“Now,” Longarm said, “how do you like this, you sonofabitch? Why don’t you pay me an insult now? Can’t talk? Something got your tongue? You say you’re strangling? You say you can’t breathe? Right sorry to hear that, Mister Caster. You make it a habit of badmouthing U.S. deputy marshals, do you?” Longarm saw Caster’s eyes grow even wider. “Aw, hell, Caster, don’t tell me you didn’t know I was a federal marshal. Hell, I figure you went to all that trouble to tell me how dumb I was and what a hayseed, and how there wasn’t no way you could be caught, just on account of you knowed I was a U.S. deputy marshal.” He forced his forearm up even tighter against Caster’s throat, lifting up against his chin so that he was almost pulling the man off his feet.
But something was nagging at Longarm, something he’d seen when he first charged into the room. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t bring it to mind. He was going to have to turn around and look the place over, but first he needed to park Caster somewhere he couldn’t cause trouble. Longarm suddenly grasped Caster by the shirt front, releasing his forearm hold as he did. For a second Caster gasped for air, but he had little time to savor the relief. Longarm swung him around with his left arm so that he was pointing toward the far side wall, set him up, and then hit him square in the face with his big, heavy, right fist. He drove through the blow, putting his shoulder into it. He had meant to catch Caster on the jaw, perhaps breaking it, but Caster’s head had wobbled at the last instant and Longarm’s fist had taken him in the mouth. But Longarm had the satisfaction, as Caster dropped like a sack of meal, of feeling some teeth break. Caster went down, sprawling on his back. He was not unconscious, but he was so stunned that it would be a long moment before he could get up.
Longarm turned away to look at the room, shaking his hand. He saw a little blood on his knuckles and knew that one of Caster’s teeth had cut him. “Damn you, Jay Caster,” he said. “You’ve bit me. When are you going to quit doing me harm? Hell, I’d rather be bit by a mad dog.”
He took a step toward the center of the room and glanced around. Then he saw what had bothered him, what had caught in his mind’s eye. The window he’d made sure was closed and the curtains he’d pulled together so no one could see in from outside were wide open. Longarm glanced toward Caster. The man was still down, but he was starting to stir around. “You sonofabitch,” Longarm said, “What have you been up to at that window? Did you drop something out of it?” He walked over to the window and stuck his head out. He could see the ground below. It was clear of anything suspicious. He pulled his head in and shut the window and drew the curtains. “Caster, what the hell you been up to?”
Longarm walked over to the spot where Caster had dropped the sack of money. He picked it up and looked inside. It appeared to be intact. He glanced at Caster, who had hoisted himself up on his elbows and was shaking his head. His mouth was bloody. “I don’t know what you were up to, Caster, but it better not make me angry. I’m already a little put out with you. Especially now that I see I’ve injured myself on your teeth.” He hooked the sack down on his belt.
He stopped beside the bedside table and picked up the half-full bottle of Maryland whiskey, drew the cork, and poured a little on his hand. It stung. He said, “Now look what you’ve caused me to do,” he said. “Waste good whiskey pouring it on the floor. What else are you going to do to me, Caster? I swear, I don’t believe I ever met a man had less respect for a United States marshal than you.” He finished with the whiskey by taking a good pull from the bottle. It felt good going down, warming his stomach. He corked the bottle and set it back on the table, shaking his right hand in the air. Then he walked around the bed and looked at Caster. He had made it to a sitting position, but his eyes still looked dazed. He raised a hand to his mouth and touched it and then looked at the blood on his fingers. “I guess you didn’t know I’ve had a toothache this whole week,” Longarm said, “and you never said one word in sympathy about it. Well, I reckon you’ll know how I felt now. By the way, where the hell are my papers? Just because I’m a federal marshal don’t mean you can cheat me out of what I paid for. But I guess they’re down in Mister Mull’s room.” Caster glanced up in surprise. “Yeah, I knew about him. But listen, you have got to get up. You can’t lay around in here all day. We got to get this situation wrapped up. Hell, wasn’t you in a hurry a while ago? Well, what has changed? C’mon, man, you’ve got to get on your feet. What happened, you take a little too much wine with lunch? Here, let me help you.” He leaned over, grasped Caster by the shirt and coat, and jerked him to his feet. The sound of cloth tearing was loud in the room. Most of Caster’s collar came off.
“Aw, hell,” Longarm said. “Did you tear your shirt? Damn, I feel bad about that. But we’ve got to move along.” He gave Caster a shove toward the door. The customs official stumbled, but recovered his balance and leaned against the wall. Longarm came up behind him, reached around and opened the door, then shoved him out into the hall. Caster came to a stop, his hand to his mouth. Longarm shoved him forward. “Room one ten,” he said. “That’s where my papers are, right? You were going to give me my papers, weren’t you? I reckon you were. Hell, I paid enough for them. You were going to come out, go down and get the papers from Mull, leave them in my room, and then … And then what, Caster? What did you open that damn window for?”
He shoved Caster down the hall until he came to rest in front of room 110. “What say we drop in on your partner, Mister James Mull? Reckon he’ll have pie and coffee ready for us? Let’s don’t bother to knock.” He pushed Caster aside, raised his leg, and smashed the door open with his boot heel. As soon as the door flew back, Longarm grabbed Caster and threw him bodily into the room. The man stumbled and staggered, but didn’t go down.
Longarm stepped through the doorway. The room was bigger than his. There were two windows on the back wall, about six feet apart. One of them was partly open. A light breeze was fluttering the curtains. Longarm looked to his left. There was a divan against the wall and a small table in the middle of the room. The bed was to the right. A man at the table, clad in a black split-tail coat, had risen to his feet. He was wearing a starched shirt and a string tie. Longarm said, “I reckon you’d be Mister James Mull. Well, you got something belongs to me.”
The Brownsville customs officer stared at Longarm, speechless, and then shifted his gaze to Caster. “Wha-” he stammered. “What, what in hell is going on, Jay?”
Longarm said, “You’ll find out soon enough, Mister Mull.” Mull was tall and thin and younger than Longarm had expected him to be. There were a few papers on the table along with an inkwell and a nub pen. Longarm glanced at the table and then at James Mull. Caster was leaning against the bed, his hand still to his mouth. “Mister Mull,” Longarm said, “if you’re carrying a gun, you better be damn good with it or be prepared to eat it raw.”
Mull’s eyes got round. He looked over at Caster. “Jay! What is this?”