Longarm and the Yuma Prison (11 page)

Longarm hadn't slept well that night, thinking about how Jessica and her new husband had been ambushed and nearly killed on their front porch. He awoke early and dressed with impatience, feeling a knot of fury building inside. The sun was just over the eastern horizon when he made his way downstairs and entered the hotel dining room. There was a waiter setting tables but it was obviously too early to expect to be served a meal.

“Can I help you?” the hotel waiter asked.

“I know you won't be serving for a while, but I sure could use a cup of fresh coffee.”

“Of course! Sugar or cream?”

“Hot, black, and strong is my preference.”

“Have a seat and I'll bring you out a fresh pot.”

“Thank you very much.”

Longarm drank his coffee in a brooding silence while the busy waiter finished setting all the tables and preparing for the first guests to enter the dining room. When Longarm had finished his second cup, he felt much more awake and less groggy. He consulted his pocket watch and saw that it was nearing seven o'clock.

“Thanks,” Longarm said to the man after laying down a generous tip.

“Have a good day!” the waiter called as Longarm exited the dining room and then the hotel.

It was a bright morning and the temperature was pleasant and likely only in the high seventies. Longarm walked up and down the main street looking in shop windows. About twenty minutes passed before he saw Marshal Jeb Beeson's deputies enter the marshal's office. Longarm checked his gun and marched directly across the street. He didn't knock or give any warning at all but instead barged into the marshal's office catching both deputies off their guard.

“What the hell . . .”

Longarm launched himself across the room and drove a powerful uppercut into the man's gut, bending him double like a clothespin. The other deputy was wearing a gun, but Longarm scooped a paperweight off one of the desks and hurled it directly into the man's face, knocking him over backward. Before the deputy could recover, Longarm kicked him in the ribs hard enough to insure that there would be at least a few broken. Then he turned back to the first deputy, who was trying to straighten up and catch his wind.

“You sons o' bitches ambushed Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton last night,” he growled as he grabbed the man's right arm and slammed it down on the edge of the desk. The sound of his shattering forearm was sickening. The man collapsed to his knees and Longarm booted him under the chin with the toe of his boot knocking him unconscious.

He turned back to the other deputy and kicked in the intact side of his rib cage. The man howled and began to sob.

“You are no good to anyone now,” Longarm spat, fists balled at his sides. “My advice would be to get the hell out of Yuma before I decide to kill you both. What time does Beeson usually arrive?”

The one with the busted ribs was sobbing and writhing around on the floor, unable to speak. The other deputy was out cold.

“Guess I'll just wait for your boss,” Longarm decided out loud.

He sat down behind a desk, sweeping it clear of papers so he could lay his gun on its scarred wooden surface. He consulted his pocket watch and saw that it was only a quarter past seven and figured he would have to wait several hours for Marshal Beeson to show up at his office.

Longarm came to the conclusion that he was too angry and upset to wait for the Yuma marshal and needed to seek the man out and have a confrontation. If Beeson decided to test him with guns or fists, Longarm was all for that challenge.

He stopped just inside the door and looked back at what he'd done to the pair of deputies. It had been quick and brutal work. He'd left both men too broken to fight or use their weapons for weeks, possibly months. That was exactly what he'd intended and needed to do. Now it was just him and the local marshal so the odds had been whittled down considerably. Oh, yes, and there was that viper that owned Yuma and controlled so many people . . . Mitch Lang.

“I meant what I said,” he told the deputy who was barely conscious on the floor. “If I see you around here in a day or two, I'll shoot you on sight. Same goes for your pardner and you should tell him that when he comes around.”

“You . . . you son of a bitch!” the deputy sobbed. “You'll get yours for this!”

A cold fury was on Longarm and he couldn't help but march back into the office, grab the man's gun hand, and then savagely snap several of the deputy's fingers. The man passed out.

Longarm surveyed his work and nodded with satisfaction. “One with a broken arm, the other with broken ribs and broken fingers. I guess that pretty much takes care of them.”

He left the office and stopped the first man he met on the street. “Can you tell me where Marshal Beeson lives?”

“Sure, just over on Third Street. Yellow house on the corner. You a friend of his?”

“I wouldn't call it that by any stretch of the imagination,” Longarm said, moving on.

Jeb Beeson was a bachelor whose wife had left him years ago after catching him in their bed with yet another whore. Jeb hadn't really cared. His wife had been a bitch and a whiner. Now, he was content to have a whore visit his house one or two nights a week to satisfy his needs. If she pleased him greatly, he would pay her . . . if not he would throw her out knowing that she had just two choices . . . keep her mouth shut about him and his savage ways, or get the hell beat out of her by one of his deputies.

Two weeks before he'd not been pleased by a woman named Loretta and he'd slapped her around and tossed her out of his house at two o'clock in the morning . . . naked, bleeding and yelling at the top of her lungs.

Somewhere, between his house and the whorehouse, a couple of men had caught and raped her in an alley and then they'd beat Loretta, almost killing her. She was discovered unconscious the next day and the rumors immediately began to circulate regarding Marshal Beeson's role in the savage attack and near murder of a woman. There had been immediate repercussions from a few of the outraged citizens including two ministers and Dr. Kelly.

