Except Davis wasn’t in Laredo and Longarm had no clear idea when he would show, and there was only a few more days, less than that really, to deliver the money to Caster—or worse, to put it in San Diego’s hands. That, Longarm thought, ought to be some meeting. That is if they didn’t have another one before that. He shook his head and sighed and reached over and got the whiskey bottle. The apothecary had said not to mix the two, so once he set in on the whiskey, the laudanum was out the window for the time being. He took the cork out of the bottle and tilted it up and rolled some into his mouth. Then he leaned his head to the side so the whiskey could get over and drown the sore tooth. It was a damned slow process and one that Longarm knew from experience wouldn’t keep on working but for now it was all he had.
He could have taken the laudanum. He wasn’t afraid of San Diego. He didn’t figure it would be much trouble to kill the Mexican gunman. He’d observed that men who went around with hard faces and tried to put a look in their eyes that said they were dangerous, were, as a rule, not as bad-ass or tough as they acted. He even felt confident that Austin Davis could take San Diego in anything even resembling a fair fight. But that wasn’t the point. He couldn’t afford to kill San Diego until the right time. Until then he had to handle him, and that was considerably tougher than just gunning the sonofabitch down.
Longarm shook his head. Things had come to a sorry pass when a man of his experience and resources was forced to hide out in his hotel room to avoid some tinhorn shooter. Who also happened to have a woman who looked to Longarm like about the most delicious pie he’d ever eaten. Lord, could he do with some of that! And maybe it might be available once all the cards had fallen out. But, for the time being, he reckoned he needed to stay as far away from Miss Dulcima as possible. He swallowed the whiskey he’d been holding in his mouth and reached for the bottle again. Meanwhile three dollars worth of painkiller was going to waste sitting on a bedside table.
Chapter 8
It was early afternoon Tuesday, just after lunch, when Austin Davis finally showed up at the hotel. By chance Longarm was waiting around in the lobby when Davis, dusty and looking tired and trail-worn, came walking in. Davis had come in the door heading for the desk, but he swerved when he saw Longarm, and headed his way. Keeping a straight face and speaking loud enough for the onlookers to hear, he said, “Mister Long? Mister Long? Is that you?”
Longarm gave him a look warning him not to get cute. “Yes, Mister Davis,” he said. “Something wrong with your eyes? It hasn’t been that long since you’ve seen me.”
“I reckon it is,” Davis replied, “because you’re clean and your clothes are clean. I haven’t seen anybody cleaned up in about a month.”
“I didn’t realize you had been gone that long, Mister Davis.” Longarm put out his hand as Davis came up, and they shook. “Have a successful trip, I hope?”
“I got your cattle. Right at a thousand head. We’ll have to get a head count, but it won’t miss what you ordered by ten cows. Lord, I’m mighty glad to be back in civilization. I want a bath and some hot food and a barbershop shave.
Longarm was studying him closely, trying to get the information across to Davis that they needed to talk, and soon. “Then I reckon you ought to get you a room and maybe a bath. Where is the herd?”
Austin Davis was returning his look. Longarm could tell from his face that he knew something had changed since he’d left. Davis said, “They’re being held just across the river. Few miles east. I was able to rent a pasture for a couple of days. The cattle are in good shape. Yeah, I’ll get a room and have a bath. You staying here?”
“Yeah,” Longarm said, giving Davis his room number. “I’ve got to run over to the bank for a minute, but I’ll be back shortly. Why don’t you knock on my door soon as you get fixed up.”
“I’ll do that, Mister Long. I’ll be as quick as I can and then we’ll get down to business. Glad to hear you’re going to the bank.”
Longarm could see that the loafers in the lobby had lost interest in them. But he said, for the benefit of anyone listening, “Yeah, I reckon I owe you some money.”
“Soon enough for that.”
“All right,” Longarm said as he stepped toward the door, “I’ll see you quick as you can get yourself shaped UP.”
He went out the door, thinking of all he had to tell Austin Davis and hoping the deputy would understand how delicate the situation was. But Longarm was feeling better than he had in days. He’d suffered with his tooth all through the previous day and into the night. But then, when it had come eleven o’clock and time for bed, he’d given in and taken a dose of the laudanum. The effect had been miraculous and he had gotten an excellent night’s sleep and awakened for the first time in a week without the toothache dragging him to the edge of consciousness. It had done wonders for his frame of mind. He didn’t know how long the relief would last, but he was going to enjoy it while he could. He knew it was just a temporary condition of his mind but, right then, he felt he would rather have the absence of pain than a woman.
As luck would have it, the money had come. He directed the bank to hold it on deposit for him and to have it ready in big bills.
Coming out of the bank, he saw Jasper White standing across the street, seeming to look his way. Longarm raised his hand in salutation, but White made no response. Longarm wondered if Jasper was following him, either on orders from Caster or San Diego or just on his own hook. It didn’t matter. Whatever Longarm would be doing in the immediate future wasn’t anything he cared if Jasper saw. He and Austin Davis would act and talk in public just as if they were, indeed, a stock gatherer and a contractor.
He went back to the hotel and went directly to his room. There was a small round table at one end of the room and he pulled it out a little, drew up two chairs, and set out a bottle of whiskey, a jug of water, and two glasses. After making sure the door was unlatched, he lit a cigarillo, sat down at the table, and poured himself a drink of the Maryland whiskey that was so smooth it was a jailable offense in that state for anyone caught gulping it down. He took a small drink and let it slide down his throat. It was a real pleasure to be able to drink again like a normal man without first watering the whiskey down with spit while he swished it around to comfort the damn tooth. He sat, smoking and drinking, letting the whole scheme revolve through his mind as he went over it step by step. It seemed pretty good to him, although he doubted that Austin Davis would think so. But then, James Mull had been just a “maybe” in Davis’s plan, with no sure way to rope him in.