Longarm 242: Red-light (2 page)

She was a redheaded woman around thirty, and a part of the man's brain that was still working told him that she was quite lovely. She wore a dark green gown, cut low to reveal the creamy swells of her breasts.

And she had a small pistol in her hand, pointed directly at him. Her eyes flashed angrily as she stared at him and demanded, “Just who the hell do you think you are, mister? You come in here drunk as a skunk and knock me around and fall on my divan and get mud all over it—” She stopped short, gasping as his coat fell open and revealed a large stain on his shirt that wasn't mud. After swallowing hard, she went on. “My God, is that blood?”

“Sorry for the ... mess,” the man said. “I'll try not to ... die on you ...”

Then his head fell back and he started sliding away down a long slope with nothing but blackness at the bottom of it. He felt the woman's hands on him, but he couldn't stop his headlong plunge and neither could she. But before the blackness swallowed him, he heard her say in surprise, “Good Lord! He's a U.S. marshal ...”

“Warm for this time of year, ain't it?” Chief Marshal Billy Vail had said in his Denver office a week earlier.

Uh-oh, thought Longarm as he leaned back in the red leather chair in front of Vail's desk and propped his right ankle on his left knee. Billy was talking about the weather. That couldn't be a good sign. The pudgy chief marshal wasn't much on small talk. If he was avoiding the real reason he had summoned Longarm here this morning, there had to be a good excuse for it.

Like maybe the job Billy was about to hand to him was a real bitch.

Longarm slid a cheroot from his vest pocket, bit off the end, dug out a lucifer, and set fire to the smoke. He shook out the match and dropped it on the floor beside the chair, which would drive poor Henry crazy. Vail's assistant liked things all neat and tidy.

“It's warm, all right,” Longarm said warily around the cheroot.

“Still pretty cold up in the high country, though, I'd wager.”

Longarm nodded slowly. “More than likely.” He didn't point out that although Denver was situated on the plains, it was pretty high itself. Just about a mile in elevation, in fact.

“Got a job for you over in Nevada,” Vail said as he looked down at the papers on his desk. “A gang of owlhoots over there has been stopping and robbing stagecoaches in the silver-mining country.”

“They must've heisted a mailbag or two,” said Longarm, “else the local law wouldn't be calling in Uncle Sam.”

“That's right. Only they weren't after the mail itself. Some of those mine owners got the bright idea that they could ship out their ore by putting it in the bottom of a mail sack and then covering it up with the regular mail.”

Longarm winced. “That might've worked a time or two, but it'd be hell keeping something like that a secret. Too many people would have to know about it.”

“That's right,” Vail agreed. “But it hasn't stopped the mine owners. They're stubborn, and they insist it's no different from mailing anything else. It's the responsibility of the federal government to keep the mail safe.”

“And in this case, the federal government is represented by yours truly.”

Vail nodded. “That's right. Henry's got your travel vouchers in the other office. You can take the train from here to Salt Lake and then on over to Carson City. From there you'll have to go on horseback, though. All the robberies have been on the stage line that runs from Virginia City on down through Carson City to Rawhide and Tonopah and Galena City.”

“You think one gang's responsible for all the robberies?” asked Longarm.

“That's what it looks like so far. All the holdups have been similar, and the holdup men have been dressed alike each time. It's one bunch, all right.”

“I'm supposed to run ‘em to ground, bring 'em in, and recover all the loot they've stolen so far?”

“That's the idea,” Vail said dryly. “Think you can handle it?”

Longarm frowned slightly. He couldn't understand why Billy had been ducking the issue earlier. This looked like a simple assignment, no different from dozens of others he had carried out in the past. He said bluntly, “There's something you're not telling me, Billy.”

“Well, there is the matter of the killings,” Vail admitted. “During each robbery, they've gunned down at least one person. No reason, mind you. All the victims tried to cooperate.”

