“He put up a struggle,” explained the Great Costello, as if it justified cutting a man’s throat like that. The flooring under all of them rumbled as, outside, the eastbound flier rolled into the station. Longarm knew the others, outside, could take care of such explaining as might be needed. He moved closer to the man he’d downed, hunkered down beside him, and after sliding Costello’s Remington .45 clear, patted Costello down, found a .32 Harrington Richardson whore pistol in a vest pocket, and said, “Shame on you. It’s my considered medical opinion that you don’t need a doc. But as long as you can still talk, could we discuss some of your recent waywardness in hopes of clearing a few minor details up?”
The great Costello grimaced and asked, “Why? I don’t owe you shit. You just treated me and my poor relations mean as hell.”
“It was your notion to let them take all those chances,” Longarm said. “I noticed down Mexico way that while you liked to plan razzle-dazzles, it was El Gato and me you expected to take the real risk. You told your nephews or whatever about the dueling brag you’d made, then got them to play you and two gals I’d be even less likely to shoot at. All four of you were hoping I wouldn’t get here before that train outside. But just in case I did, you set it up with the dice loaded in your own favor.”
The dying man coughed and grumbled, “How were we to know you were immortal, for God’s sake? How did you see through my neat disguise, Longarm?”
The younger and smarter man in the booth replied, “I didn’t, at first, even though I ought to be stood in the corner for being so dumb. It only occurred to me, after you’d made one last dumb move, that you’d said you just came on duty, in the middle of the morning. When I show up for work around ten I get pure hell at my office. But, like you counted on, nobody pays all that much attention to ticket clerks. So how was I to know you’d come in ahead of your act to act as a lookout and make sure all of you could board that train with tickets, cheap, and no record of the transaction or probable destination?”
“You’re wrong,” Costello said, “I do need a doctor. It’s starting to hurt, now that the shock’s wearing off.”
Longarm soothed, “Try to breathe shallow. Let your lungs fill up with blood natural and it won’t hurt so bad. Where are the gals, Costello? I know you was trying to send Maureen on ahead when we made our little deal. Where were you all planning to meet up again, later?”
“Go to hell. They got away clean. I give you my word none of them had any hand in the jobs the boys and I pulled off while they kept the home fire burning.”
“No offense, but your word ain’t much. I reckon it was fair for you to give me the slip down Mexico way after all that empty boasting about a fair man-to-man showdown. I didn’t mind fibbing to some rurales who meant to double-cross me in the end. But the boys I just shot it out with were your kin. You told ‘em they only had to play their parts and that if I was really here before that train you’d do the real fighting behind my misdirected back. The one playing you must have liked to shit his pants when I kept coming and you took so long getting up the nerve to back-shoot me. You had me in a four-way cross fire and you blew it. Pearl of Wisdom told me your magic act was marred by a bad sense of timing. Like a lot of half-ass magicians, you knew all the tricks, but your stage fright made you hesitant and Clumsy.”
The Great Costello closed his eyes, gave a sad little moan, and went limp. Longarm reached with his free hand to feel for a pulse. The magician’s small, strong hand suddenly clamped on his wrist and he said, “Gotcha!” Then he laughed like hell and died.
An El Paso lawman who’d eased into the booth in time to hear the last of it asked, “Is he?” and Longarm said, “He is, and in a way I’m sort of disappointed. I figured if anyone was about to escape from a situation like this, it would have to be him.”
Chapter 19
Longarm had better luck on the train back to Denver than he’d had coming down. Her name was Susan and she said she sold female notions, wholesale, and that while she was on her way to Denver to practice her traveling trade she didn’t know a soul in town. So after he’d bought her some sickening cocktails in the club car and persuaded her to try tequila mucho gusto cocktails instead, it seemed only natural for her to invite him to her line of wares.
He had no use for black silk stockings or the lacey garters ladies used to hold ‘em up with. Once he had old Susan out of her own black lace, he decided making love on sooty sheets wasn’t all that bad, now that it wasn’t so hot and sticky on the high plains.
The traveling saleswoman had hair—all over—the same color as that chestnut gelding he’d said adios to down at Fort Bliss, albeit she was built a lot more petite. She gave a man a good ride for such a diminutive mount, and by the time the train got them both to Denver she was still frisky. So when she pleaded with him to meet her after working hours at her hotel near the Union Depot, she didn’t have to twist his arm. Longarm did have friends in Denver, but there were still a few positions he hadn’t gotten around to, yet, with old Susan.
They shook on it and parted friendly after he helped her get her sample bags over to her hotel. Then, knowing Billy Vail was as interested in railroad timetables as he was, Longarm started legging it uptown to the federal building to build some character with his boss. He didn’t even stop for breakfast, even though he hadn’t managed any aboard the train. This was one time he didn’t want to wind up working late.
As he was crossing Larimer Street, Crawford of the Post grabbed him by the elbow and steered him under the awning of a vaudeville theatre on the shady side of the street. Crawford said, “We got most of it from the wire service, but I want an interview from you, anyway. Weren’t you scared when you found yourself in a four-way cross fire down El Paso way?”
Longarm said, “I was scared when I only figured it was three ways. You can quote me on that. I’m only a hero, not a total asshole. Now let go of my damn buttonhole and let me get on to my damn office. Knowing Billy Vail, it’s been open for hours. He has his own key and must figure they expect him to milk cows at the federal building every morning.”
But the reporter was insistent. So Longarm answered a few more fool questions, tersely, as his eyes wandered over the new three-sheets posted out front by the theatre. Pearl of Wisdom was of course long gone, and he didn’t recognize anyone on the new bill as an old pal who put out. He finally got loose and ducked around the corner to beeline for the office. Thanks to his meeting with old Crawford, there went the beer he’d meant to have at the Parthenon as well. He entered the federal building dry, and morosely climbed the marble steps to the second floor. As he entered the Federal Marshal’s layout, old Henry, the prissy young dude who played the typewriter out front, congratulated him on a job well done and said to go right on back. Longarm knew they were plotting against him.
Billy Vail didn’t glance at the banjo clock on the wall this time as Longarm took a weary seat across from him. Longarm was trying to decide whether he was out of shape or whether shapely Susan lifted weights, when his boss said, “I just got a curious telegram from the Mexican government. I thought I told you to stay the hell out of Mexico.”
