Longarm in Hell's Half Acre (6 page)

BOOK: Longarm in Hell's Half Acre
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Several hard-looking men, dressed in a kind of rudimentary uniform that consisted of knee-length gray coats, black slouch hats, and large official-looking six-pointed stars lounged around a desk in one corner of the room. Gun racks laden with a variety of weapons, ammunition, leg irons, and other methods of restraint covered the north wall of the cramped space. A tin stove, rough table, and handmade checkerboard in the corner opposite the marshal's desk were surrounded by a mixed collection of mismatched chairs, stools, and empty, upturned wooden shipping crates.

Barred doors across the entire back wall of Fort Worth's jailhouse led the way into a cellblock that appeared fully capable of housing several hundred prisoners. An odor, rank enough to curl a man's nose hair, oozed from the empty-appearing calaboose like an invisible cloud of stink from a cattle pen.

A florid-faced, black-haired gent seated behind the desk sported a waxed handlebar moustache the size of a man's forearm. On his chest, the distinctive gold badge of the city marshal twinkled in the room's sparse light.

The marshal motioned Longarm forward and said, “Come right on in, sir. These fellers are on their way out. Job of keepin' a lid on things around here ain't never done.”

One of the policemen grunted, rose from the only other available chair near the desk, touched the brim of his hat, and headed for the door. His fellow officers followed. In pretty short order, Longarm and Fort Worth's chief law enforcement officer had the entire dank-smelling room to themselves.

Sam Farmer motioned for his guest to sit, offered up a politician's painted-on smile, then said, “How can the Fort Worth city police be of assistance today?”

Longarm removed his hat, yanked a bandanna from his pocket, and wiped his sweaty head and face. Then he pulled his wallet from an inside jacket pocket and flipped it open to reveal his deputy U.S. marshal's badge and official credentials. “Name's Custis Long, Marshal Farmer. In town for a few days of rest and recreation. Nothing official, mind you. Just stopped by to let you know I'm in town.”

Farmer's gaze darted from the badge to Longarm's face, then back again. He leaned forward in the squeaky chair and placed his elbows on the desk. He peaked his fingers, then rested his chin against his thumbs, as if in deep contemplation. “Most gracious of you to come in for a visit today, Marshal Long,” he said. “Want you to know I do appreciate the thoughtfulness of the courtesy you've so graciously extended.”

“Well, Marshal, I've always made it my practice to keep in close touch with local constabulary, no matter my business. Hope you understand and approve.”

“Oh, I do, Marshal Long. Indeed, sir. Must admit that, when I took office, I made the mistake of letting personal fears and political resentment color my attitudes toward other members of the law enforcement fraternity. But I've adjusted that faulty attitude considerably over the past year or so. Do make yourself at home while visiting my town, and feel free to call on me for anything you might need. I'll be most pleased to assist in any way I can.”

Longarm stuffed his hat back on, then stood. “Well, do appreciate your offer, sir. Right now I'd like to head for the hotel and get settled.” He extended a hand.

Farmer kept his seat, but shook his guest's hand, then, as Longarm headed for the door, he said, “Hope we can have a drink while you're in town, Marshal Long.”

Standing on the threshold, with the brass knob in hand, Longarm turned, then touched the brim of his hat. “I look forward to that pleasant instance and would be most happy to stand you to a beaker of your favorite poison at your own convenience. You can find me at the El Paso Hotel, Marshal, or just get in contact with my driver, Mr. Allred. We've come to an arrangement, and he'll always be aware of where I am as long as I'm in town.”

Chapter 6

Limping as though he could barely make it, Willard Allred lugged Longarm's canvas bag up to the imposing three-story brick El Paso Hotel's solid walnut check-in desk and dropped it on the floor.

Longarm glanced around the enormous lobby and noted that it looked more like a European opera house than a Texas hotel. All the furnishings appeared new and impressively expensive. Well-dressed men, of obvious substance, sat at small tables placed around the open vestibule. They read newspapers, smoked their ax handle–sized cigars, or talked with one another in hushed tones behind cupped palms.

