“Nor would I ever ask you to, Emmy. I came here so you could help me keep Harry safe. There is a man who wants to kill him. I have to find Harry so I can warn him.”
“Are you being honest with me, Custis?”
“I’m hurt that you would even ask me that, Emmy. You know I’ve never been anything but honest with you.”
“That’s true, old dear.” She looked a little weepy now. She produced a handkerchief from inside the sleeve of her gown, and used it to mop at her eyes, smearing the cloth with black ooze from her eye makeup and with pink rice powder from her cheeks. She didn’t seem to notice, and fortunately could not see the effect the mopping had on her makeup. “Tell me about this threat to my Harry, Custis.”
So he told her, briefly sketching the mission Billy Vail had given him.
“And you say Harry is the next target of this young person?”
“That’s what the man from the Justice Department believes.”
“Harry used to be an officer, you know. An officer and a gentleman.”
“Yes, Emmy, I know.”
“He had a ring, you know. West Point. And he was a federal deputy too, you know. Before he became the marshal here.”
“Yes, I know that, Emmy.”
“You were never an officer, Custis. Though you were a gent, hee-hee. Just not by an act of Congress like Harry was.”
“That’s right, Emmy.” It was so silly for her to go on now about inconsequential things like that. Yet the fact of Harry Bolt’s having been an officer and a gentleman by act of Congress apparently meant much to Emmaline Bertolucci. Lord, but she was shallow. So much more so than he’d ever realized in the past.
“And you aren’t just trying to trick me, are you, Custis? You don’t have a warrant for Harry, do you?”
“No, Emmy, I swear to you, it’s just the way I said. I need to find him so I can help him, not so I can take him in.”
“All right then, Custis. Let me think about this. Maybe I will tell you.” She drew back and cackled. “And maybe I won’t.”
Longarm felt an urge to slap Emmaline across the face, to bring her back to the here and now. Except, in a manner of speaking, he doubted that she even had been here and now with him. Emmaline seemed to live in her own blurry sphere, and that was a place Longarm did not want to share with her.
“You can call on me again later, Custis.” She batted her eyes at him. “We’ll talk then. And maybe I’ll tell you, maybe I won’t.” Her laughter was as loud as a crow’s cawing. And held just about the same amount of human warmth or caring.
Longarm shuddered. But this was Emmaline’s mad game. It would be played out by her rules or not at all.
“I’ll call on you again later, Emmy. We’ll talk again then, yes?”
“Yes, my dear. We’ll talk later.” Emmaline made cow’s eyes at him and twisted about on her chaise so that her pendulous, sweat-shiny breasts were put on display, presumably to arouse his passions.
Longarm felt a great welling of pity for this woman. And a great distaste for her company as well. He managed a smile, however, bowed low as if paying her court, and backed out of the darkly curtained room.
Jesus, he thought. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
Chapter 6
“I hope you’ll be leaving now, Long,” the bartender said when Longarm came back out into the public room.
“For a bit, Gregory, but I gotta come back again later,” Longarm said, explaining as briefly as possible.
The barman grimaced and stood there for a moment staring bleakly off into space. Finally he said, “She wants time to get herself prettied up.”
Poor Emmaline was far past the point where any amount of repair would do much good, Longarm thought. But he wasn’t cruel enough to say so to this long-suffering sonuvabitch who still loved her.
“Come back in, let’s say three hours, maybe four. I’ll … go help her. Make sure she’s feeling at her best. You know.” Gregory wasn’t looking at Longarm while he spoke. He held himself stiff, as if he were as fragile as a cold cigar ash and might crumple clean away if he was to make a sudden move. “Have yourself some supper … whatever … an’ come back later tonight, why don’t you?”
“That’ll be fine, Gregory.” He paused for a moment. But hell, there really wasn’t anything more to say. Sadly he made his way back outside, into the waning afternoon.
His hope of making this stop in Picketwire a quick one was shot to hell and gone by now, so he walked back to the stage station. The pleasant clerk he’d spoken with earlier was nowhere in sight. But the cantankerous coach driver was.
“Excuse me,” Longarm said. There was no immediate response so he tried again a little louder. After all, the fellow might be going deaf or some such. Longarm figured that even could explain the sourness of his disposition. “Excuse me?”
The jehu looked up and scowled. “What’d you do, pass wind or something’?”
There was something Longarm would like to pass. His fist clean through the cartilage in this idjit’s nose, for instance. But he put on a smile anyway and said, “I’m just wanting to pick up my gear.”
“Gear? What gear?”
