Accepting fate as he found it, Longarm lighted a cheroot and ambled out of the police station and headed back in the direction of his hotel.
Chapter 12
“Buy me a drink, cowboy?”
The woman asking the question—or making the offer, which was somewhat more accurate—was one damned fine-looking filly. Twenty or thirty years ago. By now she was more than a little shopworn and bedraggled. She had copper-colored hair that looked like it was beginning to tarnish from over-exposure to the elements, streaks of dirt caked in the folds of flesh under her chin, and tits that might once have been magnificent but which now were drooping toward her kneecaps … and damn near completing the journey.
“I’m not a cowboy, lady.”
She laughed, the sound of it hearty and indeed quite genuine as she responded, “And I’m no lady, cowboy.”
Longarm chuckled. “Thanks for the invite, ma’am, but it’s a mite early in the day for that. I only came in looking for a bite o’ lunch.”
“All right. No drink. Buy me some lunch instead.”
“Persistent, ain’t you?”
She hooted loudly, pretending he’d said something outrageously funny, and gripped his arm as she leaned forward and licked his earlobe. While she was in the neighborhood she whispered, very softly, “I want to talk to you, Marshal. In private.”
“Whyn’t you and me have that drink in my room, lady,” he suggested. Loudly enough that anyone who wanted to overhear was welcome, and able, to do so.
“A lovely idea, cowboy,” she said, gathering up her skirts in one hand and her handbag in the other.
Chapter 13
He hadn’t any more than gotten the door closed than the damn woman was on him like a barn cat after a field mouse. She was trying her level best to suck his tongue clean out of his mouth. Or maybe she was kissing him. He wasn’t exactly sure which she had in mind.
She smelled of cheap perfume and cheaper whiskey, and he was fairly certain that she’d had sardines for breakfast. Being kissed by this no longer handsome female was not one of the finer pleasures of life.
After a bit of a struggle—fortunately he was bigger, stronger, and possibly meaner than she was, and managed to extract his tongue from her mouth without having to actually punch her—he backed warily away and pointed her at the lone chair in the hotel room. NOT, thank you, at the bed. “You, uh, said you wanted t’ talk?” he suggested.
She smiled at him. “Yes, Marshal. That too.”
“Too?”
“After you screw me.”
“But …”
“I love to screw, Marshal.” She batted her eyelashes at him, a quite perfectly ludicrous come-on that she herself laughed at, delighted with the silliness of her own gesture. “Am I shocking you?”
“It takes a lot t’ shock me, ma’am.” He grinned. “But you’re coming pretty nigh to it.”
She laughed appreciatively and said, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Jane Webster Sproul of the Carolina Websters and widow of the late Judge Walker Martin Sproul. Which probably means absolutely nothing to you but which is quite a mouthful for anyone who grew up around these parts.” She laughed again. And there was something in the open, honest ring of her voice when she laughed that warned Longarm that if she didn’t quit it pretty damn soon he might actually commence to like this odd woman. “And you, I believe, are named Long, are you not?”
“I am, ma’am. Custis Long. Longarm t’ my friends.”
“Then I hope I shall be permitted to so address you.”
On an impulse, bowing low and saying, “Permission granted, ma’am.”
She clapped her hands. And leaped off the chair to bound across the room—well, it was only a couple steps but she managed to convey an impression of great bounding … and in fact her massive tits flopped so wildly that she might as well have been bounding over a series of fences to reach him—and envelop him in a hug. And in a repeat of her wet, loose kiss as well.
“Now I know why everybody else in this town is s’ damn unfriendly,” he said once he had the use of his mouth back.
“And what reason would that be, dear friend Longarm?”
“It’s because you got the friendliness market cornered, Janie. There’s none left over for them others t’ use.”
She threw her head back and roared. Then turned and, just as casual as if it was the most normal and natural thing possible, began removing articles of clothing and dropping them onto the chair.
Longarm was beginning to get the idea that this interview was not going according to plan. Not to his plan anyhow.
“If you hear talk about me, friend Longarm, and I certainly hope you will, there are several things you should keep in mind. One is that I do what I damn please. I never let other people’s opinions stand in the way of a good time. Or anything else, for that matter. Another thing is that there is more than enough reason for most people around here to be jealous of me. You see, I am without question the richest woman within a hundred-mile radius. Or possibly further.” By now she was down to her lacy smallclothes but showed no signs of slowing down,