Underfoot, a meticulously clean, thick, dark-colored Brussels carpet deadened the building's interior noise and added a peaceful, relaxing feel to the place. A staircase nearby led to the two upper floors, and across the foyer a set of highly polished batwings opened into a convenient saloon and billiards room. Another entryway, gilt decorated and gleaming, led into the hotel's private dining area. A beautiful young woman manned a desk beside the door. Might have to spend some time in both those places, Longarm thought, then smiled at the prospect of the entertainment possibilities afforded by such an onsite convenience.

A slick-haired, clean-shaven, imperially slim clerk, dressed in a suit and spotless white shirt that made a man want to cover his eyes, hustled over, nodded, then said, “Who do we have with us today, Tater?”

“Custis Long, deputy U.S. marshal outta Denver, Mr. Hunter. He'd like a room with a bath for a week, maybe two.”

Hunter sniffed, then twirled the thick, leather-bound registration book around on its swiveling stand. “Please sign here, Mr. Long. I'm sure the El Paso can accommodate your every need and desire during your stay.”

Longarm took up the pen, dipped it, then signed his name. He laid the pen aside, then said, “Well, Mr. Hunter, what I need right now is a bath and one of your valets to take my suit to a laundry. Have it brushed and pressed. What I might desire later could prove problematic. But we'll hold off on that for the present.”

Allred waved a uniformed hotel employee aside and insisted on carrying the heavy bag all the way to Longarm's room. He knew exactly where to go as soon as the room number came from the desk clerk's mouth, and led the way as though the sumptuous lodgings were his own.

He ushered Longram around the elegantly appointed room, bragged about the help, the in-house bar, the billiards room, and the restaurant, then doffed his hat and headed for the door. “Been my pleasure, Marshal Long. Hope you enjoy your stay. And, oh, thanks for allowin' me to pull one over on Mr. Hunter. Hotel pays me two dollars for every guest I appear to guide their direction.”

Longarm gazed at the bed, polished walnut furnishings, metal bath in the corner, and back to Allred. “Tell me, Tater, how much do you make on an average day a-haulin' folks back and forth from the depot?”

Allred scratched his chin. “Oh, at twenty-five cents a trip, best I ever done was four dollars. But that were durin' the busiest part of the cattle season. 'Course, if'n I can git a feller like you, the El Paso's added income fer bringin' you in helps considerable. Guess you could say three to four dollars in a day's a damn good'un. But I've been known to take a siesta, here and there. Rarely work all day at a single spurt.”

“Here's what I'll do. You make yourself available for me, kind of semi-exclusively, while I'm in town, and I'll give you ten dollars cash money right now, and ten more the day you take me to the depot when I leave. All you have to do is check in with the desk two or three times a day to find out if I need you.”

Allred's rheumy eyes lit up. “Damn, didn't realize lawmen made that kinda money. Ever' one of 'em as I've knowed was poor as church mice.”

Longarm waved the old soldier's concern away. “Well, I've been savin' for more years than I care to remember for this trip. Money is not a problem. There's plenty. Trust me when I say I've not had an opportunity to spend much of my salary for some years now. Stuff's just been sittin' in a bank in Denver, gatherin' interest.”

“I see.”

“Does my proposition have any appeal for you?”

Allred stuffed his hat on, came to military attention, and saluted. “Mr. Long, you've got yourself a private guide to all the wonders, carnal and otherwise, of Fort Worth in general and Hell's Half Acre in particular. You just tell me what you're lookin' for, or what you want, and by God, we'll find it. If'n Tater Allred cain't find it, then a man sure as hell don't need it.”

Longarm placed the ten-dollar gold piece in Allred's palsied hand, then clapped the man on the back. “Pick yourself a spot in the shade and take a load off for a spell. Soon's I get cleaned up, we'll get out amongst 'em and see what we can get into.”

Allred rolled the coin around in his fingers, then stuffed it into the pocket of his raggedy vest. “Be waitin' fer you. Don't worry, I'll spot you soon's you hit the street again, Mr. Long.”

