Longarm and the Stagecoach Robbers (8 page)

House of ill repute might be what a whorehouse was called in polite company, but that reputation did not curb their popularity. This one was certainly popular. When Longarm got there, Maybelle's was packed. Miners, businessmen, and cowhands crowded the place, everyone trying to talk at once, and the girls snatched up and sent back to their rooms—not alone—as soon as they set foot into the parlor.

“Marshal Long. How nice to see you in our happy home,” a painted older woman, presumably Maybelle herself, said when Longarm walked in. He was not at all surprised that the woman knew who he was. A woman in this business would make it her business to know everything that went on around her.

“My pleasure,” he said, tipping his hat and bowing slightly. “Though I have t' admit that I'm here on business, not pleasure.”

She laughed. “I am very sorry to hear that, Marshal. I was going to recommend one of our nicest girls for you. If you change your mind, I can even get you in to see her ahead of the crowd.”

“You're very kind. Perhaps another time, eh? In the meantime, have you seen young Will Carver this evening?”

“Will? No, he hasn't been in today.”

“I know he planned to visit you,” Longarm said. “Does he have a favorite girl? She might know something.”

“No favorite. Will plays the field. He spreads himself around mostly. But two of his friends are here. Would you like for me to introduce them?”

“I'd like that very much,” Longarm said.

“Would you like a drink while I go find them?” the old bawd offered.

“No, but thank you for the offer.”

“Wait here. I won't be but a minute.” She turned and disappeared into the mass of horny men in her parlor, leaving Longarm to wait in the foyer.

Good to her word, the woman returned in only a few minutes. She had a thin young man of about Will's age with her. He had pale hair, already receding despite his youth. He looked like a clerk of some sort but might have been anyone or anything for all Longarm knew.

“Marshal Long, this is Jesse Moore. Another of Will's friends, Jimmy Cranston, is here this evening but at the moment he is, um, occupied with my Abigail. Do you want me to bring him out anyway?”

Longarm shook his head. “I don't imagine that will be necessary, but thank you.” He turned to the young man with Maybelle and said, “I'm looking for Will Carver. His mother is worried about him and so am I. Do you know where he is?”

Moore said, “No, sir. Will was supposed to meet us here this afternoon. He never showed up. We're both kinda worried about him, but we thought he went over to his mother's place early. He said something about having supper with her. He usually does that. So we just assumed he was over there when he didn't show here.”

“No, I've been over there waiting for him with her. Any idea where he might be?” Longarm said.

“No, sir, I don't,” Moore said.

“You know where he lives, don't you?”

“Yes, sir, of course.”

“Would you show me, please?”

Moore glanced back toward the parlor. Then he sighed and said, “I was next in line to get me a girl.”

Longarm motioned to Maybelle, who was hovering in the doorway to the parlor and pretending not to listen. Perhaps she really was ignoring the conversation.

“Excuse me, but Jesse here is next in line for a girl, an' I'm wanting him to help me with something. If I take him away for a few minutes, can you see that he gets some extra special service when he gets back, please.”

“I can do that for you, Marshal.” She looked at Jesse and smiled. “Help the marshal and I'll see that you get double time with Sandi, Jesse.”

The boy's eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets, and Longarm guessed that Sandi was someone rare and special. Certainly Jesse seemed pleased by the prospect. The bulge at the front of his trousers attested to that.

“Let's go, Marshal,” he said and headed for the door.

Will Carver lived in a tiny shack on the north edge of Fairplay, set amid a half-dozen more just like it, all of them probably owned by the same man, or corporation, and almost certainly built at the same time to the same design.

From Maybelle's, it was only about a two-minute walk. Convenient, Longarm thought, much more so than the several other whorehouses that he knew about in or near the town.

“This one,” Moore said, pointing.

Will's friend took the flagstone steps leading up to the door and reached for the doorknob. He barely touched the knob when he jerked back as if the metal were burning hot.

“What's the matter?” Longarm asked.

“I heard . . . I thought I heard something . . . something inside,” Moore said.

“Move aside an' let me see,” Longarm told the young man. He shouldered past Moore and took hold of the brass knob.

