Longarm in Hell's Half Acre (13 page)

Lou Brown's parlor house looked just a bit out of place for Hell's Half Acre. For all a casual passing observer could tell, the busy whorehouse could have easily been the residence of a bespectacled old maid schoolteacher. A white picket fence surrounded the famed madam's large yard. A deep layer of well-kept green grass framed a variety of colorful flowers that decorated either side of the gravel walk. A brightly painted, deep, covered veranda spread across the entire front of the house and appeared to serve as an overflow waiting area for gathering customers.

Willard Allred pulled his wagon to a stop at the end of the walkway, climbed down, then looped the leather reins through a brass ring held by the hand of one of at least a dozen painted metal jockeys that stood like grinning guards in the place of hitch rails. “Place don't look real busy at the moment, does it?”

Longarm stopped at the front gate long enough to run an inquisitive gaze from one side of the building to the other. “Yep. Looks right peaceful, don't it? Can't see but three horses out here, right now. For sure everything will heat up soon as the sun goes down.”

Willard nodded, checked the loads in the shotgun again, then mumbled, “Oh, she'll heat up alright. 'Fore the night's over, there'll be fifty or sixty cowboys go through this place. Lucky ones will get out alive and go on to Dodge or wherever else they're headed. Lou's gals gonna get another heavy-duty workout.”

Longarm pushed the gate open, ambled up the gravel walk, then climbed the steps onto Lou Brown's closed-at-the-bottom, open-at-the-top porch. Cane-bottomed chairs lined the outside front wall of the house. Slat-backed swings hung from chains on either side of the entrance.

Allred pointed to a brass chain dangling from a hole in the door frame and said, “Have to ring the bell. Lou's got a thing about folks a-beatin' on her door. She won't even bother to answer till a body pulls on that piece of chain.”

“Ah, wouldn't want to do anything to upset the lady now, would we?” Longarm said as he jerked on the bell ringer.

“And Marshal,” Allred added, “be careful of Lou. She's hell on wheels in a fight. Heard one tale as how she damn near beat one of Marshal Farmer's policemen to death with a sawed-off pool cue. Keeps one hangin' from a leather strap somewheres under her dress. Woman's also been known to carry a big ole bowie knife and a four-barreled derringer.”

“Well, Jesus, Willard, that's mighty comfortin'. Wish you'd mentioned some of the lady's more violent proclivities 'fore we got over here.”

Longarm jerked the chain, then stood away from the screen. For several seconds he heard the thumping, bumping sounds of people scurrying around inside. The glass-paned portal popped open to reveal a tall, stately, ample bosomed, auburn-haired woman wearing a black dress that fell to the floor in a cascade of fancy, stiff ruffles. Heavily rouged and dipped in a powerful perfume that oozed through the screened door and assaulted Longarm's nose, the moose-sized madam pushed the screen open and motioned them inside.

As they eased past her, Lou Brown cast a narrow glance at each man, then said, “Who's your friend, Tater? Has the look of a man who could ride the tiger all night long. Got some mighty fine-lookin' gals here at Lou's just a-waitin' fer fellers like you to show up, mister. All you gotta do is name your favorite fantasy. My girls are experienced. They're here to fulfill your every wish and desire. So, what'll it be? Just name your pleasure.”

Longarm slipped his silver deputy marshal's star from his vest pocket and flipped its leather holder open. “Actually, Miss Brown, we're here on official business.”

Lou Brown's face flushed. “That's Mrs. Brown to you, you badge-totin' cocksucker.” The moose-sized madam had the kind of voice that got inside a man's head and felt like it was scratching on the back of his eyeballs.

Longarm leaned away from the verbal blast. “No need to get all worked up, Mrs. Brown.”

Four half-dressed girls bounded from a hallway in the center of the wall across the back of the large entry room. Their employer waved them off with a spangle-covered, ebony-colored feather she held in one hand. “Get back inside, goddammit. This bastard's just another law pusher lookin' for a freebie.” The surprised women collided with one another like a derailed freight train, then turned and, giggling like children, hustled back in the direction from which they'd just come.