“I'd feel a lot more comfortable if you called me Custis, Tater.”

“See you downstairs—Custis.”

Two hours later, Longarm, bathed and shaved, stepped onto the El Paso Hotel's covered veranda. He stopped a moment, then lit a fresh cheroot. His brown tweed suit, snuff-colored Stetson, and low-heeled boots had all been brushed, and the suit carefully pressed. As he ran a finger back and forth under his heavy moustache, he watched Willard Allred hobble across Third Street from the direction of the White Elephant.

“Been starin' in the door again like a kid at the candy counter?”

“Yeah. Gonna work up nerve enough to stroll in one a these days.”

“Hell, you don't have any problem strollin' into the nicest hotel in town. Why does a saloon slow you down?”

Allred tilted his head like a confused hound. “Not sure, exactly. It's just different, that's all. Hell, I've got an accommodation with these folks here at the El Paso. Ain't managed to get nothin' goin' over at the White Elephant. Besides, a man kinda feels obligated to spend money in a place like the Elephant. Money I ain't always got to throw around.”

Longarm glanced up and down the darkening thoroughfare. Both Main and Third Streets teemed with bustling knots of laughing, loud-talking people. Men and women strolled arm in arm. Cowboys, freighters, gamblers, and travelers of every imaginable stripe moved about between large puddles of flickering light created by lamps behind the opaque windows of various businesses along the streets.

Allred tilted his head back and sniffed the air. “Do I detect the hint of toilet water waftin' off a your person, Custis?”

Longarm snatched the cheroot from between his lips and smiled. “Women tend to like a man who smells like something other'n sweat, dirt, a nasty ass, and horses, Tater. And when it comes to women, I'm gonna do whatever it takes to make 'em happy.”

“Ah. Well, of the worldly pleasures available to a man down in the Acre, am I to assume that women are the first order of business this evenin'?”

The cheroot traveled from one corner of Longarm's mouth to the other. “Perhaps a bit later in the evening. We'll just have to wait and see what kind of opportunity presents itself. Right now, I could use a good meal, two or three glasses of good Maryland rye, and maybe a bit of poker to top off my first evening in town.”

“Fine eatin' joint right here in the hotel. Mighty good'un in the Elephant, too. Merchant's Restaurant over yonder across Main's a favorite spot for visitin' cattlemen. Any of 'em are good. Just take your pick.”

Longarm turned, clapped Allred on the shoulder, then said, “Come along, Willard. I'll treat you to a beaker of your favorite spirits at the White Elephant. Then you can head home for a much-deserved night's rest. Figure I'm not gonna be needin' your services tonight.”

Yellow-tinted lamplight, laughter, and music poured from behind the White Elephant's inviting doors. Allred followed Longarm inside, but hesitated once he'd crossed the threshold, and appeared reluctant to go any farther. For a second, the poor man seemed unable to believe the beauty of what presented itself for his unfettered examination.

A few steps over the Elephant's threshold, a wide, carpeted staircase led to the second floor gaming area. The clicking sounds made by a roulette wheel and a Keno game's goose filtered down the steps like cascading water and invited the potential risk taker to come on up and put his money on the line. To the right of the flight of steps, the famed saloon's restaurant beckoned, and on the left, the most famous bar in the entire West loomed, in all of its mirrored splendor.

Tater Allred gazed up to the landing at the top of the carpeted stairway and, in a voice filled with pious awe, said, “Done heard tell they's a table up yonder what has fifty thousand dollars in gold coin stacked on it fer anyone as passes to stop and gaze on. Can you imagine—fifty thousand dollars in gold, Marshal Long? Must be an amazin' sight.”

Longarm swept an all-encompassing arm around the saloon's grandiose entry, then pointed at the bar. “Forget the gold—take a long, lovin' look at that, Willard. Ain't that the most beautiful thing you've ever seen? Sweet Jesus, she must be damned near fifty feet of polished mahogany and twinklin' glass. My oh my, take a gander at all the liquor on the back bar. Splendid, ain't it? Just damned splendid.”

