LONGARM AND THE SECRET ASSASSIN [066 5.0]
By Tabor Evans
Synopsis:
The Marble gang has been released from custody on bail and is being hunted down and killed, one by one, by an assassin who once secretly worked for the Marshall’s Service. U.S. Deputy Marshall Custis Long has been assigned to capture the assassin, as well as rearrest the gang members, at least those who are not already dead. But, can he catch the assassin before all the gang members are dead? 216th novel in the “Longarm” series, 1996.
Jove Books New York Copyright (C) 1996 by Jove Publications, Inc. All rights reserved.
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.
ISBN: 0-515-11982-2
Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.
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A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author
Printing history Jove edition / December 1996
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
DON’T MISS THESE ALL-ACTION WESTERN SERIES FROM THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
THE GUNSMITH by J. R. Roberts Clint Adams was a legend among lawmen, outlaws, and ladies. They called him … the Gunsmith.
LONGARM by Tabor Evans The popular long-running series about U.S. Deputy Marshal Long—his life, his loves, his fight for justice.
SLOCUM by Jake Logan Today’s longest-running action Western. John Slocum rides a deadly trail of hot blood and cold steel.
Chapter 1
U.S. Deputy Marshal Custis Long was quite mystified as he entered one of Denver’s seediest saloons and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. His boss, Billy Vail, had left a message saying that they needed to have a very private meeting, the sooner the better. Longarm could not imagine why they needed to meet in such a rough saloon as this instead of in the comfort and security of their huge Federal Building on the corner of Cherokee and Colfax Avenue.
The Bulldog Saloon was crowded and thick with smoke. The floor was covered with dirty sawdust, and as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, Longarm could see that there was a large and boisterous crowd gathered at the back bar. A few painted ladies were working the customers, and there were four or five poker and faro games in progress. The Bulldog had a notorious reputation, and Longarm knew that it generated nightly brawls and several murders each month.
Where was Billy?
“Hey!” Billy called from a tiny booth along the east wall of the room. “Over here!”
Longarm eased his way through the crowd and joined him. A huge bald and sweating waiter with shoulders like a bull and a neck as thick as Longarm’s thigh brought them a pitcher of warm beer and two dirty glasses.
The waiter was a brutish-looking fellow missing the top half of his right ear and the index finger of his left hand. The prominent ridges over both eyes were thick with scar tissue, and his nose had been smashed flat, requiring its owner to do all his breathing through his mouth.
“A dollar,” he grunted, holding out his meaty fist and sizing Longarm up with a clear challenge in his deep-set black eyes. “You ain’t lookin’ for no trouble, are ya?” he asked almost hopefully.
“Nope,” Longarm assured the brute with mock seriousness. “We don’t believe in violence.”
The waiter stared at him, not sure if he was being conned or not. “But you ain’t a peaceable-lookin’ man.”
“Oh, but I am!” Longarm exclaimed, sure that he was dealing with someone who had suffered brain damage. “And so is my friend.”
“That’s right!” Billy said, giving the hulking waiter a dollar and an extra tencent tip. “I assure you that all we want is to be left alone to drink our beer in peace.”
“Okay,” the brute said, giving each of them one last going-over before he shuffled away.
“I wonder what jungle or cave they found that one in,” Billy said, filling their glasses.
“I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure I once saw him fighting in the ring. He used to take on all comers With one arm tied behind his back for a dollar a round, but few men lasted past the first.”
“Even with one hand tied behind his back?”
“Yeah,” Longarm said. “He could kick like a mule and break your skull with a single punch. He was almost mobbed when he bit off a local favorite’s nose the night I saw him fight. A few days later, I heard that three men with clubs jumped into the ring and beat him half to death while the crowd cheered. I’d always wondered what happened to the man.”
“Well,” Billy said, “now you know. He serves beer and whiskey in a Denver piss-hole.”
Longarm tasted his beer. “I remember thinking that the man could have earned a fortune if he’d been managed correctly.”
“Listen,” Billy said, leaning closer, “I didn’t ask you to meet me so we could talk about a waiter. I’ve got a serious problem to discuss.”
“So I guessed. But why couldn’t we have talked it over at the office?”
Billy actually looked around as if someone might be eavesdropping before he leaned even closer and whispered, “Because it has to do with the department. We’ve got big internal troubles, Custis.”
Longarm drew a five-cent cheroot out of his vest pocket and stuck it into the corner of his mouth. He folded his arms across his chest and said, “I’m listening.”
“All right. As you very well know, the entire department has been in chaos since Commissioner John Pinter committed suicide.”
“Sure,” Longarm said. “Everyone in the department took Pinter’s death real hard. Stupid and thoughtless damned thing for him to do, Billy, what in the hell was the matter with the commissioner anyway? I never took him for a man that would kill himself. He had a fine family and-“
Billy leaned even closer and whispered, “Maybe he didn’t commit suicide.”
Longarm studied his boss. United States Marshal Billy Vail was a short, heavyset man who looked harmless but was not. He’d been a deputy marshal just like Longarm and a very good one, which was why he’d been promoted from the field to a desk job. Longarm liked and respected his immediate superior, and he knew that Billy was not one given to wild murder theories or twisted imaginings. If Billy believed that the evidence was starting to point toward the commissioner having been murdered rather than committing suicide, then this really was going to be a serious conversation.
Longarm removed his cheroot and emptied his beer glass. He poured another, giving himself time to recover from this shocking revelation while saying, “One of our best men investigated Commissioner Pinter’s death. He said Pinter had obviously been drunk when he jumped off the top of the Federal Building to his death.”
“Custis, what if our commissioner was forced to drink whiskey and then thrown to his death?”
“Who would do a thing like that?” Longarm demanded. “And off the top of our own building?”
“Good question. And the very same one that I have been asking myself ever since I spoke to Commissioner Pinter’s widow. You see, she told me a few things that I never would have learned while the commissioner was alive.”
“Such as?”
Billy drained his own glass, then refilled it before he continued. “Such as that Commissioner Pinter had a paid secret assassin hidden on our monthly payroll.”
“No!”
“It’s true,” Billy vowed. “Mrs. Pinter couldn’t name the man. She’d never even seen him, but knew that he did exist. Pinter actually called him ‘The Assassin.’”