Longarm and the Missing Husband (4 page)

“I know this is a bad time t' be talking business, your partner just having been killed an' all, but there is something I need, and you boys might be able t' provide it.”

“Like I said, Marshal, just name it,” Jones said. Berriman, understandably, was focusing his attention on the body of his dead . . . whatever Honus had been to him, brother or cousin, uncle or, for all Longarm knew, grandfather.

“I'm here looking for a fella that seems to've gone missing. He was working for you at the time. Man name of Hank Bacon,” Longarm said.

Jones took Longarm by the elbow and drew him away from the crowd that had gathered around the dead. “Can we sit over here? I have to admit that I'm a little shaky. I'm not much accustomed to violence.”

Longarm went with Jones to the table where he had been playing solitaire. He pushed aside the cards he dealt minutes earlier and motioned to the bartender for another glass to go with his bottle of rye whiskey.

“Not bad,” Jones said after he took a healthy slug of Longarm's rye. “I generally drink Scotch but this is nice.”

Longarm had a swallow and said, “About Hank Bacon?”

“Yes. Hank. We did, in fact, hire the gentleman. He seemed to know what he was doing even though he was not familiar with the country out here. Neither, for that matter, are we. We, the Berrimans and I, came out from Pennsylvania. Going to make our fortunes, don't you see.

“The way it was told to us, there was gold . . . or at least golden opportunity . . . practically lying in the streets, waiting to be picked up by smart operators such as ourselves.” Jones shuddered and finished his whiskey. Longarm poured him another.

“You Western boys play rough, we quickly discovered. We should have been secretive about what we planned, but we simply did not know that would have been a good idea. We practically announced our intentions to the world. That would be to attract investors to build the railroad. We would relinquish ownership to them once it was constructed. What we wanted were the land grants along the right of way. We could sell them to farmers from the East who want in on the opportunities to be found out here.

“We thought it was a solid business plan. And the first step was for us to determine exactly where that right of way should be. That is why we hired Bacon.”

“Why him?” Longarm asked.

“He was recommended to us by a man back home. Hank had done some surveying for him. He said Hank was honest and good at his job. So we hired him, outfitted him, sent him on his way.

“For several weeks we received the occasional report back from him. Then . . . nothing. We haven't heard from him in some time.”

“Did you know that much of any right of way west of the Big Horns would cross reservation lands belonging to the Shoshone and Arapaho? Those lands are not subject to sale or grant,” Longarm said. “They are already pledged to the tribes in perpetuity.”

“No, I . . . I didn't know that,” Jones said.

Longarm finished his glass of rye and poured another for Jones and then for himself. “Smoke?” he offered, pulling a cheroot out and nipping the twist off with his teeth.

“No, thanks.”

Longarm took his time lighting the cheroot then leaned back in his chair. “Bad things can happen to a man traveling alone in this country,” he said. “But bad things can happen right here, too.”

He nodded toward the mess that the bartender was cleaning up now that the bodies had been carried off somewhere. “Like that. D'you have any enemies? You or the Berrimans, either personal or professional?”

Jones shook his head. “None that I know of. Why do you ask?”

“'Cause that was no robbery gone wrong,” Longarm said. “That was a deliberate attempt at murder, an' I don't care what the penny dreadfuls say, we don't just go shooting people down out here. There was a reason those fellas came in trying to kill you three.”

“You think they were after all of us?” Jones sounded nervous when he asked the question.

“If it was just Berriman that was wanted dead, there wouldn't have been two of them. Two men with shotguns at close range, I'd say somebody wants all three o' you dead.”

Jones turned pale. “Dear God!”

“Think about that. Then how's about you and me have dinner tonight,” Longarm said. “I'll have someone with me. Hank Bacon's wife. Or widow, as the case may be.”

Longarm stood and stuck his cheroot between his teeth.

“'Bout seven o'clock? You pick the place. Come by the Elkhorn an' collect us when you're ready. Bring Clete with you if he's feeling up to it. We'll talk some more then.”

Longarm touched the brim of his Stetson and headed back to the hotel to see if Beth was awake from her nap yet.

Sam Jones was already in the lobby when Longarm and Beth came downstairs for supper. Longarm performed the introductions.

“Please forgive Clete for not joining us,” Jones said. “After seeing his brother murdered this afternoon, he just wasn't up to going out tonight.” Jones turned his attention to Longarm. “Honus's body will be prepared tonight, then Clete will take it home on the morning eastbound train. He should be away for several weeks, perhaps longer. In fact, we are tempted to abandon our Western enterprise altogether and turn our attention back to Pennsylvania.”

