Longarm and the Deadwood Shoot-out (9781101619209) by Evans Tabor

Author:Evans, Tabor [Evans, Tabor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101619209
Publisher: Penguin USA
Published: 2013-01-29T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

Longarm had a light lunch, then ambled over to the same saloon he had patronized the evening before. Other than the bartender the only man in the place was an out-of-work teamster named Gary McCarthy who liked to play draw poker…and was so bad a player that even at low stakes Longarm ended the afternoon more than seven dollars to the good.

He was almost ashamed of himself for taking advantage of McCarthy. Almost, not quite. If the man was going to play he should accept the result and did without complaint.

Eventually, his stomach rumbling in search of a meal, Longarm stood up, stretched, and excused himself. “Time t’ go have some supper,” he said.

McCarthy nodded and began shuffling the cards again, ready for whoever else came in.

Longarm thought about Angela Morris. He smiled. He could not think of a better thing to do with his winnings than to buy her a supper. Then whatever happened afterward, well, that would be good, too.

He walked over to her store and once inside put the closed sign in the window.

“Angela?” She was not in the small, display area. Must be in the back, he thought.

He started to open the door to the back area where the spare stock—and the rumpled bed—was.

“Don’t,” Angela’s voice came past the crack in the door before he had a chance to get inside. “Don’t…don’t come in.”

She sounded odd. There was something in the tone of her voice that he did not like. Fear? He thought perhaps so.

Longarm pushed the door a little further open.

“Please don’t come inside,” she said, her voice definitely quavering.

“Are you all right?” he called.

“Who is it? Who’s out there?” Angela responded.

“It’s me. Custis Long. From yesterday.”

“Custis, I…I’m not decent.”

“Oh, I’ve seen…” Before he finished the sentence he finished opening the door and began to step inside.

Angela was there all right. So was her husband, Larry Morris, the same asshole Longarm had the run-in with the previous evening.

The man had Angela’s skirt and knickers off. She was wearing only her blouse and shirtwaist. Larry was fully clothed but his fly was unbuttoned and his pecker was out, standing stiff and tall. It was not very big, and under Longarm’s gaze it began to shrivel.

It was obvious that Angela had been crying. Her face was tear-streaked and puffy. Her chest was heaving and there were large, ugly bruises forming on her upper thighs. Morris was either in the process of raping the woman or had already done so.

“Get out,” the man screamed. “You aren’t wanted here.”

“Angela?” Longarm asked. “D’you want him here? Maybe we both o’ us should go.” Longarm smiled, no mirth at all in the expression. “Maybe I should take this son of a bitch in an’ lock him up on a charge of, oh, domestic violence, maybe.”

Longarm took a step forward into the crowded room and Morris screeched, “Don’t. Not a step closer.”

The man produced a knife from somewhere and flicked it open. He grabbed Angela by the hair and yanked her backward.

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