Longarm 382, page 3
“And then what will I do with Horace gone?” she demanded.
“Buy a couple of nice dresses. Let your face heal and make yourself pretty again. Then find a good husband.”
“It won’t be that easy, Marshal!” she said, her voice filled with anger and no small measure of despair.
“Nothin’ in life is easy,” Longarm told Mildred Gall. “But you’re fortunate in that decent women are in the minority out in the West. Don’t you go drinkin’ or whorin’, and you’ll soon find a good man. Given what you had, almost any man will be an improvement.”
“When he was sober, Horace was a good man.”
“Well,” Longarm said, his hand clamping tight on his knife wound, “I find that hard to believe. But you do as you please with the new lease on life I’ve just given you.”
“You promised me that you wouldn’t kill my husband, Marshal Long!”
“And I wouldn’t have if your husband hadn’t knifed and then tried to put a bullet into me. He was the hardest fighter I’ve ever been up against, but he made a fatal mistake when he went from fists to guns.”
Longarm headed up the street, unaware that the drinkers had emptied the Red Jug Saloon and had heard his words and were watching him. He didn’t hear the bartender say after looking at the poor, beaten little woman, “The marshal was right. Gall deserved what he got! Now how about we take up a collection for the little widow and then drag that bastard’s big carcass out into the back alley for the dogs?”
There was a murmur of agreement as the men of the Red Jug Saloon dug into their pockets and a hat was passed all around.
Chapter 3
Custis was bent over sideways and in considerable pain using his key to unlock his apartment door. The good news was that his wound had stopped bleeding and he knew from experience it would scab over and heal, given a little time and medical attention. The bad news was that he’d ruined his shirt, vest and suit coat with his blood.
“Custis! What on earth happened to you!”
He turned to see his friend and lover, Molly Malloy, poking her head out of her adjacent hallway door. Molly was always watching out for him, and she cooked a lot of his meals. In turn, he bought her flowers and perfume and took her out to dinner on the town at least once a week. Molly made no bones about the fact that it was her sworn intention to get Longarm to marry her someday, but he had always told her that he was not the marrying kind. Trouble was, Molly didn’t take him serious enough on that particular point.
“Custis, you’re bleeding!”
“It’s stopped, I think.”
“What on earth happened to you?”
“I got in a real bad fight over at the Red Jug Saloon,” he explained. “The man got me with a knife and I finally had no choice but to shoot him in the head.”
“Let me help you get that blood-soaked shirt, vest and coat off. I should send someone for a doctor.”
“I don’t have time for a doctor. This is just a flesh wound that will soon heal.”
Molly Malloy began to help Longarm out of his clothes. “These are completely ruined,” she said, undressing him and then finding a washcloth to gently wipe the dried blood away. “You need this to be stitched up properly by a doctor.”
“I’ve got to catch a train out of Denver this afternoon without fail.”
“Not today you’re not,” she told him. “Maybe tomorrow if you. . . .”
Longarm put his hands on the pretty woman’s shoulders. “Molly, I have to get out to the Arizona Territory, and I need to start traveling today. Now please pour me a glass of whiskey and help me get cleaned up and dressed for the train.”
She looked into his eyes and saw that he was not going to change his mind. “All right, you big stubborn bastard. But at least you can tell me what happened and why you are in such a hot hurry to leave town.”
“Pour us whiskey,” he said, “and I’ll give you the short version of a very long and mysterious story.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “Now lie down and rest while I get the whiskey poured.”
Longarm slumped onto his bed without a stitch of clothing. He closed his eyes and listened to Molly rushing around in his tiny kitchen and heard the clink of glass on glass as she poured him a stout drink and no doubt a second one for herself. Molly, he thought, was a fine, pretty and competent woman. A man could do a whole lot worse than marrying someone exactly like her.
“Here,” she said, pushing a pillow under his head and then handing him a glass. “Drink it all down, because that wound has to be stitched. I’m going to my apartment for a thread and needle.”
