Longarm and the Deadly Restitution (9781101618776) (2 page)

He opened the door and called his new recruit back inside. Henry looked a bit pale, and strain was very evident on his handsome young face. “Well,” he asked, “what is the verdict?”

“I'm not going to ask you to resign,” Billy told him. “But I am going to make you give us a promise.”

“What kind of promise?”

“That you'll never use this office to justify executing those two men if ever you can find them, and that you will always follow my orders and those of Deputy Marshal Custis Long to the letter.”

“I agree,” Henry Plummer said quickly. “I swear to you that I will follow your orders.”

“And not focus your attention on finding those two murderers from Baltimore and killing them?” Longarm asked.

“Yes, I agree to that. But . . .”

“Then,” Longarm said quickly, “we'll team up and see if we can do some damage on the lawless element in this fair city.”

“That suits me right down to the ground,” Henry declared. “When can we get started?”

Marshal Billy Vail motioned for his most experienced marshal and his most inexperienced to have a seat. “Now that we've cleared the air and settled that other matter,” he said officiously, “let me tell you about a small band of thugs who are terrorizing the population down at the South End of this city and have robbed two federal banks, and how I think we can put a stop to them once and for all.”

“Sounds like fun,” Longarm said, relaxing as he turned to look at his new partner. “What do you think, Henry?”

“I can't wait to get started.”

“Oh,” Longarm said, “by the way, did Marshal Vail even ask you if you knew how to use a gun?”

Henry pulled out a two-shot derringer. “I can hit something close with this, and I'm pretty handy with my fists. My father insisted that I take boxing lessons so that I would never be bullied. I am very fast, have an excellent right cross and a stiff left jab. But my favorite punch is an uppercut to the solar plexus.”

“Your hands are clean and your face is unscarred,” Longarm said. “It's hard for me to believe you've ever taken a hard punch.”

“That's right,” Plummer said. “I've been schooled in the art of self-defense. I can duck, bob, and weave, and no one has ever really been able to hit me.”

Longarm and Billy exchanged dubious glances.

“That's all well and good,” Longarm said, “but I'm talking about weapons that shoot
bullets
. And a derringer is hardly what I was referring to. What I want to know is if you are a good pistol or rifle shot.”

Henry Plummer took a sudden interest in the floor. He didn't have to answer the question. Longarm knew that he was greener than grass and would have to be taught everything from scratch.

Chapter 2

Longarm and newly hir
ed Deputy Henry Plummer left the Federal Building an hour later and walked briskly up the snowy street. When they came to where Officer Tom Sullivan was standing, the local policeman yelled, “Hey, Custis, want to show me how to take another big fall? Maybe this time you could do a complete somersault!”

“Up yours, Sullivan!”

“Ha! You took the most entertaining fall of the morning. Good to see you back on these icy streets.”

Longarm shot the man a hard stare and then made a wide detour of the icy patch. They still hadn't put any salt or cinders on it, and he had the feeling that had the city done so, they would have robbed Officer Sullivan of his sole entertainment.

“What was that all about?” Deputy Plummer asked.

“Never mind. You'll soon learn that there is some resentment and jealousy from the local officers toward us federal officers.”

“Why?”

“We get paid better and have more interesting jobs. Did you ask your father to have the city hire you as a local constable out on a beat?”

“Never entered my mind to stand on the street directing traffic all day and hoping to catch some petty thief or pickpocket.”

“Does your father ever miss being a Baltimore detective?”

“Nope. He's doing what he thinks is important and trying to make this a better and safer city.”

“I admire him for that,” Longarm said. “Politics is a rough-and-tumble game with no holds barred.”

Henry Plummer switched the conversation. “How are we going to get enough evidence to arrest an entire gang of thieves and bank robbers?”

“Not sure,” Longarm admitted. “My mode of operation is to go right to the problem, study it a little, and then take the appropriate action. Right now we don't even have any names, and we've got no idea exactly how many are in this gang. What we do know is that they operate out of a certain part of the city and they have guns but have yet to use them in their crimes.”

“But you'd have to assume that they would kill if necessary.”

