Longarm and the Mysterious Mr. Jiggs by Tabor Evans

Author:Tabor Evans
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

Chapter 22

“D’you want t’ go to the hotel first so’s you can freshen up?” Longarm asked as the buggy rolled into Yesterday.

Glenda shook her head. “No. Benny . . . that is what I call him, Benny, short for Benito . . . Benny said he would have accommodations for me above his business palace. That is what he called it. A ‘business palace.’ Which sounded odd, but what does an innocent virgin know about business?” She giggled.

The girl was a good fuck, with or without that virgin-making stuff, but he did wish she would put a cork in all the giggling.

Longarm guided the mare in the direction of Mr. Jiggs’s saloon and idly asked, “Did Benny send you a picture of himself? A photograph or any sort o’ representation?”

She shook her head again. “No. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. Whoa, horse.” Longarm’s hands tightened on the driving lines, and the little mare obediently came to a halt beside the boardwalk in front of the saloon. “Wait there.”

Longarm jumped down from the buggy, clipped a hitch weight to the mare’s bit, then handed Glenda down onto the boards. Once she was safely on her feet, he fetched her bags from the back of the rig and said, “I can carry these inside for you if you like, Miss Glenda.”

She smiled—she had dimples when she did that—and said, “You are very kind, Mr. London. Yes, thank you.”

The plain truth was that Longarm would have found some excuse to go inside anyway. He really wanted to see Glenda Bateman’s reaction when she got her first look at Mr. Benito Jiggs.

“After you, miss,” he said, picking up her bags and trailing along behind the girl.

Mr. Jiggs was at his usual place, sitting behind his favorite table with a few sycophants surrounding him and his cold-eyed bodyguards positioned close by.

When it became clear just which one of the cardplayers was Mr. Jiggs, Longarm heard a sudden intake of breath from Glenda. Nothing more. He guessed her training in a New Orleans whorehouse must have helped.

But, Lordy, Mr. Jiggs would make four of her. Six maybe. Yet the girl did not appear to turn a hair. In fact, she put her sweetest and most dimpled smile on her face. Longarm rather admired her for that.

“You all right, girl?”

She nodded. “Yes. Thank you.” She looked and sounded a mite brittle, but the dimples never disappeared. Damn girl was better than he’d been giving her credit for.

“Want me t’ make the introductions?”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

He set her bags down by the stairs leading to a second floor, where he assumed they would be wanted later, then offered his arm to her. Glenda gave it a little squeeze and nodded a go-ahead to him.

“Mr. Jiggs, may I have the honor to introduce to you Miss Glenda Bateman, late of New Orleans. Miss Bateman, the gentleman is Mr. Jiggs.”

Mr. Jiggs struggled to his feet. It was not an easy task for a man of his bulk. Seeing

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