“Do you really think it won’t heal by itself with just some bandaging?” he asked, gulping whiskey and feeling the heat of it all the way down into the pit of his belly.
“Custis, I know this is not what you want to hear, but that knife wound needs to be stitched or the scab might very well break loose on the train and then you’d have one hell of a mess. I’ve done it before and I’m good at it. It will hurt like hell but it won’t take long.”
“All right,” he conceded. “But I really don’t have a whole lot of time.”
“I’ll call you a horse and buggy and you’ll be at the train station in plenty of time. Besides, you know the damned Denver and Rio Grande never leaves on time. It’s usually at least an hour late.”
“Be my bad luck for it to leave Denver right on schedule today.”
Molly just scowled and said, “Drink that whiskey and pour yourself another glass. I’ll be back in two minutes!”
Longarm heard his door slam shut and he figured if Molly really was going to stitch up that knife wound, he’d better have a strong belt of whiskey working in his veins in order to mute the pain.
Molly was back before he could pour a second glass. She poured it for him and then said, “Lay your head back on the pillow and close your eyes. Try to think of something pleasant and I’ll have this wound stitched up tight in no time at all.”
“I’ll think about making love to you,” he said with a wink and a brave smile.
“You do that, Big Boy.”
“Ouch!” he said, tossing another gulp of whiskey down, swallowing it and then grinding his teeth. “What are you using on me? A darning needle?”
“Just a sharp little needle is all,” she answered. “This wound is going to take at least six stitches. If that knife had hit you about two inches further inward, you’d be a goner.”
“I know. The guy I fought was named Horace Gall and he was a big, vicious bastard. I had him down and out on his back, and I’ll never know how he threw a knife so straight and hard from the floor, but he did. Then he tried to shoot me with a gun that some fool in the crowd tossed him, but I shot him first.”
Molly sighed. “One of these days you won’t come out of a fight alive. Why don’t you find another line of work and marry me, Custis? I’d make you a good wife. I like making love and you know I’m a pretty good cook.”
“I know you would make any man a fine wife, but I’m just not ready to settle down.”
“Will you ever be?”
“Most likely not,” he confessed. “You need to find another man.”
She jabbed the needle angrily into his flesh and finished her stitching. Then she surprised him by grabbing his flaccid manhood. “I get exasperated by your independence, Custis, but I know that I’ll never find another man with a donger this size.”
“Oh, I dunno,” he said, smiling and taking a gulp of whiskey. “You just might.”
“Nope. I’ve had my share of men, but you’re the best lover I ever had. So how about a little ride for Molly before you head off on that train?”
Longarm couldn’t believe he’d heard her correctly. “Are you serious! I’m lying here in pain and you’re asking me to give you a poke?”
“Yeah. That’s what I’m asking in return for the stitches and for being so loyal and thinking you might change your mind about marrying me someday.”
“Jeez, Molly. I couldn’t . . .”
“This won’t take long,” she promised, taking his manhood in her mouth and then beginning to work his big rod up and down with her lips and her tongue.
“Molly,” he said, draining his whiskey and suddenly feeling a whole lot better than he had when he’d staggered into his apartment. “I can’t believe you’d want to do this, given the circumstances.”
She tongued the head of his stiff cock. “How long will you be gone from me and Denver this time?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well then, I want you to remember me when you’re off someplace risking your scarred-up hide. I want you to remember how Molly did you right just before she dressed and sent you off to the train station.”
Longarm was standing tall and wet. “I’ll remember. Nobody ever did it to me any better than you, Molly. I really mean that.”
“Of course you do,” she said, enthusiastically working on his tool and then standing up to pull off her dress. “Now you’re going to give little Molly a good ride.”
“Be careful of those new stitches.”
“Oh, I will. Believe me, I will!”
