Longarm and Town-Taming Tess, page 12
He took a drag on his cheroot and added, “He’s going to call you a liar whether you can prove it or not.”
She said, “Wait a minute! Are you saying Wilcox is a figurehead for the whores, gamblers, and receivers of stolen goods I put out of business when I was elected four years ago?”
Longarm grimaced and said, “Such folk never go out of business. They go underground until the heat dies down, and getting you dis-elected would cool things considerable in these parts.”
She asked, “Wouldn’t or won’t the poor saps who vote Big Dick in on his flashy reform ticket be just furious with him when he breaks all those promises to clean up better than me?”
Longarm shrugged his bare shoulder under her tow head and replied, “They always are, the poor saps, election after election. They vote in a liar who promises to do good, and for the next four years him and his party does right well indeed, for themselves. So come the next election, the voters in their infinite wisdom elect another big fibber who vows to undo all the wrongs of the past four years, and sometimes he does, with his own new wrongs.”
He took another drag, passed the smoke to her, and snorted smoke out both nostrils like a pissed-off bull to add, “Looking on the bright side, even if you lose, they’ll surely want you back after four years of Big Dick running things wide open for a select minority of wilder folk.”
She shook her head and said, “Not this child! If you think I mean to wither on the vine that long when I can hang out my shingle over in Cheyenne as a simple lawyer with connections, you’ve another think coming! If I say so myself, I’ve done a good job for the honest folk of this township, and if they want to vote the old ways back in, they are more than welcome to enjoy them because I shant be here, so there!”
She got so upset, Longarm had to make her come some more to calm her down, and she still pissed and moaned it wasn’t fair. She asked if there wasn’t anything he could do about Big Dick in spite of the sneaky son of a bitch coming at her perfecly legally with a dirty political campaign.
He patted her soft warm rump soothingly and replied, “Ain’t got but a few short days before I have to be back in Denver. If I had weeks more, I can’t think of anything legal I could do to derail the four-flusher and his low-down backers.”
She was as quick-thinking as most women. So she asked, “What could we do to stop him that might not be legal, dear heart?”
He sighed and asked, “Would you like ’em numerical or alphabetic? Mister Machiavelli wrote whole books on dirty politics, and political plotters ever since keep coming up with new ways.”
Snuggling her naked charms closer as she lay her head on his bare shoulder, Longarm said, “False promises and show-off spending on the poor but deserving are run-of-the-mill and hardly worth comment if he didn’t have such a bottomless war chest. Nobody ever runs on a platform of turning the hogs loose at the public treasury or charity for the rich. They just practice it once they get elected. You’ll just have to convince folk your promises mean more. I don’t see how you’d outspend him and his backers.”
“What if we cut off the flow of his ready cash?” she suggested.
Longarm said, “You’re in bed with a lawman, not a bank robber, Miss Tess. Neither Banker Harrison in Cheyenne nor Banker Kraft here in town have done anything wrong by anybody. Banks by definition handle money honestly if the bankers know what’s good for them. They hold the money in a special checking account until somebody presents a check drawn on that account, and then they cash said check. There’s no honest way I can stop Big Dick from making out checks for your Sunday school teacher or Miss Dirty Dolores. Albeit I’m betting he’s going to write his show-off checks to more worthy causes than Dirty Dolores, seeing some of the money’s coming from her.”
She started to cry on his shoulder. He let her, patting her bare shoulder and knowing it wasn’t helping. She had every right to cry if her job meant all that much to her. But that was the way things went, and tears just went with any game where only one side at a time got to win. Mr. Marx and Mr. Engels kept writing that under their grand notions, nobody would have to compete and no bigwigs would be in charge and governments would somehow wither away.
Mr. Marx and Mr. Engels were likely full of shit.
In the morning, Tess fed him scrambled eggs and jellied toast in bed, asking him to lie low there until after she’d driven into town. So he did, and if the maid hanging clothes out to dry in the next yard wondered who that was leading a roan with a white blaze out of their D.A.’s carriage house, she never asked.