Longarm shoved the leather wallet holding the badge back into his pocket, then removed his hat. He smiled and attempted a pleasant demeanor. “No need to get belligerent, Mrs. Brown. Can assure you, we're not here to shake you down, or take undue advantage in any way whatsoever.”

The stout madam socked balled fists onto generous hips, leaned toward the object of her red-cheeked ire, and shot back, “Well, now, that'd be a first, if'n I ever heard of one. I've been working the pussy game for nigh on thirty years, Mr. Marshal.”

“Long, ma'am. Marshal Custis Long.”

“If you ain't here for a com-pli-mentary round of the old slap and tickle, Marshal Custis Long, you'd be the first I've ever encountered in all my years of seeing to the needs of workin' girls.”

Willard Allred moved to a spot closer to Longarm, then said, “He's tellin' the truth, Lou. We're here on official business.”

The formidable Mrs. Brown appeared to relax a bit. “What kind of official business, Tater? Every time I hear that phrase, it usually means I'm gonna have to fork up another bag full of money to keep the law outta my hair.”

Longarm touched Allred on the sleeve. “We believe a man named Silas Brakett might be visiting with some of your girls. Perhaps the twins.”

“The twins? You mean the Preston girls? Lily and Lucy?”

“Are the Preston girls twins?”

“Well, yes. Only set in the house.”

“Would bet Lily and Lucy Preston are exactly who we're lookin' for, ma'am. Didn't see any blond-haired duplicates with the group who greeted us when we came in. Could the Preston girls possibly be in the company of Brakett at this very moment?”

Instead of answering the question, Lou Brown snapped, “Whaddaya want with Silas Brakett?”

“Then you do know the man?”

“Of course, I know Silas. He usually stops by for a visit every time he's in town. One of our most frequent customers, as a matter of pure fact.” All of a sudden, Mrs. Brown's face reddened again. She shook a finger at Longarm. “And I don't like the fact that you're here to disrupt my operation by botherin' a well-paying, frequent customer.”

Allred held up a peacemaking hand. “Just wanna talk with 'im for a few minutes, Lou. Have some important questions for the man. Soon's he answers 'em, we'll be gone.”

For several tense seconds, Mrs. Brown tapped her foot and studied her tormentors as though she might snatch their heads off and then pitch the rendered, blood-squirting noggins into her front yard like so much garbage.

Finally, the angry madam toed at the tattered rug beneath her feet, then pointed at the doorway where the first four girls had disappeared. “Down the hall, all the way to the end. Last door on the left. Can't miss it. Silas has been in there ever since yesterday afternoon. Says he plans to stay at least one more night. Hope he does. Man always pays in gold.”

Longarm nodded, placed his hat against his chest, and offered the woman an abbreviated cavalier's chivalrous bow. “Office of the U.S. marshal's service appreciates your cooperation, Mrs. Brown. Promise we'll do our very best not to disrupt your business operations any more than absolutely necessary.”

“Well, I certainly hope the fuck you're a man of your word, Marshal Long. Whatever you have to do, do it quick, and then get the hell out,” Lou Brown snorted, then stomped across the room and disappeared through a door in the farthest corner of the room.

Behind a cupped palm, Willard whispered, “Them's her
private quarters
. Ain't met anyone yet as has ever even been inside that part of the house.”

Longarm stuffed his hat on, mumbled, “Of course,” then headed for the open door to the whorehouse's hall. As he crossed the threshold, he slipped his pistol from its cross-draw holster and cocked it. Willard followed, shotgun in hand.

They tiptoed down the cramped hallway and stopped on either side of the room Lou Brown had indicated. A rough wooden sign painted with red hearts, white lace, and pink-cheeked cherubs was emblazoned with the single word
TWINS
.

Longarm pushed the brim of his hat up, then pressed an ear against the door. After several seconds, he stood and whispered, “Not a sound. Maybe they're all asleep.”

Allred hissed, “Could be. If he's got his pants off and snoozin', whole dance should go a lot easier for us.”

