"To New Orleans," agreed Longarm. He tossed back the rye, savoring its rich, smoky taste. So far, his trip to the Crescent City had been quite pleasurable.
But no matter what he had told Annie Clement, he was really here for one reason and one reason alone: to find whoever was responsible for the murder of Douglas Ramsey and bring the killer, or killers, to justice.
Annie sipped her wine and then said, "I shall have to introduce you to my brother. I'm sure you and Paul would have much in common."
Longarm wasn't so certain of that, and while this momentary dalliance with Annie had been enjoyable, he didn't want to waste his time meeting some wastrel son of an old, wealthy French family, which was clearly what the Clements were. Still, he didn't want to insult Annie, so he said noncommittally, "That would be nice, but we'll have to see how things work out."
"I know," she said, brightening even more with the idea that had come to her. "Why don't you come out with us tonight? We are going to dine and then visit a place we know on Gallatin Street where we can gamble. Perhaps you have heard of it--the Brass Pelican?"
Longarm was starting to shake his head when Annie added, "It is owned by a man named Millard, Jasper Millard."
Longarm hoped he was able to conceal his surprise. He had heard of Jasper Millard, all right, but certainly not for the same reason that Annie knew the man. Millard's name had been in those reports Longarm had read in Billy Vail's office back in Denver. He was one of the men suspected by the special prosecutor of being involved in the smuggling that was so widespread in the Mississippi Delta.
Longarm had considered using Millard to pick up the trail of Ramsey's murderer. Now, through happenstance, he had a perfect way into Millard's gambling club, and he would be a fool to pass it up.
Or was it happenstance? he asked himself abruptly, still controlling the expression on his face as thoughts raced through his head with lightning-fast speed. Was he being set up somehow? Were the smugglers already on to him, already aware of his true identity? Maybe Annie Clement was just the lovely bait in a deadly trap.
But Longarm didn't think so. He couldn't see how it was possible for any of the criminal element in New Orleans to know who he really was. He had bought his own ticket on the Dixie Belle in St. Louis and paid cash for it, and he'd had no contact with the authorities while he was there. As far as anyone on the riverboat knew, he was exactly what he appeared to be, a businessman, just a little bit disreputable, on his way to New Orleans. And during the hour or so that he had been here in the Crescent City, he was certain he hadn't done anything to give himself away.
Nope, he thought, this was purely a case of serendipity, enjoying the two-bit word he had picked up in his reading at the Denver Public Library near the end of each month when his money was low and his next paycheck was still a few days away.
"That's mighty kind of you," he said to Annie, "and I'll sure take you up on the invitation. If you're certain your brother won't mind, that is."
"Paul will not mind." She rolled her eyes a little. "There is nothing he enjoys more than discussing business, so you will have to promise me, M'sieu Parker, that you will not allow him to monopolize your time all evening. There is dancing as well as gambling at the Brass Pelican, and you must dance with me while we are there."
"I'm looking forward to it," Longarm said, and meant it.
Annie stood up, and Longarm got hurriedly to his feet to help her with her chair. "We will pick you up in our carriage at seven o'clock," she said.
"I'll be ready," he promised.
"Until then, M'sieu Parker... adieu."
Longarm watched her walk away, and he wasn't the only one. Every man in the salon was admiring the graceful sway of her hips. Longarm didn't allow himself to feel any jealousy; he hadn't known her long enough, or well enough, for that.
But he had a hunch that before his trip to New Orleans was over, he was going to.
Longarm went back to the desk to pick up his room key, and while he was there he asked the clerk to have all the local newspapers sent up to his room. The man nodded and said, "Yes, sir, Mr. Parker, I'll take care of that right away." They were eager to please here in New Orleans, thought Longarm as he went upstairs. A purple-jacketed bellboy arrived with the stack of papers a few minutes after Longarm had let himself into Room 312 and found it to be as comfortably appointed as he had expected.
It was also empty, no hidden gunmen lurking there waiting to murder him. Longarm wasn't really anticipating any trouble this soon, but it never hurt to be careful.
He spent an hour or so reading through the newspapers, familiarizing himself with what was going on in New Orleans at the present time. As Billy Vail had told him and the reports had verified, there was a strong reform movement under way, its aim to clean up the corruption in city government and shut down the Louisiana State Lottery, which was also riddled with graft and bribery. The lottery, and the men behind it, had so much power that the entire system was referred to by editorialists in anti-lottery papers as "the Golden Octopus." That situation was interesting, but it wasn't what had brought Longarm to New Orleans. He concentrated instead on stories relating to the smuggling, which seemed as widespread as the lottery. He found several stories which mentioned the special prosecutor whose cries for help had brought him here. The man promised in no uncertain terms that the smuggling rings would be broken up and their hold on the Delta country smashed. Longarm snorted as he read the inflammatory quotes. That was just like a politician, he thought, to stir up a mess and then leave it for somebody else to clean up.
He put the papers aside and went downstairs for a late lunch in the hotel dining room, then returned to his room and slept for several hours. It was likely to be a late night coming up, and Longarm wanted to be well rested.
He changed his shirt, but was wearing the same suit and hat when he came down to the hotel lobby a little before seven o'clock. There was no sign of Annie Clement or her brother yet, so Longarm wandered over to the desk, where the same clerk was still on duty. Longarm had tipped the man handsomely when he asked for the newspapers to be sent up, so he thought it was probably safe to ask a question or two.
"You seem to know Miss Clement pretty well," he said to the clerk, as if he was only making idle talk while waiting. "I'm supposed to dine with her and her brother tonight."
"I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself, Mr. Parker. They're a charming couple." The clerk allowed himself the faintest lift of an eyebrow. "And Miss Clement is undeniably one of the most beautiful women in New Orleans--which is saying a great deal indeed."
"You won't get any argument from me on either of those points, friend," Longarm assured him. "What's her brother like?"
The clerk's tone dropped a little and took on a conspiratorial edge. "Well... he's a man with a certain reputation..."
"As a businessman, you mean," said Longarm, playing dumb. "Miss Clement told me they were sugar exporters."
"Yessss... but I had more in mind. Mr. Clement's reputation as a gambler. And something of a ladies' man."
Longarm grinned, stuck an unlit cheroot in his mouth, and said around it, "So he likes the cards and the ladies, eh?"
"So it's said, sir. I wouldn't really know."
I'll just bet you wouldn't, thought Longarm. Hotel clerks saw the best and the worst of folks, and they generally knew the truth of the matter about as well as anyone this side of the local law--and sometimes better.
"Wonder what Miss Clement was doing here earlier today," Longarm mused aloud. "She said she and her brother have a house here in town."
"Oh, she comes here often," said the clerk, "to have a drink or to dine with us or simply to visit friends that might be stopping here."