While it was true that Padgett was probably in no danger of anyone taking a shot at him, Longarm wasn’t ready to give up yet on the job that had brought him here. There were still things to learn, and he intended to dig them out. He knew Billy Vail would agree with him.
Longarm had been able to get together intimately with Janice and Julie Cassidy once more while they were in El Paso, but there was no opportunity to do so on the train. It arrived in Tucson around the middle of the next day, and as had happened before, Padgett, the Cassidy sisters, and the other owners went first to the racetrack to make sure their horses were safely delivered to the stables. After that, it was back to the hotel where the parties were staying.
Tucson was still more of a frontier town than El Paso, though not as boisterous as its neighbor to the southeast, Tombstone. Longarm had been there many times before and knew about the settlement’s remaining rough edges. If there was going to be trouble, Tucson would be a good place for it to happen. He would have to keep his eyes open and be extra alert.
The hotel was one of the few frame buildings in town. Nearly every structure was made of adobe bricks left their natural color, so the overall effect from a distance was one of the buildings blending into the ground. The hotel rose two stories, with a false third floor on the front, which made it stand out even more from the squat, square buildings around it. The lumber to build the hotel had been hauled in by wagons from the heavily timbered slopes of the mountains that rose in the distance. Those pines had also furnished the planks that had been used to build the grandstands around the racetrack. Like many things in Tucson, the track and the stands were spanking new. There had been a settlement here for many years, ever since Spanish explorers in search of treasure had come through the area and founded the original town. None of the walls from the Spanish settlement still stood, but its influence continued to be felt. There was a sleepiness, a lassitude, in the hot midday air that practically cried out for a siesta.
Senator Padgett wasn’t particularly interested in a nap, however. He said to Longarm as they entered the hotel, “I want to see one of those Mexican cantinas. I’ve heard about them, but I’ve never seen one for myself.”
“I’m not certain that would be a good idea, Senator,” Leon Mercer said from behind them. “I’ve heard that such places can be rather, ah, dangerous.”
Padgett turned to the aide with a disgusted look. “That’s why I’m going to take Marshal Long with me,” said Padgett, waving the unlit cigar in his hand at Longarm. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, Leon.” He paused, then added, “If you’re scared to go.”
There were plenty of times when grown men acted just like little boys, Longarm reflected, and he supposed he was as guilty of that as any other man. He waited to see if Padgett would resort to the infamous double-dog dare to get Mercer to accompany them, but it proved to be unnecessary. Mercer sighed and said, “Very well. I’ll go with you. But don’t blame me if some … some bandido sticks a knife in your ribs, Senator!”
Padgett guffawed and slapped Mercer on the back, staggering the smaller man a little. “That’s the spirit, Leon! Don’t worry, though. Marshal Long won’t let anything happen to me.”
The senator was a mighty confident hombre, thought Longarm. He hoped that confidence was well placed as they went in search of a cantina.
At this hour of the day, the settlement was quiet, baking in the heat of the noontime sun. Longarm didn’t care much for this impulse of the senator’s, but he supposed that if Padgett was bound and determined to visit a cantina, this was as good a time as any. They would be less likely to run into trouble now.
The place Longarm found wasn’t far from the hotel. As he and Padgett and Mercer passed through the arched entrance into the cooler dimness of the interior, Longarm paused to let his eyes adjust to the change in light.
This was a typical Southwestern cantina, with tables scattered around the big main room on a hard-packed dirt floor. A bar made of wide planks nailed onto empty barrels ran across part of the rear wall. At the end of the bar was another arched doorway, this one covered with a curtain of beads. The air was heavy with the odors of tobacco smoke, stale beer, tequila, and unwashed human flesh. A couple of men stood at the bar, while three more sat at a table. They were the only customers. A stout Mexican in a dirty white shirt and apron was behind the bar pouring the shots of tequila being downed by the two men standing there. The three men at the table were passing around a bucket of beer. A lush-bodied woman with a mass of curly black hair leaned an elbow against the bar. Her figure was displayed to its best advantage in a low-cut peasant blouse decorated with fancy embroidery and a skirt that hugged her hips before flaring out around her legs. Looking around the place, Longarm thought the word “squalid” came to mind. From the expression on Leon Mercer’s face, complete with frown-creased forehead and pursed lips, Mercer agreed. Senator Padgett seemed to be impressed by what he saw, however.
“My God, this is positively … earthy,” Padgett said. “And so colorful.”
Longarm didn’t see anything particularly colorful about the cantina. The woman’s skirt was bright red, but that was just about the only spot of color he noticed. But there was no point in arguing with Padgett about the matter. Longarm just wanted them to have a drink and then get out of there.
He eyed the customers as he and his two companions crossed the room. He didn’t want a repeat of what had happened back in El Paso. The three men at the table were white and looked like cowboys, no doubt from one of the nearby ranches. The pair at the bar wore sombreros and charro jackets, and they wore their guns low and tied down. They were bad hombres—or at least thought they were. Longarm didn’t recognize either of them, though, so he could at least hope that they didn’t know him from somewhere else. And hope, as well, that they wouldn’t start shooting at him.
The woman perked up a little as the newcomers approached the bar. “Hola, senores. What can Lupe do for you?” She batted her eyelashes in what she obviously considered a seductive manner as she asked the question.
“Tequila,” Padgett said, grinning broadly at her. “For me and my friends. No, on second thought, tequila for everyone!”
One of the cowboys at the table called out, “Hey, much obliged, mister! That’s mighty generous of you.”
“Muchas gracias,” said one of the thin-lipped gents at the bar. He gave Padgett a curt nod.
The bartender refilled the glasses of the two Mexicans, then poured drinks for Longarm, Padgett, and Mercer. He finished by pouring three shots for the cowboys and placing the glasses on a tray so that Lupe could carry them over to the table. As she did so, Padgett’s eyes followed her swaying hips hungrily.
“A fine-looking woman, wouldn’t you say?” he muttered to Longarm. Without waiting for the marshal to respond, he went on. “I’ve never had a little chile pepper like that. I imagine they’re pretty spicy.”
His voice was loud enough so that the other two men at the bar might be able to hear it. Longarm said quietly, “I’d be careful about talk like that if I was you. Some folks get a mite touchy.”
“Why, I didn’t mean any offense.” Padgett seemed startled that Longarm would have even suggested such a thing. “Sorry, Marshal. I’ll try not to upset the greasers.”
Longarm winced. He hadn’t particularly wanted it known that he was a lawman, just in case any of the gents in here were on the dodge, and Padgett’s comment about “greasers” might just make the situation worse. From the corner of his eye, he saw how the other two men at the bar stiffened. Neither of them had drunk the tequila Padgett had bought for them, and now they pushed the glasses away.