Molly was slender and athletic enough to lower herself down on Longarm’s rod and then gently but firmly begin to satisfy her own considerable lust. In a few minutes, she was furiously working her muscular little bottom up and down and Longarm was feeling no pain whatsoever. When he erupted like a little volcano, Molly was right there with him, hollering and hooting with pleasure.
Spent of her passion, she sagged forward, kissed his bruised face and said, “Be careful, my sweet man. And come back to me whole, horny and handsome.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said, grinning foolishly. “Now you’d better get off and help me get dressed and packed for the trip.”
“Sure,” she said, gently extracting herself with a big smile on her wet lips.
With Molly’s help, Longarm was bandaged, scrubbed down with a warm, damp washrag, then dressed in clean clothes and ready to leave in a half hour. “How do I look?” he asked her at the door as he picked up his traveling bag.
“You look like a well-satisfied man,” Molly told him. “But I sure wish you didn’t have to leave today. You’re handsome as ever, but the lines in your face tell me that you’re still in some pain and that you’re exhausted.”
“It was a hard fight that I was in today, but great lovemaking. Both take something out of a man.”
“I’m sure that they do,” she said, coming over to wrap her arms around his neck. “What would you do if I told you that you made me pregnant today?”
Longarm dropped his bag, shivered and gulped. “What in tarnation caused you to say a thing like that?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied. “But women do get pregnant, and I’m not making love to any other men.”
“Molly, I . . .”
She pressed a forefinger over his lips. “Don’t you worry about it, Custis. I was just asking out of curiosity, that’s all.”
He sighed. “Okay, but you really had me going for a moment there.”
“You’ll recover. Try to get some sleep on the train trip west to Arizona.”
“My boss has promised me a first-class ticket.”
“Then this must be a very important assignment.”
“It is,” he said, not willing to take the time to fully explain. “If I get a chance, I’ll send you a letter or two.”
“No, you won’t,” Molly told him, “but that’s all right. I’ll be here when you return.”
Longarm picked up his bag, kissed Molly and headed out of his door. “You take care of yourself as well,” he said over his shoulder as he lurched down the hallway.
“Oh, Custis, I forgot to summon a horse and buggy.”
“I’ll catch one out on the street. After making love to you, my legs feel a little weak.”
“So do mine!”
She blew him a kiss and went back into his apartment. Longarm knew that she would sleep many nights in his bed rather than in her own right next door. Molly Malloy just liked to do that for some odd, feminine reason that he knew that he’d never understand.
Chapter 4
Riding first class on the railroad was a rare treat for Longarm. Along with a much-appreciated bed to lie on, he enjoyed the fine meals and good wine offered in the railroad’s dining car. So after several days of resting and feasting, Longarm was almost disappointed to hear the porter shout, “Next stop is Holbrook, Arizona Territory. All passengers for Holbrook, prepare to disembark!”
Longarm stretched, yawned and gathered his few belongings, packing them neatly in a heavy canvas bag with leather straps that had served him well over the years.
“Why are you getting off here, Marshal?” the porter asked when Longarm emerged from his sleeping car. “Flagstaff would be a whole lot cooler and greener.”
“Bert, you know by now that I go where I’m sent,” Longarm told the porter, tipping him five dollars for the many services he’d provided on this journey westward. “But being as how this is summer and it’s hot, you’re right about the fact that I’d have preferred to be sent somewhere cooler.”
As the train slowed, Longarm stuck his head out and gazed at the little railroad town just up ahead. Holbrook wasn’t much to look at, but the surrounding country was starkly beautiful with its red buttes and broken cliffs dotted with the short, blue gray pinion pine and juniper trees. Some people called this the Land of the Painted Desert, and Longarm could see why: the crumbling rocks and dirt were as colorful as anything to be found in the West. What was also quite interesting were the petrified logs that they’d passed only a few miles back. Longarm had told Molly Malloy that out in eastern Arizona there was an entire forest of ancient trees that had somehow turned to stone, but she hadn’t believed him. Yet these trees were everywhere, some giant in size, made all the more impressive because you could clearly see their hard and red mineralized bark.
