Why would any man want to screw a green girl, Custis?”
“They weren’t exactly gals,” he said. “They was imps of Satan.”
She made him tell her all about his dream. When he had she said, “I’m glad I woke you up before they had their wicked way with you, dear. But you may be smarter than you think when you dream. As a mentalist, I have to pay attention to the way human heads work. It’s not true that dreams foretell the future, but they often tell us things that have been banging about way back in our brains. Who told you that the Great Costello used a lot of female stooges in his old vaudeville act?”
Longarm frowned up at her and said, “Nobody, unless I caught his act one time and forgot all about it.”
“There you go. You told me the last time we, uh, cuddled like this, that you came west after the war and knocked around a lot of cowtowns and mining camps before you got a steady job with the Justice Department a few years ago.”
“Six or eight years ago. So what?”
“It fits. I told you Costello never made the big time. Six or eight years ago he’d have just been getting started, playing rinky-dink tent shows and so-called opera houses in places like Dodge or smaller, see?”
It wasn’t easy to think back in such pleasant present surroundings. He said, “Hold on a minute. I remember seeing many a road show in many a cowtown, drunk or sober, and some of ‘em should have been raided. I remember comical acts and trained critter acts the best. To tell the truth, though, I have a tough time paying attention to most magic acts. I can figure out at least a third of the tricks, and don’t much care about the others unless they’re real gully-washing miracles. I don’t mean you ain’t interesting, on stage or off. You’re sort of astounding in every way. But, I dunno, most stage magicians take forever to get to the trick and then let you down with a fool silk handkerchief or dumpy gal popping out of a box.”
“Costello put on an unusually elaborate show with lots of flashing leg and flowing silk. You’re right about him building up to pretty basic tricks that most of us could perform without so many stooges. See, it’s not smart to build a bigger act than you really need, even in the big time, ‘cause you have to split with too many people if and when you get paid. Most vaudeville acts consist of maybe two partners and their in-laws at most.”
“Well, he’s Irish and the Irish go in for big families,” he said. “How would I go about checking on the others he has with him, Pearl?”
“His booking agent might know. You can’t trust the names on the three-sheets.”
He started to ask what she meant. Then he recalled that the Divine Sarah had posted three lithographed come-ons out front, one to each side of the entrance and one closer to the box office. “You can’t trust the hand- drawed pictures on them three-sheets, neither. What’s a booking agent, the gent that sets up shows for you folk?”
“Yes. Most of the western circuits are booked out of Chicago. I can ask my own, by wire, if he knows who’s been booking the Great Costello and Company. It has to be a small-timer. Do you feel you can be true to me until we get some answers, dear?”
She had him fully erect now, so he told her, and meant it for the moment, that there wasn’t a gal in Denver who could pleasure a man half as good as she could. But of course, once they’d about ruined her cot and he had to leave he recalled, with some chagrin, that the Arvada Orphan Asylum would be throwing a fundraising dance that weekend, and that Miss Morgana Floyd, the head matron, screwed like a mink and was younger and prettier than old Pearl as well.
But there was no way a man who packed a badge could put pleasure before duty, so he was stuck with this mind-reading sex maniac for now whether he wanted to be or not.
Chapter 9
When Longarm joined Billy Vail in his oak- paneled office at the Denver Federal Building, the older and fatter lawman cast a weary glance at the banjo clock on the wall and said, “It’s mighty considerate of you to report for work so early, old son. School’s out for the summer, but if this was a school day, the kiddies would be getting home about now.”
Longarm took a seat in the leather chair across the desk from Vail and reached for a smoke as he said, “Even you must have heard what happened at the hanging this morning, right?”
Vail growled, “I heard about it as I was opening this office no later than six-thirty or seven. The sound of gunplay carries on a clear cool morning. Henry, out front, typed up Guilfoyle’s full report, in triplicate, hours ago. I sent him home early because he’s got the trots and couldn’t tell me where the hell you were, let alone the Great Costello. I’m still waiting.”
“Guilfoyle must have told you how we split up. I wasn’t able to follow heel marks across road tar or railroad ballast neither. Did he tell you about them three dead guards at the hotel across from the lockup?”
“No. Denver P.D. did, hours ago. You was wrong about them bullet holes. The medical examiner dug a .32 slug from each victim’s brain. It looks like all three were murdered with the same gun by the same cuss.”
“Or the same woman, you mean.”
Vail shook his head and said, “Either way, it ain’t our case. I went over all the reports carefully. Wonder of wonders, I can’t see where either you or Guilfoyle fucked up. You got there on time and delivered the condemned man, handcuffed, to his lawsome executioners.
“Then he slipped said cuffs and somehow exchanged places with his hangman,” Longarm objected.
“Don’t pick nits. The point is that this office done exactly what it was called upon to do. We didn’t lose the prisoner, they did. Have you got the trots, too? You took sort of sick, old son.”
Longarm shook his head and said, “I’m just tired from questioning so many leads. I’ve been to every transient hotel in town, and if there’s a livery man or railroad clerk in town I missed, shame on me. The gang must have scattered once they busted the Great Costello loose. Nobody recalls hiring a room, a mount, or a railroad seat to more than two or three folk in a bunch. We know Costello’s confederates came male and female. Any two could no doubt pass for an innocent couple as long as they didn’t act suspicious and-“
“I said it wasn’t our case,” Vail cut in. In a no-nonsense tone, he went on. “We’re off the hook. I mean to keep it that way. The warden at the Federal House of Detention can explain the botched execution any way he wants to. Denver P.D. can solve as many murders in their jurisdiction as they can.”
Longarm lit his cheroot and blew smoke out his nostrils as he protested, “Damn it, Billy, counting Topkick
