“I know how lonesome ladies lure us into such temptations,” Longarm cut in. “Just make sure you meet me across the street no later than four, and try to get there sober enough to stand up.”
Guilfoyle grinned knowingly and said, “Getting drunk wasn’t exactly the vice I had in mind. You sure you don’t want us to fix you up with her pard, old pard?”
Longarm hesitated, then he shook his head and said, “One of us oughta keep track of the time. What room will I find you in if you don’t?”
“214. I’d best get on up and see how lucky this night turns out for me. No shit, she’s really good looking and, so far, she ain’t mentioned money even once.”
Longarm laughed, told him the night was still young, and let him pass.
The taproom was more crowded than the lobby; the hotel wasn’t big enough to hold that many guests. Longarm recognized some other reporters as well as some of the courthouse gang. It looked as if the Great Costello was going to have quite an audience for his last command performance. But at the rate the boys were drinking to him, this early, it seemed doubtful many of them would be able to report, or care, how well the hanging went.
Longarm elbowed his belly to the bar, and once he caught the barmaid’s eye, ordered a pitcher instead of a schooner. For she was pretty, and knew it, and there was just no telling if and when a man who wasn’t proposing marriage might be able to catch her eye again.
As she filled his awesome order for him a blue-uniformed gent next to Longarm said, “I should have thought of that. It takes so long between drinks tonight that a man can sober up from one afore he gets the next.”
Longarm recognized the badge on the visored cap above the somewhat flushed face. “I take it you just come off duty, across the way?”
The guard said, “Nope. I ain’t reported in yet. That’s how come I’m drinking so serious. Got to hang a man in the morning and I just hate to do that, even drunk.”
“I know the feeling. I’m one of the boys you sent for from the marshal’s office. It would hardly be fair of me to lecture you on the evils of Demon Rum on such an occasion, but are you all right, old son?”
The guard shrugged and answered, “No. I got to hang a man in the morning. But I’ll be there with bells on, if that’s what you mean.”
Longarm didn’t answer. The gent was old enough to vote and it was up to every such man to judge for himself whether he needed a drink, and how often. So Longarm paid for his big drink, tipping the sass more than she was worth, if less than she might think she had coming, and headed back to the lobby.
The redhead was still seated in the corner, but Crawford’s overstuffed chair was empty. When Longarm joined her, Cynthia Morton stared at the pitcher in Longarm’s hand as if she’d never seen one before and said, “Mr. Crawford just left.”
Longarm sat in the vacant chair, saying, “I noticed. Did he say where he was going, ma’am?”
“No. As a matter of fact, he just leaped to his feet and dashed off without a word. Didn’t you see him just now in the taproom?”
Longarm shook his head and said, “The G.A.R. could be holding a parade in there without attracting all that much attention. He must have been feeling poorly—it ain’t like old Crawford to be rude to a lady.”
Then he tipped the pitcher to his face to enjoy a sip of suds over the side, as if it were a big schooner. She repressed a grimace and indicated Crawford’s abandoned as well as daintier container on a nearby table, asking, “Wouldn’t you feel, well, less clumsy, if you poured that beer like almost everyone else I know?”
“Not hardly. I learned one time, down Mexico way, how unwise it could be to drink from the same glass a gent who lit out running had just been drinking from. If my uncouth cowboy ways offend you, ma’am, I’ll just go drink somewhere else and we’ll say no more about it.
But as he shifted his weight as if to rise, she placed a soft restraining hand on his sleeve to implore, “Please don’t. I didn’t mean to imply you were being uncouth. It’s just that … my, you must have strong wrists. You handle that big pitcher with no more effort than most men expend on a demitasse.”
He took another swig and placed the pitcher to one side as he told her, “I’ll try to act more natural. I can see that you ain’t enjoying this deathwatch, neither. Maybe if we keep each other company the night won’t drag as bad.”
“That’s just what I was about to say. Mr. Crawford was saying, before he left just now, that you were a sort of diamond in the rough.”
Longarm frowned and decided, “I hope he’s really sick as a dog, then. I don’t see why folk keep saying I’m rough. I was brung up by the Good Book and my ma never served soup unless everyone washed their hands before setting down to table.”
For some reason that made her smile. She had a nice way of smiling with her soft, kissy-looking lips. He decided not to push his luck by asking her permission to smoke, though; he suspected she might not be used to three-for-a-nickel cheroots, coming from the big city and all.
That reminded him to ask her why the Kansas City Star was all that interested in the dawn death of a half-ass desperado, though he had to put it more delicately. When this seemed to puzzle her, he added, “I don’t see how even Ned Buntline could make a wild west owlhoot outta poor old Costello. As far as I know, he only robbed one train and got caught in next to no time. They’d have let him off with ten at hard if he hadn’t managed to gun that train guard in the process.”
She sighed and said, “He swears he never fired his gun. Maybe one of the others taking part in the robbery with him did that.”
Longarm raised an eyebrow at her and asked, “When did he tell you all this?”
“I’ve interviewed him more than once during his trial, and before that in Kansas City, before he was forced into a life of crime. He was once a famous stage magician, you know.”
Longarm reached for his big drink and drank some more before he said, “Nobody can force a grown man to steal, or even beg. I know this because I’ve been broke and hungry more than once, and neither temptation ever crossed my mind.”
“That’s different. You’re obviously a strong man. You can’t expect lesser men to have your strength of character.”
“You’re wrong,” he replied, “that’s why I pack a badge—Like I said, it’s easy to wind up broke and hungry, and ninety-nine out of a hundred men, women, and children can manage to tough it through without busting the law. My job is to deal with that one who can’t, or won’t.”
“Have you no pity at all for those who simply can’t live up to your severe Calvinistic code?” she asked.
He looked incredulous and replied, “Hold on. I know lots of Roman Catholics, Jews, and Mormons who hold it’s just plain wrong to kill and steal. “Where would we be if we allowed just anyone to bust the laws every time they found the going a mite rough? As for feeling sorry for law busters, of course I feel sorry for ‘em. I feel sorry for mad dogs, too, but that don’t mean I want ‘em running about endangering man or beast.”
He helped himself to another swig of needled beer, put the pitcher back down with a weary shrug, and said, “Never mind. In a little while this’ll all be over and we’ll be able to study on more cheerful matters.”
She glanced at the wall clock over the hotel desk, gasped, and said, “Oh, Lord, it’s not even ten o’clock yet!”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice. Time surely is a funny substance, ain’t it? An hour spent at something happy don’t seem long enough, whilst one minute spent on a hot stove seems far too long. I reckon that right now old Costello feels every hour like it was a minute. Meanwhile, since we ain’t watching the clock from his point of view, the hands seem sort of stuck.” After a moment of silence, he asked, “You sure I can’t get you something to drink, ma’am? Just sitting here another eight or nine hours figures to get sort of tedious.”