good reason, although he never spoke of his times with women nor did he give them much thought when he was hot on some outlaw’s trail.