already been sated. In fact, as he tasted the sweet, hot wetness of her mouth, another throb went through his shaft, which was still buried within her. The reaction made her give a throaty little noise almost like the purr of a cat.
'I am so happy--happy I find you in that marsh, Custis,' she whispered.
'You and me both, Claudette,' he told her. 'You and me both.'
CHAPTER 8
As Claudette had predicted, Longarm was able to hitch a ride into New Orleans the next morning with a farmer who was taking a load of produce into town to the market near the docks. That put Longarm close to Gallatin Street too, so he was able to walk to the Brass Pelican. The door of the gambling club was locked when he got there, however, so he pounded on the panel and waited to see if anyone was going to open it.
His thoughts went back to Claudette. She had awakened him that morning when dawn was just beginning to gray the sky, and a mighty nice way of waking up it had been. She had been kneeling beside the bunk, her head bobbing up and down over his groin as she sucked on his manhood. He had caught hold of her shoulder and tried to pull her up onto the bunk with him, but her lips and tongue had ceased what they were doing long enough for her to say, 'No! You leave him where he is. That what I want, me.'
Longarm didn't argue. He let her continue with the French lesson--appropriate enough name for it, he considered, since she was descended from those Acadian settlers who had once called France home--and after a few minutes he felt his climax nearing again. Claudette seemed to sense it too, because she gripped his stalk firmly with one hand and tightened her lips around it, as if to make sure that he didn't get away from her.
That was the last thing he had in mind. He poured out his seed into her mouth as she swallowed eagerly. She had reached down between her legs to rub herself, and her hips were pumping back and forth in a frenzy as she drained him, using her hand to squeeze out the last drops so that she could lap them up. Longarm flopped back on the bunk and reflected that if he didn't get back to New Orleans pretty soon, this lusty Cajun gal was liable to just about love him to death.
After that she fed him breakfast, showed him the road she had mentioned the night before, and gave him a sweet kiss of farewell. He had walked along the road only about a mile when a farmer came along with a wagon loaded with produce, and now here he was standing in front of the Brass Pelican, lifting his hand to knock once more on the door.
Before he could do so, the panel swung open, and a man with a narrow, pasty face peered out at him, blinking from the mid-morning glare. The man looked like the sort who didn't often actually see the sun. Longarm recognized him as one of the bartenders he had seen in the club a couple of nights earlier.
'Yeah?' growled the man. 'What the hell do you want?'
'You must not recognize me, old son.' Longarm put his shoulder against the door and easily shoved it open, stepping inside as the bartender stumbled back a couple of steps. 'Is Millard here?'
'Mr. Millard!' yelled the man as he reached behind him to jerk something from behind his belt. Longarm was expecting the little pistol he saw in the bartender's hand, and he reached out to close his own hand over the cylinder so that the gun couldn't fire. With a quick wrench, Longarm plucked the pistol from the bartender's fingers, twisting one of them in the process. The man yelped and jumped back again, sticking the injured digit in his mouth to suck on it.
Jasper Millard appeared in the doorway at the end of the bar, a shotgun in his hands. He had the greener cocked and ready for trouble, no doubt thinking that Royale might be staging another attack on the club. Longarm held up his hand, palm out, and said hurriedly, 'Hold on, Mr. Millard. It's just me, Custis Parker.'
'Parker!' exclaimed Millard in surprise. He pointed the double barrels of the greener at the floor and carefully lowered the hammers. 'Damn it, I didn't expect to see you again. I was afraid that if Royale's men didn't get you, the swamp would.'
Longarm shook his head. He tossed the pocket pistol back to the bartender, who glared at him even though it was obvious Longarm wasn't one of the enemy. Longarm ignored the man and strolled along the bar to join Millard.
'Reckon I was lucky. I see you were too.'
'I know my way around those marshes. I grew up down there.'
'You don't sound like a Cajun,' Longarm pointed out.
Millard shrugged his brawny shoulders. 'I was gone for a long time before I came back to New Orleans. Suppose I lost the accent somewhere along the way. But I never forgot how easy it is to bring in goods through the Delta.' He turned and inclined his head to indicate that Longarm was to follow him. 'Let's go back to the office.'
Longarm followed the bald-headed man down the hall, and once they were in the office, Millard waved at the chair in front of the desk. Longarm sat down and cocked his right ankle on his left knee. He was still wearing the mud-stained clothes he had worn the day before.
'You look like you've been through the wringer,' said Millard as he sat down behind the desk. 'Help yourself to one of those cigars.' He nodded toward the humidor.
Longarm reached into his pocket for a cheroot. 'Reckon I'll smoke my own.'
Millard frowned across the desk at him. 'What's the matter, Parker?' he asked. 'You're acting like somebody shoved a burr up your ass.'
Longarm flicked a lucifer into life with an iron-hard thumbnail and held the flame to the end of his cheroot. When he had it burning to suit him, he shook the match out and dropped it on the floor beside the chair. 'You sort of disappeared yesterday after we ran into Royale's boys.'
The frown on Millard's face deepened. 'What the hell is this?' he snapped. 'You're mad because I didn't stay around to pull your fat out of the fire?'
'I got the notion we were working together.'
'Well, you got the wrong notion!' Millard said with a snort. 'You're working for me, Parker. We ain't partners.' His eyes narrowed. 'I warned you about getting too ambitious.'