Longarm stepped back and lifted a leg to kick the door open. He thought better of the action, stepped back up to the portal and turned the knob. The door popped open and swung noiselessly toward the wall.

The overpowering musk of raw, squirting sex, combined with the body odor of several people, whiskey-saturated bedding, stale tobacco smoke, and the contents of a chamber pot hidden somewhere under the rumpled bed, slapped Longarm and Willard in their faces like someone had swatted them across the cheeks with the wet leather glove of a working buffalo hunter. The entire room looked brown, even the sheets on the bed.

On the far side of the sparsely furnished space, an iron-framed bed stood against the wall. Atop twisted sheets and a variety of other bedraggled bedding lay three sweat-drenched, spooned-up naked bodies. Lying between the Preston sisters, Silas Brakett appeared to still have his dick inside the fair-skinned girl closest to the wall. He gently hunched the girl from behind, even as he snorted and snored away like the big blade in a sawmill ripping its way through an oak log.

Longarm eased into the room, then took two quick steps that placed him right beside the bed. In short order, Willard took a spot at the end of the bed and leveled the shotgun on Brakett's sleeping figure.

The girl on the side of the bed nearest Longarm opened her pale blue eyes. She made no effort to cover her nude body. Ruby lips parted as though she might speak, just as he placed a finger over them, shook his head, and hissed, “Sssssh. Quiet, darlin'. Now, come on outta there.”

Longram took the naked girl by the hand. With great care and deliberateness, she swung one shapely leg, then the other, over the mattress's edge, then stood. Her heavy breasts pressed against his chest. She smiled, then twisted back and forth, rubbing dark, thumb-sized nipples across his vest front until they stiffened to the point where he could actually feel them through his clothing.

An inquisitive hand came up to his crotch and squeezed. She leaned forward till her lips touched his ear. “Uhmmmm. You're a big ole boy,” she whispered. “Good-lookin' one, too. Even smell good. Don't get many like you in here, mister. You finish up with whatever you're here for, me and Lily'll fuck you till you cain't climb on a horse. Be so weak when you leave, your friend at the foot of the bed'll have to help you walk.”

Longarm whispered back, “Might be gunplay in here soon, miss. Best get your sister up and get the hell out. 'Less you don't mind flyin' lead and the possibility of dyin' in this nasty fuckin' room.”

Lucy Preston's head popped back, then she twisted and gazed down at her sister. As if by magic, the other naked girl stirred, then rose on one elbow and gazed around the room as though not the least surprised, or concerned, by the fact that two more men had entered. She carefully extracted herself from Silas Brakett's rigid manhood, then crawled to the foot of the bed. Brakett grunted and rolled onto his back, his thick, rock-hard cock pointing toward the ceiling like a fleshy flagpole.

Allred urged the girl toward her duplicate, who stood beside Longarm with her arms out. The girls hugged each other, then, without another sound, disappeared into the hallway.

Longarm watched until convinced the women were safe, then turned his attention back to the brigand in the bed. He tapped Brakett on the shoulder with the barrel of his pistol and waited—nothing. He tried again—nothing. On the third attempt to awaken the snoring slug, Brakett grunted, then swatted at the irritant. He scratched his crotch, stroked his stiff prong several times, and then, to Longarm's surprise, the man went at himself with considerable devotion.

“Well, by God, that's enough,” Longarm said aloud. He glanced at Willard Allred. A toothy grin creaked across the old soldier's face.

“Appears the man cain't git enough.”

Longarm shook his head in disgust. “Tell you, Willard, I'll do a lot of things in service of the law, but I ain't gonna stand here and watch this bastard jerk off like a thirteen-year-old who's only recently discovered how good his damned pecker feels.” He swung the Frontier model pistol barrel around and knocked Brakett's dick out of the sleeping man's fist. The outlaw let out a screech and sat bolt upright in the bed. Both hands dove to cover his wounded prong.

Silas Brakett's ratlike eyes fluttered open. For several seconds they continued to flap like a covey of south Texas quail rising from scrub mesquite. He shook his head as though trying to clear out a skull full of cobwebs. “Sweet Jesus. Who're you two assholes, and what-taya want, for Christ's sake?”