Seeing he had the time and some horsepower to help out, Longarm carried his own heavily laden McClellan saddle into town with him by bracing it on his left thigh with his rein arm around it and his gun hand free. It was only the most awkward way till you considered what might happen if he rode into trouble with his gun hand bracing the awkward load.
Longarm tethered Tinker out front and carried the McClellan and his Winchester ’73 up to his hired room, noting the match stem he’d shoved under the bottom hinge was still in place. It was an old time-tested burglar alarm that had served him well in other parts.
Draping the McClellan over the foot of the bed, Longarm went back down, made certain there were no messages for him in the lobby, and rejoined Tinker out front to ride her back to the livery.
When they got there, the hostler on duty said a heavyset cuss in a dark blue shirt and Texas-crowned Stetson had just been there asking about him.
Longarm said, “I’m sorry I missed him. Seeing I’m back and your town ain’t that big, no offense, we’ll likely meet up sooner or later.”
He legged it over to the town marshal’s layout, caught Marshal Brenner in, and confided his suspicions and fears to the older lawman as they consulted a fifth of bourbon filed under B.
Marshal Brenner smiled gamely and said, “Well, shit, I still have a herd to worry about if these assholes want to vote their town wide open again. We ain’t got near the financial backing, and you say there’s no way to keep Big Dick’s dirty paws out of them deep, deep pockets?”
Longarm said, “No way legal. Rob his bank and you may as well just shoot the son of a bitch, facing all that hard time in any case.”
Brenner sighed. “Seems a crying shame. What if we were to ask old Herb Kraft at the bank to delay Big Dick’s checks even longer? If you spread this around I’ll have to call you a liar, but old Herb has always been mighty fond of Miss Tess.”
Longarm said, “I’ve been wondering why your local branch has been dragging its heels on cashing Big Dick’s cheap flash. But as he told me the other day, not mentioning any admiration for anybody, you can only sit on a check so long if it’s good. I see now why he’s been trying to get Wilcox to write checks only payable in Cheyenne. I sort of misjudged old Herb, and after he’d given me a swell cigar.”
Brenner said, “We all want to help Miss Tess, even when our thoughts are pure. She’s been a good D.A. But I reckon we’ll have to leave it up to the Lord and the unlikely common sense of our registered voters.”
He brightened and asked, “Say, what if we were to pack the ballot boxes in some of the outlying polling places across the township?”
Longarm shook his head and said, “You’re up against a professional politico smart enough to be playing just inside the limits of winning dirty and going to jail. Big Dick and his pals have already considered ballot box stuffing and given up on it, hence the big spending. They figured, as you should be able to see, that your local election will be overseen by your county officials. Ain’t I heard tell of a resident undersherrif somewhere here in Buffalo Ford?”
Brenner nodded and said, “Uncle Bill Miller of the Lazy Diamond. Now that you mention it, Uncle Bill and his riders did circle some during our last election out this way.”
Longarm said, “There you go. Only thing that can save the bacon for our Miss Tess is an unreasonable amount of reason on the part of the voters or a terrible mistake on the part of Big Dick Wilcox betwixt now and November!”
They shook on that and parted friendly but resigned. It was too early to think about another meal, Longarm had decided to stay the hell away from their library, and he was tempted to just pack it in and bum a ride to Cheyenne and the next train south.
For the whole fool play had turned into one of those pointless drawing-room comedies written by some dude who’d lost track of the points he’d set out to make, and nobody was going to get killed or arrested whether Longarm hung on till the last hour Billy Vail had given him to work with or got up and left the theater.
He’d done that more than once along 17th Street down Denver way, and tried his damnedest to get that society gal with the light-brown hair to walk out on that play about the Lady of the Camellias, speaking of tedious dramatics. But he was afraid Tess would think he was still sore at her if he lit out on her early, and down Denver way old Portia was sure to probe why he hadn’t stayed to the bitter end and gone down fighting. Trying to look like a gent to everybody sure could be a pain in the ass.