“That's right,” Longarm agreed. “I always take the stance that the men who break the law are capable of killing me without a moment's hesitation. I've known some lawmen who gave criminals the benefit of doubt. Good lawmen that fell for a line of malarkey or a sob story and paid for it with their lives. I trust none of the men who cross the line and break the law. Some are just desperate, some stupid, some insane, and some filled with more hatred than you can imagine.”

“I hate the brothers that murdered my mother and that officer back when I was a little boy.”

“I know and don't blame you. The thing of it is,” Longarm said, “hatred can either work for . . . or against you.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you hate someone but keep it under control, you can use the emotion to bring them to justice, knowing that putting them behind bars for a long while or even sending them to the hangman's gallows is the best kind of restitution or revenge.”

“You really believe that it's the ‘best kind'?”

“I do,” Longarm said with assurance. “Have you ever been to a prison where the worst of the worst are sent?”

“No.”

“Then I'll take you out to our state prison. It turns convicts into tortured men . . . men who stare into space and see no future, no happiness, and most importantly no hope. Some live for years in cells not much larger than Billy's little office. They pace the stone floors, pound the brick walls, and scream until they either go mad or fall down sobbing like spanked children.”

Henry Plummer walked along in silence for several minutes, until he blurted, “But I've heard that some of them grow even stronger with their hatred of the law and of society.”

“That's true. But even as they become ever more hateful, they become ever more frustrated and crazed. Believe me, Henry, a life sentence without any possibility of parole in a hard prison is a far worse fate than any hangman's noose.”

“If that's true, I still feel no satisfaction. My mother and that brave officer in Baltimore who died in the line of duty had their precious gifts of life taken away forever. The two brothers who shot them are still living.”

“Maybe and maybe not. But if we find them and send them to prison for the rest of their days, then their lives will have no hope or pleasure at all.”

“I suppose you're right.” Henry Plummer watched Longarm remove his badge and place it in his pocket while still in full stride.

“Why are you doing that?”

“In the neighborhood that we're about to enter they have been known to ambush lawmen on sight.”

Henry's head shot around and he stared at all the buildings, most now derelict and abandoned in the hard neighborhood that they were entering. “But can't they tell by looking at us that we're law officers?”

“Probably.”

“Then what's the point in hiding our badges?”

“Maybe there is no point,” Longarm conceded. “But all the same I still like to keep a low profile and just get deeper into this neighborhood. Put your badge in your pocket, Henry.”

“So we just come out here to this shabby part of town and walk around?”

“We don't ‘just walk around,'” Longarm said pointedly. “We go to places where men drink and their loose talk . . . after we buy them some drinks . . . can give us valuable information.”

“We pay to get them
drunk
?” Henry asked with distaste.

“Works for me and unless you have a better idea of how to get information, then that's what we're going to do.” Longarm pointed to a saloon that was notorious for fights, stabbings, shootings, and general mayhem. “This is where we start. When we go inside, we don't try to attract any attention but just sidle up to the bar and order beer. We stand and we drink a glass or two, and then we look around and decide if there are people inside who might be helpful.”

“And if they are around and don't try to kill us first?”

“We buy them whiskey. Lots and lots of cheap whiskey.”

They stopped and stood out in the cold and grimy street for several moments. Henry looked nervous. “Custis, I sure didn't imagine this was going to be how a federal officer of the law operates.”

“If you don't like it . . . then leave,” Longarm said flatly.

“You should know that I'm not much of a drinker.”

“That could change if you keep this job. But for now the beer we'll be served is so green and foul that you aren't likely to be tempted to do more than sip it.”

“All right,” Henry Plummer agreed. “I'll go along with this and do my best to learn.”

“That's the spirit,” Longarm said, pushing open the door of the dimly lit saloon and heading straight for the bar. “Just keep your eyes open and your mouth shut and we might do just fine in here.”

“And if we don't?”

Longarm didn't have to think twice to come up with his answer. “Then we fight our way out and head for another saloon.”

“Wonderful,” Henry said cryptically as Longarm sidled up to the scarred and rickety bar and called for the bartender to bring them a couple of beers.

The bartender certainly didn't bust his butt hurrying to get them served. He looked around at the dozen or so customers nursing their drinks, and his face said that he wished the two lawmen had gone to some place else to drink . . . any place else for that matter.

