“Howdy to you, friend. I’d like a double shot of the best rye you stock,” Longarm said.
“Two bits,” the bartender said by way of welcome. “In advance.” So much for the notion that all Kittstown residents were warm and friendly. Longarm dug into his pocket and came up with a quarter, which he showed but did not let go of quite yet. Let the pipsqueak sonuvabitch come up with his side of the bargain. Then he could have the damn quarter.
The bartender served up a generous tot of whiskey, and Longarm released his grip on the two-bit piece. The rye, when he got around to tasting it, was as mellow and fine as the barman was sour. Longarm let the heat of the liquor spread through his belly for a moment before he poured a little more down where the first swallow had gone. The second taste was even better than the first.
“Another?” the bartender asked.
“Another,” Longarm agreed. He was so pleased with the rye that this time he passed his quarter right along.
He took the second glass and turned, leaning on the bar and enjoying looking over the crowd. There were some card games in progress, and a pair of smiling whores wandered through the place flashing tits by way of advertisement.
At a table nearby there was a middle-aged woman, much too nicely dressed to be a whore herself. She had a plate of small, sugar-dusted cookies in front of her and a cup of a pale, hot beverage that Longarm guessed to be tea of some sort. If he had to guess, a woman like that, seen in a place like this, either owned the whole shebang or at least supervised the whores on somebody else’s behalf. And if he had to guess, Longarm would say she probably owned the whole deal: the whiskey, the women, and a house cut of whatever gaming took place here.
She happened to be looking in his direction, so he lifted his glass in silent toast to her business skills, and was rewarded with a small smile in return.
Longarm took a small swallow of the excellent rye and went on surveying the customers. His attention was drawn back to the lady at the table a few moments later, however.
“I will thank you to leave me alone, sir.” The words were polite enough, but the voice carried real venom in it. The speech was directed toward a man Longarm was pretty sure he had seen aboard the train yesterday. Of course. It was the same loudmouthed shit-for-brains who’d been arguing with the conductor about pressing forward on schedule. He hadn’t grown up much overnight. But then some people never did seem to manage that most basic of human functions.
“Two dollars, honey, and you don’t even have to get all the way naked,” he said. “Besides, after you been with me, you’ll want to pay me for the privilege.” The fellow—he had to be pretty well drunk to be talking like that— decided he was mighty damn funny, and laughed so hard he should have choked. Except the lady wasn’t that lucky.
“Five dollars,” the man tried again, “if you suck me and my buddy over there. Five dollars, honey.”
Longarm set his empty glass down and took the two strides necessary to place him at the businessman’s elbow. “I think you’ve had about enough, Harry.”
“I’m not Harry, damn it. I’m George. And who the hell are you?”
“I’m the guy who’s suggesting it would be a fine idea if you was to sleep it off now. By yourself. Okay, Harry?” Longarm took a firm grip just above George’s elbow, and squeezed. From a distance, the contact probably looked like a friendly little gesture, but George suddenly went pale and his knees became a mite loose and rubbery.
“Hey, mister, that-“
“Tell the lady good-bye now, Harry. It’s time for you and your buddy to leave.”
“Damn, I …”
“Say it, Harry.”
“Yes, sir, I … I’m real sorry, lady, but my friend and I will be running along now.”
“Nice to have had this chat, I’m sure,” the woman said.
“Good-bye, Harry,” Longarm said. “Don’t get lost on your way back to the hotel now.”
“Yeah, I, uh …”
“Harry.”
“Yes, sir?”
“One thing. I notice you have a palm gun in your left-hand coat pocket. A .32 or something inoffensive like that? I want you to know, Harry, that if you even think about taking it out to admire it, I will put a .44 slug smack between your horns. Do you take my meaning, Harry?”
“I do. Yes, sir, I surely do.”
“Say good-bye, George.”
“Good-bye, ma’am.”
The businessman, still pale and shaken, whispered something to his pal, and the two of them hurried out of the Old Heidelberg with their tails between their legs. More or less.
Longarm tried to tip his hat to the woman, and realized too late that he had on the fluffy fur thing instead of his own good Stetson. He wound up feeling more foolish than gallant.
“My apologies, ma’am. Good old Harry there is even worse when he’s sober.” He touched the front of his hat, deliberately this time, smiled, and turned back to find his whiskey glass gone and someone else standing where Longarm had been. Oh, well. Some days are just like that.
Chapter 5
While Longarm was still trying to decide if he should beg the surly bartender for another rye or strike out into