He glanced down at the hands covering his damaged prick. A stream of bright red blood oozed up between trembling fingers. His startled gaze shot back up to Longarm. “God Almighty. My dick's a-bleedin'. What the fuck did you do to me? Oh Christ, I'm afraid to look. You ain't gone and cut ole Big Boy off, did you?”

Longarm smiled. “Hell, you'll be fine, Silas. Guess the blade sight on my pistol barrel musta put a nail-sized nick in that little bitty thang of yours.”

A confused, dumbfounded look darted across Brakett's stubble-covered face. “Blade sight? Pistol barrel? You mean you whacked me on my dingus with a pistol barrel? Jesus, why? What kinda evil son of a bitch'd do such a thing?”

Willard tapped the foot of the iron bed frame with the barrel of his shotgun. “You wanna talk to him here, Marshal? Or would you rather he got up, got dressed, and we took him out in the alley and beat the hell out of 'im, like we did Zeke Cobb?”

“Marshal? You boys the law?”

“Deputy U.S. Marshal Custis Long. That's my special deputy, Willard Allred.”

“What the fuck'd you star-totin' bastards do to poor ole Zeke?”

“Nothin' much,” Longarm said. “Just asked him a few questions, then told him to get the hell outta town.”

Brakett's gaze wobbled back down to his crotch. He opened bloody hands and cast an inquisitive gander at his wounded equipment. Then he shot an angry, teeth-gritting, hot-eyed glare at Longarm. “Jesus. Poor son of a bitch ain't gonna be no use to me for a good long spell, you stupid, law-bringin' cocksucker. Tell you what, you hand me my clothes and pistols off'n that chair yonder. Get myself dressed, we'll all go out in the street, an' I'll just kill the hell outta both your sorry asses.”

Longarm cocked the Colt and leveled the muzzle at Brakett's damaged goods. “Any killin' you're gonna do'll have to wait. Right now you're gonna tell me where Quincy Ballentine is, or I'm gonna blow your balls off right where you're sittin'.”

A twitching mask of alarm spread over Brakett's face. He covered himself again. “The hell you say. You wouldn't do such an awful thing to any man.”

“He would,” Willard snarled. “And if'n he won't, I sure as hell will.”

Brakett's troubled, darting gaze swung around to Allred. He squinted in recognition. “Hell, I know you,” he said. “You're that broke-down old reb what drives a freight wagon around town and calls it a hack. Seen you almost ever' day since we come to town. What the fuck're you doin' a-helpin' a federal lawdog?”

“This conversation is on the way to gettin' borin' as hell, and I'm somewhat less than inclined to take the time and explain
absolutely everything
to you, chapter and verse, unless I have to do it.” Longarm pulled the trigger on his pistol. The gigantic .45 slug blasted a smoking hole in the mattress not two inches from Brakett's grasping fingers. The explosion, hemmed in by the closeness of the cramped room, was near deafening. The concussive shockwave from the blast snuffed out a lit kerosene lamp sitting atop a broken-down chest of drawers—the only other piece of furniture in the depressing, brown-hued room.

Eyes as big as dinner plates, Silas Brakett rubbed his ears with bloody fingers, then yelped, “He made a run up to Springtown. 'Bout twenty miles from here. Said he had to replace his favorite girl and knew a gal from up that way as he could put to work whorin' for 'im.”

Longarm gritted his teeth. “Did he bother to mention what happened to his favorite girl?”

“Matilda?”

“Yes, you stupid bastard, Matilda.”

“Well, yeah. Quincy tole me she quit 'im. Said she went on back to Dodge, where he found her in the first place. 'At gal wuz a-humpin' cowboys for a dollar a throw in a dirty-legged Kansas whorehouse when he come on her. Damn shame she went back, if'n you ask me. Matilda wuz, by far, the best-lookin', most high-toned woman he done ever had to keep him in walkin'-around money—and he's had some good'uns. I liked Matilda. Everyone what knowed her liked her. Damn good fuck, too, when you could catch her in the mood to let you rip off a little piece.”