“Oh, there was a reason, all right,” muttered Longarm. He leaned forward and stubbed out the butt of his cheroot in the ashtray on Vail's desk.

“What's that?”

“Sounds to me like they just plain enjoy killing folks,” Longarm said.

 

Longarm leaned back against his seat in the railroad car and stretched out his legs as best he could in the cramped space. The left one extended into the aisle. It was difficult for someone as tall as Longarm to sit comfortably in these seats, especially for long periods of time, such as the journey from Denver to Carson City. Thankfully, the train would be pulling into the Nevada capital in another hour or so. Longarm wouldn't have to endure the discomfort any longer than that.

It would have been better if the Justice Department was willing to spring for a sleeper compartment instead of just a seat in a day coach, but Longarm knew better than to expect that. The government could always find what they considered better things to spend their money on.

He fished out a cheroot and had lit it and taken a big puff before he became aware that he was being frowned at in disapproval by a woman sitting across the aisle. She had boarded the train at Salt Lake City, and Longarm had taken note of her then, as he usually did whenever he saw a woman who was young and pretty and not sporting a wedding ring on her finger. This one was wearing a somber dark brown dress and hat, but the outfit couldn't completely disguise her beauty. The hair under the hat was soft and blond, and the body under the brown dress was slender yet more than adequately curved. Her eyes were probably brown, Longarm thought, but he wasn't sure because her gaze had flicked in his direction only once, and very quickly then. She seemed to be careful not to look at the other passengers, especially the men. Her eyes had been kept turned forward for the entire trip, never straying toward the seat on the other side of the aisle where Longarm sat.

So now, as she glared at him, he got his first good look at her eyes, and they were brown just as he had suspected. Not quite as dark a shade as her dress and hat, however. Her eyes had a certain softness to them, too, like her hair.

“Must you smoke that foul thing in here?” she demanded.

Longarm held up the cheroot. “This?”

“What else would you be smoking, sir?”

“Sorry if it offends you, ma'am,” said Longarm with a shrug. He glanced around the car. “Other folks are smoking in here, so I didn't figure you'd mind.” In truth, he hadn't actually given the matter a thought before he lit up.

“Those other folks, as you call them, are not sitting directly across from me so that the noxious smoke from their pipes and cigars wafts directly into my face.”

Wafts?
thought Longarm. He spent a couple of seconds trying to remember when he had last heard someone actually use that word, then gave it up as a bad job. He said, “I reckon if it would make you feel better, ma'am, I could step out on the platform to finish this.”

“I wish you would,” the young woman said. She sniffed and folded her arms across her chest, then looked away from him again.

Longarm stuck the cheroot back in his mouth, clamped his teeth on it, shook his head, and stood up. He knew his three-for-a-nickel cheroots weren't the best-smelling things in the world, but he wasn't accustomed to being booted out of a railroad car because of them, either.

But, he told himself, anything to please a lady. He stepped out into the aisle and turned toward the door at the rear of the car.

To his surprise, the young woman stood up as well and followed him. When he glanced back at her with a frown, she said, “I intend to see to it that you actually take that thing outside. You might attempt to deceive me by staying there in the rear of the car, where I'm certain the foul odor would still be detectable.”

Of all the prissy little bitches ... ! Longarm controlled his temper with an effort and said, “I told you I'd step out onto the platform, ma'am. I assure you I'm a man of my word.”

“I'll determine that for myself, thank you.”

Longarm rolled his eyes and walked to the rear of the car, not bothering to look back and see if the woman was still following him. When he reached the door, he jerked it open and stepped out onto the platform. Sure enough, the woman was right behind him.

But instead of closing the door between them, she moved out onto the platform, too, and then shut the door. When Longarm turned and saw her standing there with him, his frown deepened and he took the cheroot out of his mouth to say, “What the hell?”

“Throw that cigar away,” the young woman snapped.