He killed some more of the morning visiting with the deputy coroner cum horse trader and vet, Doc Smiley.
Time killed was all he got out of the visit, although Doc Smiley was a friendly old cuss who liked to talk as he purged a sick colt. Laramie County was satisfied Laredo Nolan had gunned the late Caleb Ferris, and the formal coroner’s inquest later in the month would be no more than that, a formality. Longarm wasn’t required to attend, seeing he hadn’t shot anybody and there were all those other witnesses.
Longarm was mildy surprised the county meant to dawdle so, until he reflected on how many other deaths you might average a month in such a good-sized corner of Wyoming, and he knew from sad courtroom duty how shit-for-brains lawyers were forever asking stays so they could appear further along when they weren’t so busy.
Deciding to eat early, Longarm returned to that nice place with the table near the open doorway where a man might admire the grub and the passing scene at the same time.
He had no trouble getting that table, seeing nobody else was there that early. He ordered their special consisting of roast beef, buttered salsify, and fried potatoes. Longarm wasn’t much on rabbit food, but you didn’t see salsify on the menu much these days and the vegetable oysters, as they called salsify back in West-by-God-Virginia, carried him home to when eating had been more of an adventure.
Salsify looked like skinny white carrots, and didn’t really taste like oysters. Folks just said that after they couldn’t figure what in tarnation they were eating. Salsify had a taste of its own, like peas or corn or sweet potatoes. Nothing tasted like anything else when you cooked it properly.
Then Big Dick Wilcox was sitting across the table from him without ever asking for an invitation, and he was from Texas, for Gawd’s sake. So he should have known there were places along the border when a man could get killed for sitting on the same park bench without asking permiso.
But Longarm just nodded and went on eating.
Big Dick said, “Down where I come from, it is the custom for a man bearing arms to leave the hammer of his six-gun riding on an empty chamber, lest he shoot himself in the foot by accident.”
Longarm nodded and said, “We all carry five in the wheel, when we’re sober or not loading up for a serious argument. Have you come all this way to tell me that?”
Big Dick said, “No. I wanted to tell you about this gun waddie down along the border. Had a habit of riling others and seemed to enjoy it. But being a realist, he loaded that empty chamber in his six-gun’s wheel with a tightly rolled twenty-dollar bill.”
Longarm said, “I’ve heard he carved notches on his grips for every man he shot too. The legend goes that on the day he finally met the quicker draw we all must meet someday, they used the rolled-up silver certificate in his six-gun to pay for his funeral.”
Big Dick said that was about the way he’d heard it as he handed a green paper check across the table to Longarm.
It was made out to the undertaker up the way as payment for a tidy-up and pine coffin for the bearer. It was signed with a flourish by Big Dick without naming any dead “Bearer.” Longarm put it away in the unlikely event it might be admissable in court as a death threat.
When he failed to deliver the lines written for him in the bigger man’s dyed head, Big Dick said, “I wrote one out to Gordo Vance this morning when he told me he aimed to have it out with you over Miss Sue Ellen. I begged and pleaded with him not to cause any trouble here in Buffalo Ford. But Gordo’s sworn to kill or be killed if he meets up with you anywhere in town after sundown.”
Longarm washed down some roast beef and salsify before he said, “Your fat bootlicker has naturally told lots of others here in town about our pending affair of honor?”
Big Dick smiled expansively and said, “He has. I told you it wasn’t smart to step on toes.”
Longarm smiled wolfishly and said, “When you’re right you’re right, and you just made yourself one hell of a mistake, Mr. Wilcox. For I don’t issue such challenges like a pimple-faced kid. But I don’t run from them either. So seeing you all just declared war on my innocent ass, you’d better cover your own.”
Big Dick said, “Look here, Longarm. I only came to warn you, not to declare any war on anybody!”
Longarm smiled sweetly and said, “Did you hear me declare war or promise to show you how dirty dirty politics can get? I only warned you to cover your ass as I recall.”