Longarm's eyes narrowed and one brow arched. “You mean Quincy's had other women who did the same kind of thing for him as Matilda?”

“'Course he has. Gets hisself a new one 'bout every other year or so.”

A heavy silence hung over the room as the realization of what Brakett had just implied hit both lawmen. At the exact same moment, Longarm and Willard Allred both breathed, “Shit!”

Brakett shot a nervous glance from one man's face to the other. “What the hell's the difference? Cain't see how Quincy's keepin' company with one whore, or another, should matter to a federal lawdog and his half-assed special fuckin' deputy.”

Willard Allred's face went red. He pushed past a surprised Longarm, swung the stock of the Greener around, and caught Brakett across the mouth. The blow knocked the brigand's head to one side, split both lips, and knocked out several teeth. A spray of blood shot onto Madam Lou Brown's bedroom wall and splattered like a fistful of thrown chicken guts.

A shocked screech bolted from Brakett's throat. He grabbed at his lower jaw with both hands, rolled onto his side, and passed out.

Willard drew back for another blow, but Longarm placed a quieting hand on the man's shoulder. “That's enough. He's out cold. Don't think you can hurt him much more'n you did, Willard, 'less maybe you want to shoot him a time or two.”

Allred shook as though in the throes of a death-dealing case of malaria. His arms eased down to his sides and he quickly resumed his place at the end of the bed. “Sorry, Marshal,” he said. “Didn't mean to lose my temper like that. But I gotta tell you, I'm sick to death of havin' scum like Silas Brakett treat me with a lot less than respect. Served my cause and fought with honor and distinction. I'll not have bastards like this one besmirch my service any longer. As of today I won't be takin' any more such bullshit off'n any of 'em.”

“Understand completely, Willard. Trust me I do. But knocked colder'n a log-splitin' wedge in Montana, ole Silas there can't tell us a thing, and I need to know where Quincy's gonna be stayin' when he comes back from his recruitin' in Springtown. Understand?”

Still red-faced and shaking, Willard nodded. “Yessir. Understand completely. Guess I'd best go find some water, then try to bring him back around.”

“Might be a good idea.”

Willard hit the door running. A few minutes later he hustled back with a large ewer of fresh-pumped well water. He sat the pitcher on the floor, dipped a rag in the liquid, then laid it across Brakett's busted-up face.

Took some time and effort, but after about five minutes the still-naked thief and killer finally came around to bug-eyed consciousness. He picked at the empty spots in his mouth where teeth once resided, then said, “Wha fo' ya wen' an' hit me, you sommabitch? Shi', I wuz a-tryin' to tell ya' wha' ya' wanned ta know.”

Longarm stared down at Brakett as though gazing into a pit of squirming snakes. He lifted the blood-spitting gunny's pistol belt off the battered chest and threw it over his shoulder. Not a scintilla of sympathy showed in the man's face when he said, “Get up and put your clothes on, Silas.”

Brakett looked confused. “Wha' fo'?”

“Willard ran into Mrs. Brown out in the hall. She wants us all out of her house, and right ‘by God' now. So, get up and get dressed.”

Brakett struggled to the edge of the bed, leaving a trail of blood on the sheets behind him. “Guess my tim' wer' 'bout up, anaway. Only pay fo' las' nigh'.” He threw spindly legs over the side of the lumpy, stained mattress and sat up. Longarm pitched him his pants, then his shirt, and finally a run-out pair of boots that barely had soles on them.

As Brakett tussled with his boots, Longarm said, “Tell me where Quincy's stayin'.”

Still spitting blood and pieces of his teeth now and again, Brakett made a snorting sound, then glared at Longarm. “Yew mus' think I'm some kinda idget, or somefin'.”