“But what about my husband?” Beth put in. “If you just up and leave, that will abandon Hank, too.”

“I wish I could tell you what has happened to Bacon,” Jones said, “but I don't know. He could have run into some sort of trouble or he could simply have quit his job.”

“Hank would never do that,” Beth insisted.

“And you could be right about that,” Jones said. “I'm sure we both hope that Marshal Long here will discover the truth, whatever it may be.”

“What Marshal Long wants t' discover right now,” Longarm said, smiling, “is a juicy steak an' a heap o' potatoes. I'm hungry an' I'm sure Mrs. Bacon is, too.”

“Of course. I didn't mean to be rude. Come along then. I know a very pleasant restaurant. We can talk business after we eat.”

Three hours later but no better informed, Longarm and Beth returned to the Elkhorn.

“Mr. Jones seems like a very nice man,” Beth conceded on their way up to their room. “Do you think he was telling the truth tonight?”

“He certainly seemed t' be,” Longarm said.

“Even about Hank's pay?”

Longarm nodded. “I think so. A business operation the size o' Berriman and Jones isn't likely t' worry about small change. Which is what Hank's pay would be to them. No, I think they paid it, just like he says they did.”

“Then what could have happened to it?” she said.

“When we find out where Hank is, could be we'll know about that, too,” Longarm told her.

Beth was quiet after that, obviously thinking about what Longarm said. And about her missing husband.

Longarm did not want to say anything more, but his suspicions in truth were that Hank Bacon was dead. Something had happened to him out there. Something they might never learn.

They reached their room, and Longarm opened the door then let Beth enter before him.

He was not prepared for her scream.

Longarm charged forward, his right hand snatching the .45 from the holster on his belt and his left shoving Beth out of the way.

His shoulder hit her in the back and sent her sprawling to the floor.

Ahead and to his right he saw a man, an intruder, in their room, who was straddling the windowsill, one leg inside the room and the other out.

“Stop, thief!” Longarm barked.

He had his Colt in hand and could easily have shot the son of a bitch, but that seemed a heavy penalty for a man to pay for a little pilfering. And, in fact, Longarm could not tell from the fellow's posture if he was just coming into the room or leaving it.

“Stop!” he shouted again.

The intruder, predictably, paid no attention to the shouted instructions. But he did eye the big .45 with considerable alarm. The black, gaping muzzle of the revolver must have looked like a cannon to him, for he went immediately pale. Stopped still as a statue.

And then threw himself sideways, out of the room, off the windowsill, and into the night.

Longarm rushed to the window and leaned out, .45 held ready, but there was no sign of the man. He had virtually disappeared, just that quickly.

There was no balcony outside the window, not even a proper ledge, and they were on the second floor. Apparently the thief had dropped to the ground and scuttled out of sight, perhaps beneath the overhang so that Longarm had no line of sight to spot him.

“Shit,” Longarm muttered aloud.

“What did you say?”

He turned. For a moment he had completely forgotten Beth. She was sitting on the bedroom floor now, her hair mussed and her dress slightly askew.

“Sorry,” Longarm quickly said, rushing to help her up.

He caught himself before he gave in to his automatic impulse to brush off her backside. That would not have been exactly proper.

“You said something,” Beth said.

“Oh, uh, it was nothing.”

“Yes you did, I heard you.”

Longarm grinned. “In that case, you know what I said.”

“Oh. I was right then. You did say that.”

“If you say so,” Longarm said. He returned to the window, leaned down, and once again looked outside, as if hoping to see someone he could shoot out there.

Reminded of the six-gun in his hand, he gave it a look as if the weapon had offended him, then he shoved the .45 back into the leather where it belonged.

“What was that all about?” Beth said.

Longarm shrugged. “Somebody tryin' to rob our room is what I'd guess. Are you all right?”

“Yes, thanks. I'm fine. Was the man just coming in or had he already had time to steal from you?” She smiled and added, “I know he didn't take anything from me. Everything I have with me is in this bag and I've had it with me all evening.”

“I'll look,” Longarm said.

He put his carpetbag onto the bed and rummaged through it. Things looked like they might have been disarranged, but he might have done that himself when he was shaving before they went down to dinner. If anything was taken, he did not know what it might have been.

“I guess everything's here,” he said, turning.

And got his second shock of the evening.

Beth was standing by the wardrobe, her back to him. She was in the process of removing her dress.

Longarm figured his eyes must have gotten as big as that thief's when he looked into the muzzle of his .45.

