Longarm #431 (4 page)

Hughes was seated at a rolltop desk when Longarm walked into the town marshal's office. There was not much to the place, the desk and two chairs, a gun rack with a lone shotgun in it, a cast-iron stove, and in the back two prefabricated cells.

“Welcome,” Hughes said. “Do you have the, um, bond money for me?” Right to the point, it seemed.

Longarm nodded and dug a gold double eagle out of his pocket. He handed the coin to Hughes, then sat on the chair facing the marshal.

“Oh, there isn't any paperwork involved if that's what you are waiting for,” Hughes said. “This is between you and me.”

“I got no interest in paperwork,” Longarm said. “It don't pay to spread a man's name around.” He smiled. “If you know what I mean.”

Hughes laughed and reached forward to slap Longarm's knee, a gesture Longarm did not particularly like. “I think I know what you mean, Mr. Long.”

Longarm pulled out a pair of cheroots, offered one to Hughes, who accepted it with pleasure. When both men had their cigars burning, Longarm said, “You might be able to help me find a fellow.”

“I might,” Hughes said around a mouthful of aromatic smoke. “Who is he?”

“Man name of Al Gray,” Longarm said.

“Friend of his, are you?” Hughes asked.

“No, sir, I never met the man. I could stand next to him at a bar an' never know it. This Gray has . . . what you call . . . been recommended to me. As someone who might be able t' help me with a, uh, particular line of work.”

“And what sort of work would that be?” Hughes asked.

Longarm gave him a tight smile. “Mine.”

Hughes laughed again. “I think I understand you, Mr. Long.” He puffed on his cheroot for a moment, then held it a few inches in front of his face as if examining the coal. Finally he said, “I may be able to help you with that. You wouldn't, um, want to help ease my efforts on your behalf, would you?”

Longarm reached into his pocket and produced another twenty-dollar double eagle. He handed the coin to Hughes, who quickly made it disappear into his own pocket.

“Your boots will be ready this afternoon,” Hughes said. “Too late for travel then anyway so why don't you come by the office tomorrow, oh, say around ten o'clock. I'll see if I can find some information for you by then. Say, this really is a nice smoke. Thank you.”

Longarm stood, touched the brim of his Stetson toward the thoroughly detestable town marshal, and got out of the man's office before Longarm might give in to his true impulses and punch the man square in the face.

Glenn Farley had the boots ready and good as new when Longarm showed up in the middle of the afternoon. Not only had he replaced the soles, he added new heels and polished them as well.

“You, sir, are a craftsman,” Longarm said, meaning it.

“A man is as good as his work, I always say,” Farley responded.

Longarm returned the borrowed carpet slippers and very gratefully pulled his boots on again. “Now that feels good,” he said with a smile. He stamped his feet a few times to get the tall, black, cavalry style boots settled and smiled again. “Better than new,” he said.

It seemed a shame that a man had ended up dying because of the carpet slippers. But then the true cause was not what had been on Longarm's feet—the simple fact that Timothy Wright was an asshole had had something to do with it, too.

Longarm paid Farley for his excellent work and dropped in at one of Crowell City's saloons for a drink to celebrate the boots. And to waste a little time.

He was interested, if not altogether surprised, by the idea that Wilson Hughes might be able to give him a line on the whereabouts of Al Gray. The corrupt little town marshal would have his sources of information. Longarm's hope was that one of those bits of information might turn out to be where he could find Gray.

Billy Vail had sent him to bring Gray in for trial, and Longarm damn sure intended to do exactly that.

He was, however, running a little short of cash and might be expected to grease the marshal's palm further to get that information about Gray.

“Is there a telegraph in town?” he asked the bartender.

“Ayuh.” The man nodded and pointed. “Sensabaugh's got a line. Right next to the post office. You can't miss it.”

Longarm grunted. He was always suspicious of any directions that claimed you couldn't miss something because more often than not it seemed entirely possible, even entirely likely, that the desired object could indeed be missed.

Still, the barman's directions were good this time. He found Sensabaugh's Dry Goods and the telegraph desk inside it.