Longarm finally gave in to his temper. “I'll be damned if I will!” he said. “I came out here the way you wanted, lady, and if that's not good enough for you—”

“Oh, hush,” the woman said, and she stepped forward and came up on her toes to put her arms around his neck and press her mouth to his.

Longarm dropped the cheroot on the platform and put it out blindly with his boot heel as he slid his arms around the woman and returned the kiss. Her lips parted and her tongue darted out brazenly to spear into his mouth. Her breasts flattened under the somber dress as she pressed them against his broad, hard-muscled chest.

When she finally pulled away slightly with a self-satisfied smile on her lovely face, Longarm said, “I was under the impression that you didn't much like me, ma'am. Or maybe it was just my cheroot. If I'd known how grateful you'd be, I'd have put it out a lot sooner.”

“Oh, I don't care about that silly thing one way or the other,” she said. “I just wanted to get you out here where we could have some privacy so I could do that. I've been wanting to kiss you ever since I got on the train.”

“You did a pretty good job of making sure nobody knew you felt like that,” commented Longarm, remembering her chilly demeanor during the trip.

She laughed lightly. “I was just waiting for the right moment.” She looked around and added, “Isn't this romantic?”

Longarm supposed it was. The scenery rolling by was pretty, with lots of snow-capped mountains and green pine-covered slopes and brooks laughing and gurgling through deep valleys. But the air blowing around them was cold, and it carried occasional cinders from the locomotive's smoke-stack that had to be watched out for.

“It's pretty nice,” Longarm told the woman. “I reckon you'd make just about any picture prettier, though.”

“What a sweet thing to say! My name is Amelia Loftus, by the way.”

“Custis Long.” He didn't mention the fact that he was a deputy United States marshal. Amelia Loftus didn't have any reason to need to know that.

“I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Long.” And she kissed him again to prove it.

The second time was just as pleasant as the first, but a worry was beginning to nag at the back of Longarm's mind. He was the one who broke the kiss this time, and when he did, he said, “I'm wondering about something, Miss Loftus. Or is it missus?”

“Oh, it's miss, I assure you. I'm not a married woman, though my father would have had it otherwise. He wanted to make a match for me with one of the elders.”

“You're one of the Saints, then.” Longarm had figured her for a Mormon, given her clothes and her attitude and the fact that she had boarded the train in Salt Lake City.

“That's right. I have some distinct doctrinal differences with the church, however.”

She sure liked to talk fancy, thought Longarm. That made her a poor candidate for being a Mormon right there. They were plain-spoken folks. “What sort of differences?” he asked.

“Well, for one thing, this business of having more than one wife.”

“A lot of Mormons are giving that up, or so I've heard tell.”

“And well they should. A man has no business having more than one wife.” Her lips curved wickedly in a smile. “It would be so much more fun for a woman to have more than one husband, to my way of thinking. Just think about it, Mr. Long. A lady could be pleasured for hours on end! When one husband had exhausted himself, another could simply take his place.”

Longarm's eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I reckon that's one way of looking at it,” he said.

Amelia Loftus reached down and caressed his groin through his trousers. Her fingers closed around the rapidly growing length of his shaft and she smiled. “Of course, I daresay a man such as yourself might be able to give a lady all the pleasure she could handle all by yourself, Mr. Long.”

She was just about the most unusual Mormon woman he had ever met, he thought. But he liked what she was doing to him, and as he leaned toward her, he murmured, “A gentleman always tries to oblige a lady.”

Her mouth was wet and hot and sweet. She whispered, “I'll be staying in the Oriental Hotel in Carson City.”

“I've got a hunch I will be, too,” said Longarm.

Amelia rested her hands on Longarm's chest, threw her head back, closed her eyes, and panted, “Oh, yes, Custis! Yes!”

Longarm held on to her slender hips and drove himself deeper into her. Just when he thought his manhood was embedded in her as far as it would go, she pumped her hips to match his thrust and he plumbed new depths. He could feel his climax building, getting ready to boil up through his shaft.