“Bullshit,” Longarm said.
“We won’t accomplish anything if you insist on being rude,” Farmer said.
“Fact remains, mister. Your story is bullshit. Dangerous bullshit at that. The sorta bullshit that causes trouble an’ gets innocent people killed.”
“Just what part of my story do you claim is, um, bullshit, Deputy?*’
“Roughly speaking, I’d say it’s the part between the first word an’ the last one.”
“I see. For instance then, you dispute what I wrote in my story about the massacre at the agency? About the Rev. Mr. Meeker and those other innocents being slaughtered? Was that bullshit, Deputy? Have I been misinformed? Did those deaths not actually take place?”
“You know that isn’t what I was talking about, Farmer.” “Then perhaps you do not believe that young white women were .. . excuse me, Agnes, I don’t mean to be indelicate in your presence... were raped by savages during that recent uprising. Did that not happen either?. Is that what you disagree with, Deputy?”
“Damn you, you know—”
“But you claim that everything I wrote was false, do you not?”
“Mister, you’re sitting here playing word games. Stupid ones, at that. I’m trying to see that the laws of this country are enforced an’ that no innocent people, not white ones nor red either one, come to harm. Now what I want from you is nothing more than plain truthfulness. In particular, man, I don’t want you getting folks worked up with a bunch o’ lies that can’t do anybody any good. You work folks up an’ get ’em scared, the next thing they’ll be shooting into the shadows. Gunning down the next Indian who walks by, just out o’ the fear that you put into ’em. Innocent people can get killed, mister, an’ all because of your stupid lies.” “And I say my story is not a lie, Deputy. Not the least part of it.”
“That’s a lie right there, Farmer.”
“Prove it.”
“All right, I will. Tell me who this high-placed government source is s’posed to be. If you can. Though you an’ me both know that you can’t.”
“My source of information does exist, Deputy. And I challenge you to prove otherwise.”
“Who is he, Farmer? Let’s you an’ me both set down an’ talk to this guy.”
“I can’t divulge a news source, Deputy, nor can you force me to. Surely you understand that. Why, even suggesting such a thing constitutes ... and I use the term advisedly ... a violation of my First Amendment rights of free speech. I daresay the confidentiality of a newspaperman’s sources of information enjoys every bit as much protection under the law as a priest’s confessional disclosures.”
“Bullshit,” Longarm said.
“Do you know of any specific case law to dispute me, Deputy? Or do you, Agnes?”
Longarm’s only answer was a scowl. Aggie frowned, but had to admit that if there was a case to cite she wasn’t familiar with it offhand.
“You came here to dispute my story, Deputy. As it happens, however, I dispute you. I claim accuracy in my report and a public duty to distribute what I know so that innocent white families will not be taken by surprise and subjected to another massacre by red savages. Now if I may say so, Deputy, I am not in a mood to interview you right now. I frankly don’t believe I could do so objectively. And you know I pride myself on my accurate and impartial reporting. So if you would excuse me, please?”
The son of a bitch stood up and gave Longarm a snooty look.
Lies. Every stinking bit of it lies. And they all three of them knew that it was all lies. Yet the bastard stood right there and looked them in the eyes with his own bare face hanging out and lied some more.
This was crazy, Longarm thought. Crazy as hell.
The really sad part of it was that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it either.
Even if he could prove that every word in that newspaper story was a lie—and he sure oughta be able to prove that— he still couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. Because for some stupid reason nobody’d ever gotten around to making it illegal for a man to tell a lie. Not even in print. And
wasn’t that a damned shame, Longarm thought bitterly to himself.
He took a few last puffs on his cheroot and blew smoke in the direction of Ellis Farmer, then dropped the partially finished cigar onto the stone flooring and ground it out under his boot. With any kind of luck the smell of it lying there would piss Farmer off.
Longarm stomped out without bothering to tell the bastard good-bye or looking back to see if Aggie was following.
Chapter 25
Aggie was pale and, for the first time, seemed genuinely worried. ‘They could be killed, couldn’t they?”
“The Utes?”
She nodded.
“Ayuh,” Longarm agreed. “They could be. Just as bad, there could be others killed too. Other Indians killed if that article stirs people up too bad. Whites killed if the Indians retaliate. Something like this can run a long, ugly time if it once gets up a head o’ steam, Aggie.”
“I hadn’t thought that. .. until now, Longarm, I’ve been regarding this whole thing as a game. A way I could show off and impress the people of Snowshoe. Oh, I’ve honestly wanted justice for my clients. But I hadn’t ever thought that this, any of it, could be so deadly serious. But it is serious. It really is.”
“Uh, huh.”
“We need to find Chief Bevvy, don’t we?”
“Him or somebody else. The mayor, judge, some-damn- body. We need to get this writ served, or at the very least get those Utes released from wherever they’re being held. Gotta get them the hell outta these mountains for a spell, an’ the quicker the better.”
“Come with me,” Aggie said abruptly. She turned and hurried away, Longarm trailing close at her heels.
The lady lawyer took him off the main street to a maze of narrow alleys that seemed to be passing as streets, with shacks crudely fashioned from packing crate slats pressed
in on both sides, the footing uncertain because of the trash that was strewn everywhere. At night, Longarm suspected, this area would be quite the rat hole.
Snowshoe’s tenderloin swallowed them whole, and he could smell cheap perfume and opium smoke, could hear grunting and weeping and the rhythmic creak, creak, crunch of steel bedsprings.
It occurred to him to wonder how Miss Agnes might have come to know her way around in this particular part of town.
“This way,” she said, turning yet another comer. “In here.”
He had to duck to pass beneath a lintel that still carried writing on it to show it once had been a part of some other object. No telling now what that might have been. He could make out the letters B, A, and N.
The inside of the hovel was dark even in mid-afternoon. Too dark for one’s eyes to readily adjust. He failed to see Aggie stop in front of him, and bumped into her.
“I need to see her,” Aggie said.
“Wait.” The answering voice was deep. Longarm realized there was a man, presumably a guard, somewhere in front of them. It was so dark that he hadn’t seen anyone, or even realized that he and Aggie weren’t alone there.