Allred removed his hat as though he'd just entered the sanctuary of a stone cathedral inhabited by the twin gods of drink and chance. He twisted the battered head cover in his hands and moaned like a man in the throes of malarial agony. “You sure about this, Marshal Long? Okay that I'm here?”

Longarm took the old cavalry officer by the elbow and ushered him to a spot at the establishment's magnificent, gleaming bar. He made a flicking motion at a slick-headed, smiling drink slinger, who quickly hustled over and wiped a spot off for them.

Longarm turned to Tater and said, “What'll you have, Mr. Allred. Pick anything they've got. It's on me.”

Allred's withered, scar-covered hand came up to the bar's surface and caressed the polished wood as though it were a living thing. Longarm barely heard the man when he said, “Kentucky bourbon and branch water, Custis. A double, if that's alright.”

A broad smile etched its way across Longarm's face. “You heard the gentleman, barkeep. And you can bring me a double shot of your best Maryland rye.”

When the liquor arrived, Longarm held his glass aloft, then said, “Let's see if I can remember a toast, Willard. Ah, yeah, bet this'un will work just fine: Here's to the man who makes me laugh; who makes me forget my sorrow. May he have a big, fat bank account, and friends who never borrow.”

A flush-faced Allred offered up a gap-toothed smile, tapped his glass against that of his newly found friend, then took a nibbling sip. He ran his tongue across chapped lips. “Damn. Compared to what I usually drink, that's mighty fine giggle juice, Marshal Long,” he said, then nibbled at the liquid fire again.

Barely a minute after their drinks hit the bar, a handsome young woman dressed in a wine-colored evening gown touched Longarm's elbow. Brown, almost black, eyes danced with promise when her gaze drank him in from head to foot. In a voice that sounded like a ten-pound cat purring, she said, “Would you like to have dinner with us tonight, sir? The White Elephant has one of the finest dining rooms in all of Texas.”

Longarm flashed the girl a winning smile, then touched the brim of his hat. “That we would, my dear. My friend and I are hungry enough to eat the blades off a West Texas windmill. So, you just go on ahead and lead us to a proper table and bring on the beefsteak.”

Allred refused to move from his spot. “You go on ahead, Marshal. Now that I've finally made it to Luke Short's magnificent drinkin' emporium, think I'd like to stay here at the bar for a spell. Kinda soak it all in for a bit, so to speak. Perhaps even have another glass of this fine tonsil paint, 'fore I trundle my way home for the evenin'.”

Longarm glanced back and forth from Allred to the stunning young woman a time or two, then said, “Well, I've never been one to force food on anybody. But if you change your mind, Willard, just have this lovely lady bring you on back. Sure she can find a place for you to sit.”

“I will, sir. I will.”

Longarm took his drink and followed his beautiful guide. He'd taken only two or three steps before he stopped when Allred said, “Damned nice of you to bring me in here. Won't forget this, Marshal Long. No sir, won't forget it for quite a spell. Ain't many men who've bothered to treat me as well as you have this afternoon and this evenin'.”

“My distinct pleasure, Tater.” Longarm glanced over at the bartender again. “Give this gentleman anything he wants, barkeep. Just add it to my bill in the restaurant.”

In the White Elephant's sumptuously appointed ground floor eatery, Longarm took a brocaded seat at a corner table, next to a window that looked onto Fort Worth's main thoroughfare. The street now glittered and glowed in the soft lamplight that poured from doorways and other windows like yellow-tinted waterfalls at the ends of strange, dark rivers.

He scanned through a bill of fare that included “the best beefsteak in Texas, fresh fish, oysters, and game of all kinds.” The meal that came to his table that night included a sampling of almost everything available. And after nigh on two hours of overindulgence, he slapped his full stomach, felt gloriously satisfied, pleased with his choices, and more relaxed than he'd been in months. He slid down in his chair and closed his eyes for a second. Heaven, he thought. Absolute heaven. But then an argument at a nearby table bubbled up, got violent, and snatched him out of his pleasant reveries.

BOOK: Longarm in Hell's Half Acre
12.18Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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