Willard pushed between the two men again, drew the shotgun's butt back, then snarled, “Tell the man what he wants to know, you stupid son of a bitch, or so help me God, you won't leave this room with a single tooth left in that empty head of yours when I get through beatin' on you…”

Longarm patted Allred on the shoulder and gently moved him aside. He casually leaned on the chest of drawers and rested his head in one hand, like a man bored beyond tears. “Look, Silas, I'm gonna tell you all about your present predicament. Quincy Ballentine damn near beat Matilda Wayland to death. Left her in an alley to die. Girl's laid up in bed as we speak, and could well pass in spite of a damned good doctor's best efforts. Now you're gonna tell me where you think Quincy'll be stayin' when he gets back to town, or I'm gonna turn Willard loose to do whatever he feels necessary to get you to talk. You understand?”

Brakett stomped a reluctant foot into his boot, then cast a beady-eyed glance at each man. As he sat on the edge of the bed, his roving gaze lingered on Willard Allred for a second, then went back to Longarm. “Yeah, I unnerstan'. I don' tell, yew'll bea' me to death.”

Longarm grinned. “Something like that. What it'll all amount to is, if you don't talk, I'll let Willard do as much damage to you as Quincy did to Matilda.”

Brakett's eyes narrowed. A look of mild panic flitted across his scarred face. “Arright, arright. Don' get s'cited. They's a hotel down from the Comique call the Drover's Inn. Rea' small place. Only ten room. On tha corner a Eighth an' Throckmor'on Stree'. He's ga' two rooms rented there. Should be back sometim' tamar-rawer wid da new piece a twitsh.”

“You sure about that?” Allred growled.

Brackett raised a hand as though testifying in court. “All I know. Swear 'fore Jesus.”

Longarm grabbed Willard by the elbow and urged him into the hallway. “Meet me outside. Have a few more words for our friend here, then I'll be right out.” Willard nodded and headed for the street.

Back inside the room, Longarm dumped the pistol belt on the floor at the foot of the bed, then turned on Brakett. “Tell you the same thing I told Cobb. Get out of town. Get as far away from here as you can. Don't even look back. If I see you here after today, I'll kill you deader'n a rotten stump. You get my drift?”

Brakett pointed at his pistol belt. “Jus' might have one other little bitty piece of 'nformation fer ya, if'n I can have my gun back.”

A thin-lipped frown was his only reward for the unexpected offer.

“Thank you'll fin' it right enlightnin', Marshal.”

Longarm slipped Brakett's Smith & Wesson pistol from the holster he'd draped over his shoulder and ejected all the bullets. The tossed rig landed in Brakett's lap.

“Get on with it. What else have you got to say?”

Brakett leaned forward as though about to tell an important secret. In a hushed voice, he said, “Didn't jes' go to Springtown fer uh new twitsh, Marshal. Said he'd heard Doc Caine and his brother Ezra might be there sommers, too. Said if'n they wuz, he 'uz a-gonna hire 'em an' come on into Fort Worth with 'em.”

“The Caine brothers. Interestin'. Why would he want to talk with that pair of killers?”

“Ain't sure. We're pert low on fun these days. Ain't had no work in quite a spell. An'…”

“And what, goddammit? Get on with it if you've got anything else to say.”

Brakett swallowed hard, then rubbed a finger across his damaged gums. His speech improved a bit when he said, “Well, he's mighty pissed 'bout how you went and pistol-whipped 'im in the White Elephant. You are the one what done that, ain't you?”

Longarm leaned against the wall, pulled out two cheroots, and handed one to Brakett. He struck a lucifer, lit Brakett's, then his own. As he shook the flame to death, he said, “You think Quincy's makin' plans to rid the planet of my shadow? Is that what you're tryin' to tell me?”

Brakett pulled his smoking cheroot from between bloody lips. “Ain't no thinker, Marshal. Jes' tellin' you what he said. You do with the information what you will. But you'd best be a-thinkin' on this particular fact, for sure. The Caine brothers and Quincy go back a good many years. Been friends as long as I can 'member. If'n he finds 'em boys, and if'n they come back to Fort Worth with 'im, you can bet 'at 'ere bone-handled Colt of yer'n that they's gonna be a-lookin' fer you. And when they finds you, bet they's gonna be a killin'.”

“Appreciate the warnin', Silas,” Longarm said, and then heeled it for the hallway. Over his shoulder he added, “But that don't change your situation with me. Get outta town and be damned quick about it.”