“Nothing serious, I hope.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“I know he used to be a Ranger himself and knows a lot of the people still in government in Austin. It might be a good idea if you don’t explain it to him, not all of it, even after it’s over, Longarm. You never know if somebody else can keep his mouth shut, and your Marshal Vail still has a lot of friends in Texas.”
“It’s true that he does,” Longarm agreed. But very carefully did not make any promises to Amos Vent. Promises that Longarm would have had no intention of keeping. After all, Billy Vail was entitled to full knowledge of what his own officers did—never mind what the Texas Rangers might want him to know. Or not.
But there was no sense in making Amos nervous about that. Better to just let the Ranger think Longarm was agreeable. But, hell, if Longarm couldn’t trust Billy Vail then he’d best hand in his badge and go look for another line of work. Billy was as good a man as Custis Long had ever known, and Longarm would trust Billy as completely as he would trust himself.
“You’ll work with me then, Longarm? On the quiet?”
“I will that, Amos. Excuse me, I mean t’ say that I will work with you, on the quiet, plain ol’ ordinary citizen Lester Colton.”
Amos chuckled and asked, “Now that that’s out of the way, d’you happen to have a bottle of that good rye whiskey in your bag like you usually do?”
“It’s wrapped inside my clean shirts. Dig it out an’ help yourself if you like.”
Amos stood and began searching in Longarm’s carpetbag for the hidden treasure.
Chapter 9
“You’re Long?”
Longarm looked up from his stack of sorghum-soaked hotcakes. “You must be Short.”
He regretted it even before the last sounds passed out of his stupid, unthinking mouth. Because the truth is that short men damn seldom want the fact pointed out to them. And this sawed-off runt was shorter than most. Hell, he probably couldn’t hit the five-foot-four mark unless he was wearing boots. Short, built like a pint-sized bull and with a brushy flare of whisker so wide and full it looked like he was trying to compensate for his other shortcomings all in one lump of flaming red hair.
“Smart-ass son of a bitch, aren’t you,” the man accused.
“I got to give credit where it’s due, neighbor. You got balls to say that to my face.”
“There are those that call me Brass. Does that tell you anything?”
“It does.” The name fit remarkably well in several different ways, starting with the little man’s belligerent manner and extending through the bright, brassy color of his hair and right on down to the brass frame of the big revolver that rode high at his waist. The gun was something of an anachronism in this modern day and age, an old-fashioned cap-and-ball Remington that had been converted to cartridge use some time after it left the factory. Longarm hadn’t seen anything like it in a good many years. Brass. Yeah, there was a lot about this little guy that made the name fit. “And in answer to your question, yes, I’m U.S. Deputy Marshal Long. An’ you are …?”
“George Braxton, sergeant, Company F of the Texas Rangers stationed over at Nacogdoches.”
“Is that so?” Longarm’s puzzlement did not have to be feigned. He and Amos Vent—Texas Ranger Amos Vent, that is—had sat up sharing Longarm’s supply of rye whiskey until some time past two this morning. And never once had Amos mentioned there being any other Rangers assigned to this political stew-pot in Addington, Texas. Which quite assuredly meant that Amos hadn’t been aware of Brass George Braxton’s presence. Could be that the captain of this F Company of Rangers was acting apart from the interests of the bossman back in Austin. Or then again it could be for a perfectly innocent reason, like for instance Amos’s boss in Austin wasn’t letting any of his subordinates in on the undercover assignment and so the F Company commander was simply trying to do his job while being unaware of the hidden interests down in Austin. All in all kinda interesting, Longarm thought. And thank goodness—none of his never-mind. All he had to worry about was one dead postmaster and the man who killed him. Amos and his fellow Rangers, here or in Austin or Nacogdoches or wherever the hell else, could take care of the rest of it.
“Sit down, Sergeant. Join me for breakfast.” Longarm kicked a chair back from the table and nodded to it.
“I’ve had my breakfast,” Braxton said crossly. “What I want with you, Long, is a word.”
“Fine. Set. Have some coffee. Say whatever’s on your mind,” Longarm invited.
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“That you ain’t feeling friendly? Sergeant, the gravel in your craw is rattling loud an’ clear. Now I don’t know what’s put it there an’ I don’t much care. I got no cause to have a mad on with you nor with the Rangers nor with anybody else around here. I’m just tryin’ to mind my own business an’ do a job. But if you know something that I don’t, well, feel free t’ spit it out. Right out in the open. I’ll listen to whatever you want t’ tell me.”
“All right. I’ll tell you the plain truth, Long. You are not wanted here. You are not needed here. You would be well advised to leave here. Is that clear enough?”
“It is, sergeant, and I thank you for your honesty.”
Earlier Braxton had looked like he was ready for a fight. Now he only looked confused. “Is that it? You aren’t going to quarrel with me?”
“Quarrel, Sergeant? Hell no. Whyever should I go an’ do that. I asked you t’ say what was on your mind an’ you said it. I got no beef with you over that.”
“And you’ll leave now?”
“Pay attention, Sergeant. I thanked you for your honesty. I didn’t say nothing about acting on what you had t’ say.”
“You won’t leave,” Braxton said sourly.
“I will leave,” Longarm told him, adding to the sawed-off Ranger sergeant’s obvious confusion. “Like I told the police chief yesterday, sergeant, I only come here t’ do one thing. That’s to investigate the murder of an employee o’ the United States government. Which as you, me an’ him all know is within my jurisdiction. I figure t’ do that, Sergeant, an’ then I will quick as can be get the hell outa this town an’ go report back to my boss.”
“But you are staying here for now.”
“If you want me out in a hurry, Sergeant, tell the police chief to let me look through his files on the Colton killing. It could save us all some time an’ get me outa your hair the soonest possible.”
“You aren’t needed here, Long.”
“Then help me get done in a hurry, Sergeant.”
“My commander doesn’t want you here. The local law doesn’t want you here. And the leaders of this community don’t want you here.”
“You want the addresses so you can write t’ my boss in Denver an’ to the Attorney General o’ these United States? Give me a pencil an’ I’ll mark them down for you.”
“We already know …”
“Yeah, o’ course you do. But Sergeant, you’ll stay here an’ follow your captain’s orders till he hollers whoa. Me, I’ll do the same till I hear otherwise from Marshal Billy Vail. D’you hear what I’m telling you?”
“I hear.”
“Fine. An’ now that we’ve growled at one another all we need to,” Longarm grinned, “whyn’t you set down an’ have some hotcakes with me? They’re mighty good but gettin’ cold, an’ if I have t’ be polite much longer they ain’t gonna be fit to eat when I get around to them. So set down an’ let the U.S. gummint buy you a breakfast. Which isn’t an offer you’re gonna get just every day o’ the week, you know.”
After a moment’s hesitation Sergeant Braxton relented and took the seat Longarm was offering.
Chapter 10
“Sergeant? The chief would like to see you, sir.” The kid who had stopped at the table was young, fresh faced and barely old enough to begin shaving. He looked like a high school boy despite his attire, which consisted of wrinkled trousers, heavy brogans and a dark blue coat with its brass buttons fastened clear to the throat. He also wore a remarkably stupid-looking billed cap with a gaudy brass sunburst device pinned above the polished leather bill. He wore, in short, the uninspired uniform of a local police officer.