Beth had matter-of-factly stepped out of her dress, brushed it off a little, and hung it in the wardrobe. She had a taut, tight, rounded ass, Longarm noticed. His dick noticed, too, immediately growing hard.

Then Beth opened her oversized handbag and pulled out a nightshirt, which she proceeded to pull on over her unmentionables. Finally, reaching up underneath the nightshirt, she removed her chemise and her pantaloons.

Longarm had not exactly seen anything. But, oh, what his imagination supplied.

Only then did he notice that there was no cot in the room. Two people. One double-sized bed plenty large enough for both of them.

His dick began to throb with anticipation.

No woman would act this way in front of a man she did not intend to fuck. Surely not.

While Longarm stood there, horny as a goat, Beth went to the washstand, poured some water into the basin, and proceeded to wash out her underthings.

Once she was done with that, she carefully draped her bits of silky clothing over the radiator.

And got into bed. Smiling.

Longarm did not intend to be found wanting. He shucked out of his clothes slick as an eel and crawled in beside her.

Longarm heard a loud
crack
and suddenly saw stars and squiggles floating in front of his eyes.

“Ow, dammit,” he hollered. “What'd you hit me for?”

“You're being lewd. And making some very unwelcome advances, sir. Now I suggest you get right back up and put something on. Were those balbriggans I saw you step out of? Good. Find them and put them back on.”

“But you . . .”

“I have nothing in my bag but this nightshirt and my hairbrush, a few things like that. There isn't room in there for clothing, and I don't have a suitcase with me, so I shall have to wash things out as we go and brush off my dress as best I can. Finding me in this state of undress does
not
, sir, mean that I encourage your advances. I am a married lady and I intend to remain true to my husband. Is that clear, Marshal? Is that perfectly clear now?”

“Yes'm,” Longarm said contritely. “Perfectly clear.”

“Fine. And I shall trust you not to snore, sir, or I will poke you in the ribs. Now, please, go to sleep.”

“Yes'm.” Longarm crawled sheepishly out of the bed and pulled on his balbriggans, then blew out the bedside lamp, and returned to the bed.

But, oh, he was achingly aware of that pretty ass lying so close at his side and the warmth her small body gave off.

She smelled of yeast and naphtha soap and some faint, delicate perfume.

And his dick just would
not
go down.

He thought Beth had gone to sleep but after a time she stirred and said, “I understand how you men are. If you want to, well, if you want to pleasure yourself, I won't look.”

It seemed a very long time before he was able to sleep.

Sam Jones was in the lobby waiting for them when Longarm and Beth came down for breakfast. “Good. I'm glad I caught you before you leave to go west,” Jones said.

“Has something happened?” Longarm asked. “Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing more than we already talked about,” Jones said, doffing his hat and nodding toward Beth. “Clete and I talked last night. We agreed that we should give Hank's pay to Mrs. Bacon.”

“I thought you said Bacon already collected his pay,” Longarm said.

Jones nodded. “He did. But time moves along. And, well, we just don't know where Hank is or where we might send his next pay. So it seems only reasonable that Mrs. Bacon should have it.”

Jones pulled a small change purse out of his coat pocket and handed it to Beth then said, “May I offer you two some breakfast before you leave? There won't be another westbound train for several hours.” He smiled. “I took the liberty of checking the schedule for you.”

“Some chow might be nice,” Longarm said. “It could be a long day ahead.” He looked at Beth and raised an eyebrow. She nodded her agreement, and the two of them followed Sam Jones to a quiet café off the main street where both service and food were excellent.

“Let me,” Jones said when it came time to pay. Longarm certainly had no objection to that and neither did Beth.

They had a pleasant time—Longarm thought Jones was smitten with Beth and would like to court her—then Longarm collected his carpetbag and they were at the Union Pacific depot in plenty of time to catch the westbound passenger train.

He noticed Beth surreptitiously peeking into her newly acquired coin purse while they were waiting on the platform.

“How much?” he asked her, grinning.

Beth looked a little embarrassed to have been caught counting her money, but she said, “Two hundred. It's all in gold. I've never had so much in my hand at one time, not in my whole life. It is . . . it is more than a month's salary for Hank. Mr. Jones really is a very nice man, isn't he.”

“Aye, he certainly seems t' be,” Longarm said, more than ever convinced that Jones would like to have more than an employer-employee relationship with Mrs. Bethlehem Bacon. He would not be at all surprised if Jones tried to get close to her should she prove to be a widow. Not that Longarm could blame the man. He would like to have some of that himself. She was an almighty attractive little bit of a thing.

Beth stood, craning her neck and peering off toward the east. “I think I see our train coming,” she said.