Longarm took only seconds to write out his message but much longer than that to decide what to do with it.

He needed money, and the office would be able to wire funds to him.

But he did not want anyone in Crowell City to know that he was a deputy United States marshal. Sending a request for funds to Billy Vail at the Federal Building in Denver would not exactly seem prudent under the circumstances.

He settled for sending the money request to Henry at his home address. That should tip them to the fact that he did not want the money to appear to come from official sources without him having to come right out and say so.

NEED FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS STOP SEND SOONEST STOP THIS ADDRESS STOP SIGNED CUSTIS

No title mentioned nor last name. Now he hoped for two things. One, that they understood. And two, that they authorized the expenditure.

He would know the answers to both soon enough.

“I'll check back with you for my answer tomorrow,” he told the dry-goods clerk who took the message form.

“We'll be here,” the clerk said cheerfully, reminding him that not everyone in Crowell City was on the far side of the law. A clear majority of the people he encountered here were pleasant, decent, hardworking folk. There were times when a lawman had difficulty keeping that in mind, considering that his daily dealings were mostly with criminals.

“Thank you very much,” Longarm said with a tip of his Stetson toward the young man.

He turned and headed back toward the saloon.

Longarm felt good when he returned to the hotel that evening. He had a hot meal and several shots of rye whiskey in his belly and was well rested after a good night's sleep the previous evening. A fellow couldn't ask for much more than all that.

Except, he realized, one thing.

Like the beautiful young woman walking ahead of him in the upstairs hallway when he came off of the stairs.

Longarm smiled and tipped his Stetson to the lady.

She was tall and slender, probably in her middle twenties or thereabouts with hair the dark gold color of honey. Or good whiskey. She had a long, thin neck, small nose and chin and exceptionally large, blue eyes. Her dress was modestly cut but fitted close to her form, showing that she had small, perky tits and practically no waist at all.

All in all a most handsome lass, he thought as, still smiling, he passed by her in the hallway.

Longarm was almost to his room door when behind him he heard, “Sir. Sir?”

He stopped, turned.

“I'm sorry to bother you, sir,” the young lady said, approaching him with a diffident smile.

“No bother, miss,” he said, this time removing his hat and holding it in front of his belly. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“There is, actually, if you wouldn't mind.”

“Now that,” he said, “depends on what 'tis that you'd be wantin'.”

The lady blushed. “This is embarrassing, but . . . in my room, sir. I have a portmanteau. I need the contents, and I can't seem to get it open. Could you possibly help me with such a silly thing as that?”

“Of course, miss. Let me take a look at it.”

Longarm followed her into her room, which was across the hall and two doors down from his. Her room smelled of some floral perfume and . . . female, some elusively feminine scent that was most pleasant.

He was reminded that it had been some days since he had anything like that to think about. Certainly his experiences with Nic were nothing to remember with fondness.

Now he felt . . . not aroused, exactly. But certainly very much aware of the woman scent and the woman's presence. He thought about turning around and getting the hell out of there lest he embarrass himself with a hard-on. But he had said he would help, and help he would.

“It is right over here, sir,” she said, leading him across the room to a luggage stand beneath her window.

The bag was large and black. It was locked shut.

“Do you have the key?”

“No, sir. I have no key.”

“Then d'you have a hairpin?” he asked.

The girl smiled. “Now that I do have.” She reached up with both hands and did something at the back of her head that caused her hair to cascade over her shoulders in soft waves. When she brought her hands down she was holding several hairpins, which she offered to him.

“I'm gonna ruin one of these,” he said. “Is that all right?”

“Yes, of course.” Her voice was soft. Very attractive, he thought.

Longarm took one of the hairpins, bent it out more or less straight, and dug into the lock of her bag. A few moments later the lock parted, and the bag was open.

“There y' go,” he said. “All fixed.”

“Thank you, sir.” She stepped close to him and laid a hand on his arm. “If you don't mind me saying it, you are an uncommonly attractive gentleman. Very handsome. Very . . .”

She did not finish the thought. She blushed again. “Would you . . . do you mind . . .”

