Longarm on the Thunderbird Run

He followed the crowd to the bank and watched while the money—$72,319 in gold coin and a little silver for the small change—was placed into the cheese-box vault of mild steel.

“Chief Deputy Mayes will take the first watch tonight,” Markham said in an officious manner. “Deputy Frye will relieve him at midnight.”

“With this much money at stake,” Thomas suggested, “I think it would be a good idea if some of our security people assisted your men, Sheriff.”

“Excellent idea, Mr. Thomas. I accept,” Markham declared.

Interesting, Longarm thought, because it pretty much proved that Jack Thomas was not the man Paul Markham was fretting about come election time. Longarm was certain Markham was the kind of small-minded fool who would never accept even a perfect idea from an enemy. Not even if he could turn it to his own advantage. That seemed rather a pity for the town’s sake. Jack Thomas was twice the leader that Paul Markham could ever hope to be.

“You men don’t need me, then,” Longarm said.

Markham ignored him, but Thomas said, “Lord, no, Longarm. You look like lukewarm death on the hoof. Go bunk out. If anything happens, I’ll call you.”

“Good enough.”

Longarm left the bank, but instead of turning toward the hotel and the much-needed bed that was waiting for him there, he climbed laboriously and painfully to the next street level, up the steep hill and down the narrow street toward Jessie’s Place. There was a certain pleasure he wanted to tend to there before he took time out for sleep.

“Mr. Long, isn’t it? Come in, please.” Jessie herself greeted him at the door, although it was early for normal business hours.

Even so, the place was busy enough, with a half a dozen girls—all of them young, all of them Mexican, all of them attractive—already in the parlor. There was one customer already there examining the choices before him, an elderly, balding man with a large belly and expensive clothing.

“And what is your pleasure this afternoon, Mr. Long?

Would you like to visit with Rosalie again? Or perhaps one of our other young ladies would

“

She turned away from him, leading him toward the parlor and the other occupants of the place.

Longarm was not really listening to the bitch’s sales pitch. He stepped up close behind her and took her hand.

Jessie stopped and gave him an inquiring look.

“Ah, Miss Jessie, a pleasure this will be, I assure you.”

She raised an eyebrow.

Grinning, Longarm pulled his handcuffs out and snapped one bracelet onto her wrist.

“Really, Mr. Long, I

”

He wrenched her other arm behind her and applied the second cuff.

“Mr. Long,” she protested, “I realize you are new to our services. And this sort of thing is perfectly appropriate with any of the girls you choose. But really, sir, I do not personally engage in

”

Still grinning, he took out his wallet and flipped it open to display his badge.

“Like I said, ma’am. A pleasure. Truly a pleasure.”

Jessie was calm enough about it. She bent slightly to examine the badge, and he held it higher for her convenience. She looked it over carefully, then her mouth twisted into a sneer. She did not look at all perturbed.

“You fool,” she spat. “Don’t you know that prostitution is subject to local law, not federal? As you may have already discovered, sir, I have no problems with the local law. Now release me at once, or I shall become quite angry with you.”

Longarm continued to grin. “As you have already discovered, madam, I am not local law. And the way I understand it, slavery is a federal offense. I am arresting you for the crime of slaving, which is prohibited by whatever the hell amendment to the constitution.”

“You cocksucker!” the lovely Miss Jessie hissed.

“No, ma’am. Nor slaver neither.” He was still grinning.

“This is ridiculous,” she yelped, looking worried now for the first time. “Let me go at once, I tell you.”

“Miss Jessie, if a judge decides that I’m ridiculous, then I expect I’ll believe it. Meantime, madam, you will sit in a jail cell awaiting that judge’s pleasure.” He tugged on the handcuffs, pulling her toward the front door.

“Where do you think you are taking me?” she demanded. Her voice had risen and become shrill.

“Denver,” he said bluntly. “Federal court in Denver.”

Jessie jerked free of his grip, the effort undoubtedly painful when the manacles cut into her wrists, and shrieked, “Walter!”

She did not try to run but threw herself forward onto the floor, twisting sideways to avoid striking the rich, plush carpet face first.

Longarm looked up and saw a bouncer peering back at him.

The bouncer was not a large man. In fact, he was probably not as tall or as heavily built as the woman who employed him. He was a smallish, slightly built man with the facial features of a sewer rat and stringy hair that covered only the right side of his head. His menace did not lie in his size but in the size of the large-bore, double-barreled shotgun he was holding steady in the direction of Longarm’s stomach.

Longarm cursed himself. If he hadn’t been so damned tired— But that was only making excuses.

“Shuck the hardware,” Walter ordered.

Longarm looked into the big bores of the shotgun but hesitated.

Walter smiled at him. “I’ve killed bigger men than you, mister.”

“It’s Marshal, not mister,” Longarm corrected. “United States Deputy Marshal Custis Long out of Denver.”

“Big fucking deal. So this time I’ll blow a marshal’s guts out. I never done that before.” The smile got wider. “Might be fun, now that I think on it.”

Well, it had been worth a try, Longarm thought ruefully.

“Now which will it be, federal Deputy Marshal? Do you wanna shuck the gun, or would you rather we pick you up with a mop?”

“Given the choice,” Longarm said, “I expect I’ll lose the gun.”

“Very sensible,” Walter said.

Jessie was lying on the floor giving Longarm a look of very ugly triumph.

Sensible shit, Longarm realized. Once they had him there was no way they were going to turn him loose to try again. Still

He held his right hand far from his body and with his left unbuckled the gunbelt at his waist. “Easy now,” he said softly. “I won’t try any tricks.”

The holstered Colt slithered over his hips as soon as the buckle was loose and landed on the carpet with a solid thump.

“That’s better,” Walter said.

Without waiting to be told, Longarm used the toe of his boot to flip the gunbelt and Colt well out of reach. Then he leaned forward and extended a hand to Jessie.

“May I help you up, madam?”

The look in her eyes was murderous, “Get these things off of me,” she demanded.

“Yes, ma’am,” Longarm answered in as meek a voice as he could manage.

He stepped up behind her and dipped two fingers into his vest pocket.

Chapter Twenty

It wasn’t a handcuff key that Longarm kept brazed to the end of his watch chain, but a .41 caliber rimfire derringer. The tiny palmful of death came into his hand as he stepped up behind Jessie.

Longarm grabbed her throat with his left hand, holding her between him and the menace of Walter’s shotgun, and the cold muzzle of the little derringer snugged tightly into the hollow beneath her right ear.

Jessie yelped and tried to pull away but, handcuffed and held firmly, she had no chance.

“This isn’t the gentlemanly thing to do, I realize,” Longarm said calmly, “but I think now it’s your turn to shuck the iron, Walter. Or the only way to take me is to take your boss first.”

Walter laughed. It sounded more like a bark.

Jessie’s eyes got wide, and she began to tremble.