Longarm faces a hangmans.., p.1
Longarm Faces a Hangman's Noose, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
LONGARM IN THE LUNATIC MOUNTAINS
Jealous Rage . . .
“Don’t!” Longarm pleaded, raising his hands and wondering how he could get to his own six-gun hanging in its holster off the back of his little dining room table. “Odell, as you well know, I’m a federal officer and that means that, if you kill me, you’ll hang. If you even wound me, you’ll go to prison for at least ten years. Is that what you want? Huh?”
Odell barked a crazy laugh while his eyes darted around the apartment. “I been to prison before and I can take it.”
“I’m sure you can, but why go through that hell?” Longarm asked, trying to keep calm, which was difficult because Odell Crabtree was a crazy and dangerous man. A man that would go to any length to save what he considered to be his honor.
“Stand back,” Odell warned, going over to the bed and dropping to his knees in preparation for peering under it.
Longarm saw what was his one and only chance to survive. Odell’s next look would be in the closet and he’d find Etta cringing in there for certain, and then he’d go into a killing rage and both he and Etta would die. So Longarm lunged at the huge man while he was starting to peer under the bed and used the top of his bare foot to kick Odell in the ribs with all of his might.
Odell grunted and collapsed for an instant. Then the incensed husband twisted around and raised his gun. But Longarm had thrown himself across the room and was grabbing his own pistol from its holster.
“Odell, don’t!” Longarm shouted, knowing in his heart that the big man was going to do his damnedest to kill him. “Don’t . . .”
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LONGARM FACES A HANGMAN’S NOOSE
A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Jove edition / December 2010
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Chapter 1
Deputy United States Marshal Custis Long was thinking that he needed to take up a new and more financially rewarding profession. It wasn’t as if he didn’t find being a lawman challenging and filled with adventure and excitement, but more and more he was feeling rather like a pauper living from one day to the next. His land-lord had just raised the rent on his apartment by ten dollars a month and the price of heating coal had sky-rocketed so that he’d had to pinch pennies just to stay warm this past hard Colorado winter. Furthermore, he needed to replace his wardrobe because his frock coat was frayed at the sleeves, the seats of his pants were shiny from wear, and his boots were worn down so far at the soles and heels that the local cobbler swore they were beyond repair.
But worst of all, Longarm had lost a fair amount of money lately playing poker, which was usually his additional source of revenue. This had reduced him to eating less meat and more beans and potatoes, and lately he’d been drinking a brand of cheap whiskey that was agitating his stomach and giving him the trots. Oh, and finally, the price of his favorite cigars had almost doubled in the last year and he detested smoking cheap cigars.
How long had he been a deputy United States marshal? He had stopped counting. But his pay hadn’t really gone up all that much, while the prices he paid for everything kept rising month after month.
“For years I’ve been helping the rich get their money back one way or another,” he muttered as he prepared to go out for a Sunday stroll along Cherry Creek to clear his mind and perhaps lift his spirits. “But while I’ve been helping the rich get richer, I’ve been getting steadily poorer. And the truth is that I’m not getting any younger.”
Longarm stood in front of his mirror and appraised himself. He had to admit he still cut quite the dashing figure. He was well over six feet tall and ruggedly handsome, if women were to be believed. But he knew that if he wasn’t killed in the line of his duty as a federal marshal, he was going to lose his looks someday, and when he did, he didn’t want to be old and living on charity or handouts.
Longarm pulled his old coat on and settled his flat-brimmed brown hat firmly on his head because it was breezy outside. This was March, typically one of the windiest months in Denver, and today was one of the nicer days they’d had in weeks. A man needed to get his exercise and fresh air after a long, snowy winter, and that was exactly what Longarm intended to do this morning.
As he stepped out the door, his landlady, Mrs. Etta Crabtree, called, “Marshal Long, have you got my rent money this morning?”
Longarm had been hoping to avoid the woman by leaving before she or her drunken husband crawled out of their beds. But it hadn’t happened and now he was stuck and trying to make up some lame excuse.
Forcing good cheer into his voice, he waved, smiled, and said, “Good morning, Etta. Fine morning for a walk, I’d say.”
“It’d be a finer day if you paid me your overdue rent.”
“Well, now, Etta,” Longarm hedged. “I fully intend to do that.”
“When?”
“Soon,” he said, trying to move past her but unable to do so in the narrow upstairs hallway.
“How soon?” Etta demanded.
Longarm didn’t like this badgering woman very much. Even though she had once been quite a beauty, Etta Crabtree was now pudgy and loudmouthed. Her husband, Odell, was a big mean barroom brawler who was always yelling and stirring up trouble when he wasn’t off spending the rent receipts in some low-class saloon. This morning Etta wore a faded housedress and very little in the
“I’ll have the rent by the end of next week,” he promised. “Next Friday is payday.”
The landlady planted her hands on her wide hips. “Custis, you said that last Sunday. You probably spent your last paycheck on wine, women, and song,” Mrs. Crabtree said accusingly. “I’ve seen you bringing those pretty young girls up to your apartment . . . never the same one, either . . . and I know they don’t usually leave until early morning. Given as many different women as you consort with, I’m surprised you don’t have a dripping disease.”
“A ‘dripping disease’?” he asked, unsure of what she meant.
“Sure! Cock rot! You know, the French disease.” She squinted one bloodshot eye and said, “You don’t have that, do you?”
“Hell no. And as for the women, well, they keep me from feeling lonesome at night.”
“Yeah,” she snorted, “I’ll just bet they do. Some of the women that you bring up here look like they’re barely out of their teens.”
“Etta,” Longarm said, desperately wanting to change the subject, “I could give you ten dollars this morning, if that would help.”