There was nothing wrong with the doorknob, but Longarm, too, heard something inside. And unlike Jesse, Longarm knew what it was.

Someone in there was moaning in pain.

Longarm tried the door but it was locked. He studied the cheap lock for a moment, then took out his pocketknife and opened the sturdy main blade. He slipped that between the door and the frame and made contact with the lock bar.

Pressing forward to give the tip of the blade some purchase on the cheap steel of the lock, he prised the bar sideways until it cleared the mortise. The door swung open easily after that.

The room inside was dark but the moaning continued to come from it. Longarm reached into his vest pocket for a match and snapped it aflame with his thumbnail.

He strode forward, found a lamp in the middle of a small table, and lit it. Lamplight flooded the tiny room to disclose Will Carver, his face a pulped mass of blood, lying on the floor in front of the fireplace.

Jesse Moore rushed past Longarm and dropped to his knees beside his friend.

“Let's get him on the bed, Jesse. Help me,” Longarm said. “An' be careful t' lift him easy. We don't know if there's any bones broke.”

Between them, Jesse and Longarm were able to lift Will off the floor and deposit him onto his cot.

Someone, Longarm saw, had beaten the shit out of Will. Literally. It stank. But after a beating like Will had received, Longarm did not really blame him for that.

“Jesse, do me a favor. Go fetch Will's mother. She'll want t' be the one to tend him, I think.”

“Yes, sir. Right away.” Jesse raced off into the night, and Longarm bent close to Will in order to hear anything young Carver had to say.

Charlise threw herself into action much as Longarm had expected she would. There was no better nurse than one's own mother, he thought as he watched Charlie soothe and clean and salve her son.

Longarm left the boy to his mother and buttonholed Jesse Moore before he could escape into the night. Jesse was obviously uncomfortable and itching to get away.

“Not so fast, son,” Longarm said, his voice low and calm. “I got something t' ask you.”

“Yes, sir?”

“D'you know two fellows named Ron and Craig? Who would they be?” Longarm asked.

“I know them. I don't much like them, but I know them. Ron is Ron Javit, or maybe it's Jabit. I'm not sure about that. Craig would be Craig Willborne. The two of them run together.”

“Tell me about them,” Longarm ordered, holding on to Jesse's upper arm to keep him from sidling away.

Jesse shrugged. “They're just . . . fellows. They live in town here. I see them a lot at Maybelle's. Ron is a carpenter. Works on houses and shoring timbers in the mines, things like that. Craig works for Dayson's Feed and Seed. They, well, it's obvious what they sell. Like I said, the two of them run together. Are they the ones that beat Will?”

Longarm nodded. “They are. Will was able to tell me. Any idea why they'd go and do a thing like that?”

“I know there was some bad blood between them. Last payday there was a falling-out, I suppose you'd say. One of the whores at Maybelle's is a girl who calls herself Sweetie. She's sweet on Will. She went to him. Ron claimed he was next in line for her. He likes her a lot, you see. Him and Will got into a shouting match over her, and she refused to go with Ron. She insisted she was going with Will next or with nobody at all. And she did. She took Will upstairs and spent a lot of time with him there. Ron didn't like that at all but he didn't actually do anything about it. Not at Maybelle's. Anybody who causes trouble there, she'll post them, won't let them back in for a month. One man she actually banished permanent. Nobody wants to risk that, so things are generally pretty orderly at Maybelle's. That's all I know, Marshal. Can I go now. Please?”

Longarm nodded and let go of the young man. Jesse hurried away while he had the chance.

Charlie seemed to have things under control. She had washed the blood off Will, and he did not look as bad now as he had to begin with. Longarm did not think Will's injuries were the sort that would require the doctor.

“If you'll excuse me, there's something I got t' do,” he said, not at all sure that Charlie heard. She was concentrating completely on her injured son. Longarm touched the brim of his Stetson to her regardless, then slipped out into the cool of the evening.

“Nice to see you again, Marshal,” Maybelle said. “What can I do for you?”

“I'm looking for a couple fellows, ma'am,” Longarm said, touching the brim of his Stetson. “Fellows name of Ron Javit and Craig Willborne. Do they happen t' be here tonight?”

