Longarm took hold of the knob of the door. He said, “No.”
“Well, I’m going to tell you anyway because it’s perfect, it suits YOU.”
Longarm turned and gave him a look. “All right, what?”
Billy Vail said, “Nitroglycerin. Fits you to a T. Explosive.”
Longarm didn’t bother to answer. His face reddened and his hand shook. He said, “Billy Vail, you are the worst sonofabitch that I’ve ever met in my life.” Then he went through the door, started to close it, changed his mind, and stuck his head back in. He said, “I take that back, Billy Vail. You ain’t the worst sonofabitch I’ve ever met because I ain’t met every sonofabitch yet. You’re the worst sonofabitch period.”
With that, Longarm slammed the door as hard as he could, making the glass shiver. He wished it had broken.
Now there was nothing left to do but walk on out of the building and go find the saloon and a poker game and perhaps, tonight, make better progress with the lady dressmaker. Maybe he could find a loose thread on her somewhere, one that he could unravel, and get after it. He doubted it, though, the way his luck was running.
He took no great excitement in bringing the Gallaghers to book because about that he felt the same way as Billy Vail. It was his job. If a man did his job well and got paid, it was a standoff, a square deal, and that was all he had ever looked for in life. He was a little rank that day, but he knew that the next day he’d be halfway hoping that Billy Vail would summon him to the office and say, “Now, Longarm, we’ve got some trouble down in Texas and I reckon you’re the only man for the job.”
And he’d say, “Billy, you are full of it. There’s half a dozen other deputies. Send one of them.”
But of course, in the end, he would go because that was his job. All he wondered was how long it would take for the nitroglycerin business to blow over.