Chapter 16
Seeing he might be facing some heat and dust before the day was over, Longarm went back to the Box Elder and changed to his lighter denim outfit. He considered the Winchester, waving its stock at him from its saddle boot as if anxious to come out and play. He decided against the notion for now.
He consulted his pocket watch and muttered, “Aw, shit!” as he saw it was barely noon. He went back down to find things quiet on the streets of Buffalo Ford with so many folks having dinner.
He went to the public baths near the barbershop, and locked himself in to have a private tub soak, meaning to be a clean cadaver if he lost and using up close to an hour before the water got too cold to be worth it. Then he got out, put his duds and gun back on, and went out front to kill more time in the barbershop with the shave and a haircut he’d been putting off. There was nobody ahead of him, damn it, and he had the feeling the barber had heard. Because the fussy old cuss surely seemed to spook at the snips of his own nervous scissors as Longarm sat there with his .44-40 in his lap under the barber cloth.
Marshal Brenner came in, his own gun grips handier since he’d left his frock coat at the office. Taking a stand near the open doorway, the town law said, “We just heard. I got four deputies on duty full time and four in reserve, with more I can deputize if need be. Say the word and we’ll posse up and hunt him down.”
Longarm replied, “On what charge? Falling in love? Moon calves out to impress the object of their desire are forever threatening to do wonders and eat cucumbers. I have played this brand of chess before. I got to give him the first move.”
The barber suggested, “Or get out of town before sundown, and nobody in town with half a brain would fault you, Deputy Long! Lots of us grown men know how that kid game is played. It’s rigged against the sane. Shoot first, and you can wind up charged with killing a poor misguided youth who was just talking. Shoot too late, and the fact that he’ll likely hang won’t do you a lick of good!”
Longarm said, “Don’t take too much off the top.”
The town law marveled, “Gordo Vance ain’t no misguided kid. He’s a grown man who ought to know no Wyoming court will ever buy his Texas tale of love everlasting for a kid librarian!”
Longarm mused, “I’ve been told the poor loon is really in a lather over the innocent Miss Sue Ellen. So Big Dick Wilcox may have pulled on that lever as he was naturally filling Gordo’s fool head with tales of sugar plums, political pull, and money enough for Froggy to come courting on a white stallion. I doubt anybody riding for Big Dick has a law degree. I know he don’t.”
Young Saul Tanner came in with a Greener ten-gauge cradled over one arm to report, “Big Dick Wilcox, Laredo, Truman, and Knox just now left town! They saddled up and rode for Cheyenne to a party meeting, according to what they told the hands at the municipal corral!”
Longarm quietly observed, “You call that setting up an iron-clad alibi. I told you I’ve played this brand of chess before.”
Brenner growled, “I see through that move! Gordo has orders not to break cover before his boss and the others are well out of town. That means he’ll feel free to move in most any time now!”
Saul Tanner said, “I heard tell he’d given Longarm here until sundown. I got Thompson and Russell out looking for the fat son of a bitch. He ain’t anywheres around that cottage Big Dick hired as his headquarters, though.”
Craning his neck to let the barber get at the nape, Longarm asked to be filled in on the cottage, explaining, “I figured he was holed up in one of the other hotels in town.”
Marshal Brenner said, “Ain’t but two, and you’re in the best one. Big Dick and his bunch stayed in the Box Elder when they first rode in this spring like they owned the town. Didn’t take ’em long to hire the old Powell place over to the southeast. Graham Powell was raising bees and leghorns in that soddy till he got too sick. He was an old widower when he settled there. Dutch Vogler as owns the card house bought the property for the back taxes and hires it out when he can.”
Longarm made a mental note that Vogler, like Delgado, might be easier than some for clerks handling bank transfers to remember. But all he said about the place was, “Gordo has to be an asshole. But I’m sure Big Dick and a professional like Laredo will have warned him everybody on our side will expect to spot him around his usual haunts in town.”