She moved forward. Came quite naturally into his arms. Lifted her face for his kiss.

Ever the gentleman, Longarm responded in kind. He no longer was concerned about the hard-on that prodded the lady in the belly.

Melody Thompson was sleek. Body, hair, the way she felt in his arms, she was sleek to look at and sleek to feel. Her body was long and lean. Not at all soft. Her tits were small, her nipples like a pair of tiny, light-pink rosebuds riding on top of them.

For some reason—he did not ask—she cropped her pussy hair so short it almost looked shaved. That allowed her pussy lips to show inside a scant nest of dark hair.

“Beautiful,” she exclaimed when she saw Longarm's cock. By then Melody was naked and eager.

She pressed herself against him, one hand cupping his balls as if weighing them, the other stroking his dick. She carefully peeled his foreskin back and ran a long, delicate fingernail around the head.

“So pretty,” she said. “So big. I want to feel this inside me.”

Longarm picked her up, carried her to the hotel room bed, and gently placed her down. He nuzzled the side of her neck, sucked on her right nipple, moved to cover her.

“You don't have to be so gentle,” Melody mumbled into his ear. “I won't break. Go ahead. Pound my belly. I'll love it.”

She was already wet and as ready as he was, so he slid his cock inside the wet heat of Melody's thin body. She cried out as he filled her.

Longarm began pumping slowly in and out.

“No,” she whispered. “Faster. Harder. Punish me. Do it hard, please. Yes. Harder. Harder.”

Longarm pounded her belly with his, moist flesh slapping together, as loud as if he was spanking her tight little ass.

Melody's arms were locked around him and she grasped him with her legs as well. She threw her head back, the tendons in her neck standing out beneath her skin.

“Yes-s-s-s-s-s!” she cried.

Longarm could feel her pussy lips contract and flutter against the base of his cock, clenching tight as waves of sensation swept through her slim body.

He was not yet done. Now he allowed himself to come. And come he did, pouring his juices into Melody's pussy.

The release was so powerful that Longarm, too, cried out aloud, and Melody clutched him tight with her arms as well as her pussy.

“Sweet,” she said. “That was so sweet. I loved it. Can we do it again?”

Longarm, still inside her, laughed and acknowledged that yes, they could.

“Tell me about yourself,” Melody murmured. She was nestled in the crook of his arm, her pretty head resting on the side of his chest while she idly picked at his chest hairs.

“Oh, there's not much t' tell,” he said, stroking the back of her head. “I'm just a man. Travelin'. Looking around. You know.”

She lifted her head and kissed his shoulder, lingering there for a moment before she said, “But that is just the thing. I don't know. I want to know everything about you, Custis Long. Everything.”

He laughed. “Careful there or you'll start somethin'.”

Melody raised up a few inches. “You couldn't. Not again.”

“Keep foolin' around like that an' I will.”

“Not possible,” she said, more seriously this time.

“Want t' bet?” he challenged.

“Yes. I do,” Melody answered. “I say you couldn't possibly. Not again so soon after that last, lovely time.”

“Then roll over, woman, an' I'll show you who can do what t' whom.”

“On my back?” she asked, her eyes sparkling. “Or on my stomach?”

“Hmm. Like it in your ass, do you?”

“I like it any way I can get it. Do you want me in the ass? That is fine with me. Here.” She rolled away from him and moved back close beside him but lying on her stomach, her rather small and tidy butt stuck up in the air.

Melody reached down under her stomach and fingered her wet pussy to pick up some moisture and rubbed it onto her asshole to ease his entry. By then Longarm's erection had returned full force. He moved on top of her. Melody reached back to take hold of his dick and guide it in.

“Slowly now. Give me time to adjust, honey. You're awfully big, you know.”

“Too big?”

“Oh, no,” Melody said. She giggled. “If anything I would say you are just right in that department.”

Longarm pressed forward, felt the head of his cock encounter resistance. Then it burst in, the heat of her asshole surrounding him.

Melody winced once, then pushed back against him, impaling herself on Custis Long's rigid pole. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, please.”

And yes, he pleased her. And himself.