Many of the locals broke off and collected pieces of this amazing rock, and some even polished them so that you could actually see the tree rings. Even now, as Longarm prepared to get off the train, he could see people hawking specimens of the petrified rock to the passengers who were going to stretch their legs while the train took on more coal and water.
“Maybe I’ll be seeing you on the trip back,” Bert said, patting Longarm on the shoulder as he stepped down on the train station’s platform. “You be careful around this part of Arizona. I hear that there is a lot of trouble between the Navajo and the federal government brewin’ up on the reservation.”
“Maybe I can do something about that,” Longarm said.
“And maybe you’ll get your scalp lifted,” Bert called. “Be careful on that Navajo Reservation, Marshal Long. I want to enjoy your generous tips on the train back to Denver.”
Longarm waved back over his shoulder and walked into a town whose population was about half white and half Indian. Holbrook was a prosperous looking railroad town, and there was a line of tall cottonwoods still standing along a dry wash that ran full in the springtime. Half a dozen businesses lined both sides of the street, and two of them were hotels. Longarm chose the Hancock Hotel because its exterior had a fresh coat of white paint and the establishment looked more respectable and clean. The hotel had a nice covered front porch where several men were smoking and sipping whiskey.
“Afternoon, gents!” Longarm called as he approached the hotel. “How are things going today?”
“Could be better . . . but they could be a helluva lot worse. Things will probably get worse before they get better,” a dapper man who was probably a traveling salesman or gambler answered with a wink and a smile.
The three other men that were sitting with him laughed and Longarm dropped his bag on the boardwalk. “Is this hotel clean and the beds free of mites and fleas?”
“No,” another man said, “but at least the mites and fleas in their beds ain’t as hungry as they are in the Castor Hotel across the street. And Miss Allie sets a fine table for just a dollar a day on top of the room cost. Mister, you won’t do any better in Holbrook.”
“Thanks for the recommendation,” Longarm said, tipping his hat. “I’ll go inside and get a room.”
“After you get settled, come on out and we’ll find you a chair and a glass. Maybe you’d enjoy our company and we can lie about as well as anyone you could possibly hope to find in this town.”
“I’ll do that.”
“And,” the dapper man said, winking, “if you’re in a hurry for a little lady to ease your joints, all you have to do is ask Miss Allie. She’s the owner of this hotel and she means to make her boarders happy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Longarm told them as he went inside.
There was a buxom blonde, wearing a lot of turquoise and silver jewelry, smoking a thin cigar behind the registration desk. She was intently reading a newspaper and sipping a steaming cup of coffee. Longarm judged her to be about forty and still good looking, although she was starting to show a little age and wear like everyone else.
“Are you Miss Allie, the owner of this hotel?” Longarm asked, looking around at the well-appointed lobby and an open doorway with a sign that read: GOOD FOOD AND DRINK FOR HOTEL GUESTS ONLY.
She glanced up from her newspaper and eyed Longarm for a moment before she smiled. “Say, handsome, you looking for a room and a bed with or without a frisky woman?”
“A bed without a woman will be fine for tonight.”
“How disappointing,” she said, laying down her paper and blowing a lazy smoke ring in his direction. “Why, as big and handsome as you are, I might have been interested in doin’ a little bed-bouncin’ myself.”
Allie chortled and Longarm blushed a little bit. “How much for a room?”
“One dollar for the room and another for the best supper you’ll find in this poor old railroad town.”
“That’s kinda steep, isn’t it?”
“I serve the best steaks in Arizona and good red wine with your evening meal. I don’t provide a midday meal, but after you finish the huge breakfast I serve, you won’t be hungry all day. And my rooms are clean and the beds won’t give you bug bites or the scabies.”
