Longarm could understand the reaction, he supposed. After all, he hadn’t taken time to shave in, what, two days now. Something like that. No doubt he looked and possibly even smelled more or less like hell.
He could understand the reaction. That did not mean he approved of it. Or was willing to take it. Not in the mood he was in at the moment.
With a completely neutral expression he reached inside his coat and laid his wallet open on the counter to expose his badge, only slightly misshapen by the bullet that had struck it back at Burdick’s station.
“First thing you can do, huh, is change your attitude an’ get real helpful. Otherwise I will personally drag your prissy ass down to the city jail and dump you in with the drunks and the crazies. An’ if you think I won’t do it …”
“Yes, uh, ahem, is there, um, is there anything I can do for you? Sir?”
“As a matter o’ fact there is. Is Lord Matthew Welpole still in residence?”
“Yes, sir, he is.”
“You can inform his lordship that his presence is requested in the ballroom.”
“The Crystal Room is not open at the moment, sir. Might I suggest …”
“What you can suggest, shit-for-brains, is that the Englishman get his butt downstairs an’ meet me in the ballroom. Which I believe just got open. Right?”
“Uh, yes, sir. As you say, sir.”
The hotel clerk scurried in one direction while a glowering Longarm strode the opposite way.
It was at least a half hour before the ballroom door was opened and Lord Matthew Welpole came in, accompanied by a pair of rather competent-looking gents wearing side arms like they knew what to do with them.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” his lordship said.
“It pleased you well enough t’ hire a gunman to take me down,” Longarm said.
“Did I?” The Englishman seemed not at all perturbed by the accusation.
Longarm paused. And smiled at him. “You figure because I’m standing here your boy Hancock has t’ be dead?
Wrong, old chap. Did I say that right? Old chap? Old chip? Which is it?”
“Chap, actually.” It actually sounded more like “ekchually,” but Longarm could make out what he meant.
“Right. Chap. Should be chip, I’d think. Like in buffalo chip.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t bother. What I was saying is that I think you are a piece o’ shit.
“Is this your means of expressing friendly banter?”
“Not hardly. Y’see, I brought Hancock back alive. Him an’ his girlfriend both. It’s really kinda funny to see the two of them try an’ be first to spill their guts, both of ‘em hoping for a deal with the prosecutors if they help put you in the bag. The charge, by the way, is conspiracy t’ assault a federal officer. We’ll start with that and see what else we can work up to afterward.”
“You cannot possibly be serious.”
“Serious enough t’ place you under arrest, you squat-t’-pee cocksucker.”
Longarm wasn’t sure, but he thought the lord might be suffering an attack of apoplexy. Or something. Well, if the man wanted to drop dead, Longarm supposed he could live with it. He could think of worse things that might happen than that.
“I cannot believe that … that … that … Milton, John … you know your duty. Protect me.”
“Protect you, old chap? I ain’t real sure this is sort o’ protection these boys signed on for.” He smiled. “How ‘bout it, Milt? John? Is that what you’re paid for? Even if you win, you lose. I shoot you today or the law hangs you in a month or two. There’s something t’ look forward to.”
“Sorry, your lordship” said one of them. “He’s right. He’s a deputy U.S. marshal. You know what that means? We can’t drag iron on him.”
“Besides,” the other one put in, “this particular lawman is the one they call Longarm. I seen him shoot once. I’m good, mister. But I’m not that good. I’m out of this one.”
“So am I, your lordship. Sorry.”
“Damn you both for cowards. Milton, give me your gun. Hand it over, if you please.”
“I can’t do that, your lordship. Sorry.”
“At once, damn you. I insist.”
“No, sir.” The bodyguard backed away, hands held wide of his body so Longarm would not misunderstand his intentions. On the other side of the handsome Englishman the other bodyguard was moving aside as well.
Welpole was turned half away from Longarm now, reaching out toward the bodyguard called Milton.
That was not the hand Longarm was paying attention to, though. It was the one that was now hidden from his view that was of concern at this point.
It came as no great surprise, then, when the Englishman turned back to face Longarm. With a stout-barreled Webley in his fist.