“That would be Ronny Jabit and Craig Willborne. I know them, of course, but they haven't been in this evening. I haven't seen them for several days,” the old madam said.

“Any idea where I might find the two of 'em?” Longarm asked.

“Just a minute, Marshal.” Maybelle turned and motioned to a young woman, who hurried to join them. The girl was thin and had acne marring a pouty face. At the moment she was wearing a professionally insincere smile.

“Yes'm.” She fluttered her eyelashes at Longarm, obviously taking him for a customer.

“Find Pansy and tell her I want to see her,” Maybelle said.

The smile disappeared the moment she knew the tall, handsome gentleman was not a customer who wanted her. “Yes'm,” she repeated, then turned and left but at a much slower pace than before.

The girl went into the crowded parlor. Shortly afterward a tall girl wearing a pink kimono came out. “You wanted to see me, ma'am?”

“Ronny Jabit and Craig Willborne. Have you seen them lately?”

“Last Saturday night, I think,” the girl said.

“Do you know where they might be this evening?” Maybelle asked.

“I know they like to do their drinking in the loft over at Dayson's. Craig has a key to let them in. They like to buy a bottle and carry it up into the hay loft. It's private. I think . . .” She shot a look toward Longarm.

“It's all right,” Maybelle said. “Say whatever you were thinking.”

“Yes, ma'am. I think they might bugger each other up there when they can't afford to come here,” Pansy said. “I don't know that, mind. But it's what I think.”

“Thank you, dear. You can go now.”

The girl turned and went back to the customers in the parlor. Maybelle waited until she was gone, then said to Longarm, “Is there anything else I can help you with, Marshal?”

“No. You've been a big help, an' I thank you.” He smiled and added, “I guess there is one more thing after all. Where can I find Dayson's feed store?”

Dayson's Feed and Seed was on the southeast side of town. Longarm found it with no problem. It appeared to be dark inside, but . . .

The front door was unlocked. Longarm let himself in.

The interior of the building had the sweetly musty scents of fresh hay and the mixed grains that were needed by the myriad draft stock used to carry ore, tools, foodstuffs, and anything in between.

A very faint light showed in the loft overhead. The idiots were up there drinking, lounging on the hay, and burning something, a candle or a small lamp. Either one was a danger to life and property.

He could hear a low buzz of conversation above.

Longarm felt his way to the ladder leading up to the thin, yellow smear of light coming from the trapdoor into the loft.

The dry wood of the ladder creaked under his weight, but the two loafing in the loft with their bottle apparently heard nothing. Certainly they were unaware of his presence when Longarm climbed up and joined them.

“Who the hell are you?” one of them demanded.

The other, the larger of the pair, said, “I know who he is, Ronny. Son of a bitch is that deputy marshal from down Denver way. Up here somethin' to do with the robberies.”

“Well, fuck you, Marshal,” Jabit said cheerfully. “Want a drink? Mind if I have one m'self?” He tipped the bottle up and drank from it. There was enough light to show that the two of them had already put a rather severe dent in the contents of their whiskey bottle.

“What d'you want up here, Marshal?” Willborne asked. He did not sound quite as drunk as his companion was.

Longarm was very pleased to see that, Pansy's suspicions notwithstanding, both Jabit and Willborne were fully dressed and their flies were buttoned. He did not know what-all they liked to do up here when they were alone, but at least he had not interrupted anything.

“Yeah,” Jabit said. “What d'you want with us? We ain't done nothing.”

“You bothered a friend of mine,” Longarm said, his voice mild and almost pleasant.

“We did?”

“Uh-huh. You fucked with Will Carver. Ganged up on him an' beat him pretty bad,” Longarm said, his voice becoming even more cheerful as he looked forward to the task he had come up here to perform. “You shouldn't ought to do something like that, boys. It pisses me off something awful. An' you shouldn't do that neither.”

“Now wait,” Willborne said, sitting upright and setting the whiskey bottle aside. “Wait just a minute there.”

Smiling broadly, Longarm stepped toward the two.