“Marshal Long,” the bartender whispered as he set two mugs in front of them. “I haven't seen you in here since you beat Charlie Epp with a pistol and sent Billy Montgomery to the hospital with two broken arms and then arrested three of my best customers.”

“Yeah, that happened this past spring.” Longarm took a sip of his beer and grimaced. “Still serving the same pig piss, huh?”

“You don't like it, then leave.”

“Aw,” Longarm snorted, “I'm thirsty, so I'll finish my beer. Have you missed me, Johnny?”

“Like a case of the measles.” Johnny glanced at Longarm's companion. With a contemptuous sneer he asked, “Babysitting this afternoon are we, Marshal Long?”

Before Longarm could reply, Henry Plummer shot out a straight left fist across the top of the bar and poked the bartender in the eye, knocking him back into a wall of bottles.

“Damn!” Longarm said, restraining his new deputy. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

“I told you I had a good left jab. What I forgot to mention is that I won't take being bullied or insulted.”

The bartender shook his head. “Kid, you had better get the hell out of this saloon before I . . .”

“Before you what?” Longarm asked in a low voice. “Shoot a United States deputy marshal down in cold blood?”

Johnny gingerly touched his swelling eye. “He had no right to do that!”

“I think Deputy Plummer had every right to pop you in the eye . . . which, by the way, is already starting to swell shut. If you have any ice handy, I'd put some on it to keep down the swelling. Or you could just go outside and break an icicle.”

Johnny was a big man, and Longarm had heard that he was also a dangerous, hard-fighting, two-fisted brawler who could more than hold his own with his oftentimes rowdy customers.

“I ever see you around when Marshal Long isn't at your side for protection,” Johnny warned, “I'll rearrange that pretty face.”

Henry Plummer didn't appear to be in the least bit intimidated. “Big talk. Why don't you remove that momma's apron and come outside so we can see how fast I can shut that other eye. Come on!”

Johnny started to whip off his apron, and some of the bar's customers looked eagerly toward the door, hoping to see Johnny pound the young deputy to a bloody pulp.

“Enough!” Longarm snapped. “Johnny, you insulted my friend and got what you deserved.”

“I didn't deserve shit!”

“How about I buy you and the house a round of whiskey and we just let things settle down a mite?” Longarm calmly suggested. “No point in me having to bust your place up and send you to jail . . . is there?”

Johnny swore. “All right, I'll simmer down. Fact is that I didn't even see the punch coming. The kid hits hard and fast.”

“I'm accurate, too,” Henry said. “I could have hit you in the throat and put you down for the count . . . but I didn't.”

“If you're expecting any thanks you can kiss my ass,” Johnny snapped before he turned toward his other customers and shouted, “Drinks are on the house!”

The stampede to the bar was both immediate and impressive. Johnny filled every man's dirty glass to the brim, using up two entire bottles of whiskey. “This is gonna cost you, Marshal. I just hope that your young friend and I meet outside someday.”

“I'd like that, too,” Henry Plummer said. “And you can take this piss you call beer and toss it in the shitter. I'll have some whiskey along with everyone else.”

Longarm looked suspiciously at his companion. “Easy does it, Henry,” he whispered. “The thing you have to remember is that you get other people drunk, but you don't ever get drunk yourself.”

“Well hellfire! That sure doesn't sound like much fun to me!” Henry's face was flushed, and he hooked his thumbs into his vest pockets and crowed, “Is everyone in this pigsty happy?”

Longarm watched Henry Plummer toss back his glass of whiskey, pound it down on the table, and motion for seconds.

“Uh-uh,” Longarm said, voice hardening as he knocked the glass spinning across the bar and into the dirty sawdust on the floor. “You weren't fooling when you said you weren't much of a drinker.”

“But you told me that would probably change because of this job!”

“It won't change if you wind up dead the first time out,” Longarm growled. “Now, you've had enough to drink, so sober up and stay alert.”

Henry Plummer made the sound of flatulence, and then he giggled.

Jaysus
, Longarm thought,
the mayor's kid is already drunk on his damned feet!