“It would help.” She stuck her hand out, palm up. “Odell spent all our money last night drinking and raisin’ hell, so I’ll take your ten dollars right now.”
Longarm hoped that he had that much pocket money. He yanked out his wallet and counted the bills. “Sorry, Etta. Looks like I’ve only got eight dollars on me this morning.”
“Give it to me,” she demanded. “And you know, Odell is saying that I really ought to start charging you late fees every month.”
“Etta, you and your husband have already raised my rent twice in the past twelve months, and if you do it again I’ll be looking for a new apartment.”
Longarm had used this threat before and it had lost its value. “You know that you won’t find a nicer apartment for the money. And we’ve got the perfect location. We’re near the Federal Building where you work so that on the bitterly cold winter mornings you don’t even have to hail a horse-drawn cabbie, which saves you plenty of money.”
“That’s true, but my carpets are threadbare and . . .”
Etta Crabtree cut him off. “And haven’t we been real tolerant of your bringing so many young women up here at night? How many landlords would put up with that kind of sinful behavior?”
“I have no idea,” Longarm replied.
“Well, I do. None. There is not a Christian couple in town would allow you to do what you do with all the girls.”
“I don’t bother anyone, Etta. We don’t make much noise.”
“Hell, yes, you do! Why, I’ve heard women howling from your bed. I’ve also heard your headboard banging against the wall at all hours of the morning, and those bedsprings of yours must be shot by now; they were brand new when you moved in here.”
“I could use a new mattress,” Longarm admitted. “Now, Etta, if you’ll excuse me, it is Sunday and I need to get in a good, refreshing walk. I have to have some exercise.”
“You get all the exercise you need up on that squeaky bed.”
Longarm could feel himself starting to lose his temper. “Excuse me, Etta. But I’m going for my walk now.”
But as he tried to pass, she grabbed his worn coat sleeve, leaned in close, and whispered, “I might also be willing to forgive you the late rent, Custis. I might even be willing to show you a lot more exercise than if you went out for a walk.”
Longarm feigned shock. “Etta Crabtree! Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
In reply, she cupped the large breasts sagging under her housedress, lowered her voice, and said in a voice hoarse with anticipation, “Why don’t we go back into your apartment and see what we can do about that late payment?”
“Etta, I really don’t . . .”
She pulled back and her voice hardened. “Custis, I’ve got two parties that are on the waiting list for that apartment. They are Odell’s friends. They want it badly, and if you aren’t willing to . . . ummm, negotiate a mutually satisfactory settlement with me . . . well, then . . .”
Etta left no doubt in Longarm’s mind what was necessary if he wanted to keep his apartment. And he did want to keep it quite badly. If there was one thing that Longarm hated, it was to move. Moving was a huge bother and it was expensive. Longarm had always felt he would about rather take a beating than move all his belongings to another dwelling.
“What do you say, Custis?” Etta Crabtree winked. “My old man ain’t going to wake up until noon, so that gives us a couple of hours to negotiate your rent and work out something on a more permanent basis.”
“You mean like significantly reducing my rent for . . .”
“That’s exactly what I mean, providing that you have met my expectations.”
Longarm looked away for a moment, realizing that he really didn’t have a whole hell of a lot of choice but to try to meet Etta Crabtree’s sexual fantasies and expectations.
Like it or not, the walk he had looked forward to enjoying this morning along Cherry Creek would just have to wait a few hours longer.
“All right, Etta. But you’re sure that Odell is going to be sleeping awhile longer?”
“He never wakes up until noon.”
Longarm consulted his pocket watch. “It’s ten-thirty. I guess that gives us an hour before your husband wakes up.”
“At least an hour.” She licked her lips. “This could be the start of something pretty good for you, Custis. And I think I’m going to like it just fine myself.”
“What about Odell?”
“He’d much rather drink and fight than screw. He once was a champion bare-knuckles fighter but he took so many punches he’s never been right in the head since he left the ring.”
“Is that what’s wrong with him? I thought it was just that he drank himself into a stupor every night.”
“That too,” Etta admitted. “But precious time is a’wastin’. Let’s get down to business.”
“I can tell you’re a real romantic,” Longarm deadpanned.
“I ain’t lookin’ for serious conversation,” Etta said, pushing him back toward his apartment. “I’m looking for some serious humping.”
“Come on then,” he said. “But I want half off my monthly rent.”
“A third.”
“Half,” he insisted.
“We’ll see what you got and how good you are at pleasing Etta, and then we’ll negotiate. Unlock your door and shuck outa those clothes!”
Longarm backpedaled to his door, unlocked it, and started undressing on his way to his little bedroom. “Take a look at that carpet and you see what I was saying, Etta.”
“There’s only one thing I want to look at, and it’s hanging over the carpet hip-high, Big Boy. Now come and let’s get after it!”
Longarm quickly undressed and Etta raised her housedress over her head to reveal a voluptuous body that was all curves and rolls. If he’d been drunk, he might have thought Etta was passable, but stone-cold sober, it was going to be a stretch.
“On your back,” she ordered. “Looks like you got the meat, but it’s limp.”
“Give me some help, Etta. You’ve kinda caught me by surprise this morning and I haven’t had time to get my mind around this yet.”
“Well, while your mind is trying to get around it, my lips are going to be getting around this!” she said, grabbing his floppy manhood and stuffing it into her mouth.
“Etta, for gawd sakes, take it easy with that!”
She answered, but her voice was muffled by his rod and while he lay fretting about what she might do to him, the feeling came that she was doing a pretty nice job of just making him hard.
“Not bad, Etta. Not bad at all.”
