Chapter 6
Longarm was loafing at the back of the room, waiting for the crowd to thin out. He wanted to have a few words with Henry in private. In particular he did not want young Rakestrom around at the time. He was frowning, concentrating on seeing how long an ash he could build at the tip of his cheroot before it fell off, when he felt a touch at his elbow.
“H’lo, Dutch,” Longarm said. The man, an old and trusted deputy who had worked for Billy Vail about as long as anybody in the bunch, looked like Hell half warmed over. He needed a haircut, a shave, a bath, and—Longarm’s nose wrinkled a mite—a change of clothes. His eyes were crisscrossed with bright scarlet veins. “Hope you don’t mind me mentionin’ it, Dutch, but you look like you’re coming off a three-day drunk.”
“Only two days, but you aren’t s’ wrong after all. I managed to drink enough for three days. Hell, for a week. Ever since I heard the news.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. You, uh … I don’t recall seeing you at the funeral earlier.”
“I wasn’t there, Longarm. Billy would’ve understood. I just couldn’t stand it.”
“I didn’t go out to the cemetery my own self. Same reason.”
Dutch nodded and sidled a little closer, lowering his eyes and his voice. “You figure to talk to those boys from the Secret Service, do you?”
“Thought I might have a word with them, yes.
“Don’t bother. I just tried it. You know how they introduced themselves? Agent Smith and Agent Jones. Can you believe that shit? They won’t even give us their right names, but we’re supposed to bow down an’ do whatever they say. And invite me in on the investigation? Hell, no. They said they been asked—asked, can you believe that— asked to take over for us an’ so that’s what they’ll do. Leave us experienced old-timers to take care o’ bullshit while they handle the important work. I never seen any two so slick nor any two so damned arrogant as Mr. Smith an’ Mr. Jones. Christ!”
“They said they’d do the important stuff, did they?”
“That isn’t the wording they used, but it’s damn sure the meaning. They’ll handle the investigation into the bombing. Hey, they’re the president’s own fair-haired boys, right? Us dumb hayseeds can handle the routine garbage. And o’ course, when Congress gets its report it’ll be the Treasury Department that gets the credit, not Justice.”
“I hope whoever replaces Billy isn’t a damn politician,” Longarm said with feeling.
“I don’t think it’s gonna make a lick of difference to me who’s appointed,” Dutch said, his voice bitter. “The son of a bitch won’t be able to hold a candle to Billy Vail, I don’t care who it is. Me, I’m quitting. Quick as Billy’s killer is found, my badge hits the desk. It wouldn’t be the same without him.”
“I been thinking the same way,” Longarm admitted.
“So are you gonna be a good boy an’ go serve their stupid papers and all that shit?” Dutch asked.
Longarm grinned. “I always follow orders, Dutch. You know that.”
The deputy laughed, the sound short and bitter with no trace of merriment in it. “That’s one o’ the things I’ve always admired about you, Longarm.”
“You going your own way, Dutch?”
“Just the same as you.”
“You got any ideas?”
“Hell, yes, don’t we all?”
“If there’s anything I can do …” Longarm offered.
“Yeah. The same t’ you too. If you need any help with anything, wire Henry. Tell him … I dunno, tell him to send you some tulips.”
“Dutch. Tulips. Why not.”
“I expect to let Henry in on where I am.”
“Good idea. I’ll do the same.” Longarm thought for a moment, then sniggered. “If you need me for anything, ask for some shorts. He can relay the message an’ tell me where to find you.”
“Fair enough.”
Longarm nodded toward the front of the room, toward where Henry was waiting to hand out paperwork to the appropriate parties. Most of the others had gotten whatever they needed and disappeared by now, although Cotton’s toady Rakestrom was still hanging around. Apparently the little weasel was not going to leave until the last details were finished. The hell with him, Longarm thought. He’d waited long enough. “Let’s take care of this business first,” he said to Dutch, “then invite ol’ Henry down the street for a drink so we can have a little talk with him in private. You know he’ll go along with what you got in mind. He was closer to Billy than any of us.”
Dutch grunted an acknowledgment and trailed along behind Longarm.
When Longarm got to the desk, he calmly and quite meekly asked Henry for copies of the warrant charging Albert Morris with mail tampering. Rakestrom actually smiled at Longarm’s obvious acquiescence.
“Thanks,” Longarm said, folding the warrants and tucking them safely away. “One thing, though. Instead of regular expense vouchers, I better have some cash outa the petty cash fund. You know how bad some of those Mormons are about honoring U.S. government paper.”
Henry didn’t bat an eye, even though he knew as well as Longarm did that there probably was not a more law- abiding bunch in the country than Brigham Young’s followers over in Utah. Well, when it came to papers and such as that anyway. There were certain aspects of the law that they cheerfully ignored, but that was neither here nor there. No deputy had ever had difficulty securing lodging, transportation, or any other thing in Mormon-controlled territory. But while Longarm knew that, and Henry knew that, and Dutch most assuredly would know that too, Carl Rakestrom would be most unlikely to know it. And that was what counted.
