Longarm 397 : Longarm and the Doomed Beauty (9781101545973) Read Free Page B

cheeks, and hoofed it up the stone steps of the Federal Building.
    He rushed through the heavy oak door under the always-closed transom, said, “How’s it hangin’, Henry?” to the chief’s snotty, dapper secretary.
    The scrawny, little, bespectacled gent in a three-piece suit did not so much as glance over his shoulder at Longarm, nor slow his pace on the clattering keys of the newfangled typing machine, but merely wagged his head. Longarm dropped his gear on the floor, tossed his hat onto the elk antler rack to the right of the door, and headed toward the door flanking the young secretary’s desk and on which CHIEF MARSHAL VAIL was stenciled in gold-leaf lettering.
    A shadow appeared in the frosted glass of the door’s upper panel. The door opened, and there stood the short, squat, balding, badly rumpled Chief Marshal Billy Vail, plucking a fat stogie from his wet lips and snarling, “Goddamnit, Custis, get the hell in here. You’re late again. Twenty minutes late!”
    â€œAh, hell, Billy—!”
    â€œAh, hell, Billy—nothin’ !” the Chief Marshal bellowed, sliding his eyes toward the clerk still busily—and now with a little self-satisfied grin—playing the typing machine’s little round keys. “Henry, are Longarm’s orders and travel vouchers ready?”
    Without slowing his typing and keeping his eyes on the paper curling up from the machine’s roller, Henry said smugly, “They’ve been ready for nigh on an hour, now, Marshal Vail. I have, in the meantime, gone on to other chores.”
    Longarm thought he saw the bespectacled secretary cut a sneering glance at him. As Vail gave an exasperated sigh and turned and strode back into his office and around his cluttered desk the size of a lumber dray, Longarm followed him in, suppressing the urge to stick his tongue out at the typewriting-playing dandy.
    â€œI do apologize, Chief,” Longarm said, “but, holy Christ—I just got back into town last night. Late last night!”
    â€œI know when you got back into town. Somewhere south of midnight. But I done cabled you while you were still in Hays and told you I needed you in here by nine o’clock this morning and not a minute later!”
    â€œLike I said, I’m sor—”
    â€œYou look like you been through the mill,” Billy said, suddenly lowering his voice with concern. He sagged into his high-backed leather chair, letting his big belly push his wrinkled white cotton shirt and the top of his belted broadcloth trousers out to the edge of the desk.
    â€œYeah, well, it was a rough one,” Longarm said as he dropped into the Moroccan red leather visitor’s chair angled before Billy’s desk. He sighed, flopped his arms. “One of the toughest assignments I been through in a long time. Wrote up some notes on the train ride back. I’ll give ’em to Henry in a day or two.”
    â€œI would appreciate that,” Billy said, “and cut the bullshit.”
    Longarm scowled. “Huh?”
    â€œShe was waitin’ for you, wasn’t she?”
    â€œWaitin’? For me?” Longarm scowled with a little more effort. “Who’d that be, Billy?”
    Billy leaned forward, jowls flushing, his washed-out blue eyes pinched to slits. “You know who I’m talkin’ about. The Larimer girl. The big-titted, long-haired debutante you been fuckin’ seven ways from sundown for the past two years against my dire warnings that, once the cat’s out of the bag, the old general himself is gonna fill you so full of holes that the buckshot’ll still be rattlin’ around inside your casket when they drop ya under!”
    Longarm let his scowl dissolve to a genuine expression of wonder. “You got a spy posted outside my boardinghouse, Billy?”
    â€œHah—I was right!”
    â€œYou mean—that was just a guess?” Longarm said