“Pull something like that again,” Lang had warned in his closed office, not hiding his fury, “and you'll be out of a job faster than a gawdamn snake's bite!”

Jeb Beeson had taken the banker's warning to heart. He had even paid Loretta's doctor bills and then bought her a one-way ticket to Tucson. In the future, he decided, he would not allow whores in his house but would go to their beds when his physical need was too great to ignore.

On the morning that Longarm knocked on Beeson's front door, the marshal was sound asleep. Longarm tried the door and found it unlocked, which was not surprising given the lawman's confidence in his intimidation of all foes.

Longarm followed the loud snoring into Beeson's bedroom and stood staring at the man for several moments, wavering between knocking him senseless in his sleep or prodding him into wakefulness and then laying down the new law in this town.

Longarm decided to do the latter.

“Wake up!” he roared, yanking the thin sheet that covered the slumbering lawman. “Rise and shine, you miserable bastard!”

Beeson was not one to wake up on the right side of his bed. He was a man that needed time to awaken along with several cups of coffee . . . especially after the previous evening's hard drinking.

“Huh?” Beeson groaned, trying to force his eyelids to become unglued. “What . . .”

Longarm had the element of surprise and he exploited it fully. He grabbed the bare-assed marshal by the ankles and dragged him off his bed. Beeson landed hard on his wooden floor, head making a thunking sound much like when a knowledgeable housewife raps her knuckles on a watermelon to see if it is ripe.

Beeson tried to climb to his feet and Longarm watched, almost feeling sorry for the man because he was fat and flabby.

“I just paid a visit to your office,” Longarm said, grabbing Beeson by the hair on his head and twisting hard. “And I put your deputies out of business.”

“What . . .” Beeson was coming awake fast. He tried to grab Longarm and tear his grip from his hair, but that only caused a sharp pain. “Ouch!”

“I'm going to tell you the same thing I told your deputies,” Longarm hissed. “You need to clean out your office and leave town.”

“The hell you say!” the marshal roared. “Let go of me!”

Longarm shoved the man, glaring down at his pile of soft, white flesh. “I'm going to either ruin you or kill you,” Longarm said. “And quite honestly I'd prefer to do the latter. And although I haven't positive proof, I'm willing to bet that you were the one that ordered your deputies to ambush Kent and Jessica Hamilton and they failed. But I won't fail to kill you. No, sir! So you've been warned.”

Longarm didn't wait to hear the denial or the curses. Instead, he turned on his heel and headed back to his hotel because he was hungry now and ready for a good breakfast. The gauntlet had been thrown down and all hell was going to break loose today. If he was still standing when the train rolled in from the east, a federal judge would be on it and soon there would be a new trial for poor old Tom Ray.

Yes,
Longarm thought, reviewing the misery he'd just laid up the law in Yuma,
today is turning out to be damned interesting.

When the Santa Fe railroad train pulled into Yuma just before noon, there were not a lot of passengers that were unloading but the moment the tall, distinguished man with graying hair, mustache, and goatee emerged, it was clear that federal judge Peter Hamilton had arrived. He carried a valise in one hand and an expensive attaché in the other and his dark eyes seemed to take in everything at a glance.

Longarm had placed himself off to one side ready to intervene in case Marshal Beeson had recovered and found some replacements for his deputies. But Beeson was nowhere to be seen and now Longarm watched as Kent hurried over to embrace his oldest brother. After a few minutes, Kent pointed toward Longarm and the two men came to join him.

“Marshal Long,” Peter Hamilton said, “we've never met but your reputation has spread far and wide. I can't tell you how much comfort it gives me to have you here helping and protecting us in this dangerous situation.”

They shook hands and Longarm said, “Things here in Yuma are explosive and it was brave of you to insert yourself into this situation.”

Peter nodded and turned back to his brother. “Now, I want to meet your new wife and apologize to her for not being here for the wedding.”

“Our wedding was a spur-of-the-moment occasion, Peter. We were married by a justice of the peace and surprised everyone in town.”

“Especially me,” Longarm added without a smile.

“Yes, especially you,” Kent said looking a little shameful. “But anyway, let's go over to the doctor's office and see how Jessica is doing.”

“Is there no hospital here?” Longarm asked.

“No,” Kent replied. “Just two doctors and the infirmary up on Prison Hill. And besides, we agreed that Jessica was safer and in better care with the doctor and his wife.”

“Yes,” Longarm said, “we did. But she ought to be able to leave the doctor's office today or tomorrow and I think we ought to decide where we will all be staying until this trouble is past.”

“We can all stay at my house,” Kent offered. “It's small and . . .”

“Kent,” Longarm said, “you told me yourself that your house was a furnace in the daytime. It's also too hard to protect against another ambush.”

“So what are you suggesting?” Peter asked.

“I'm suggesting we stay in adjoining and upper rooms at the Oasis Hotel. There is only one stairway up from the lobby and a rickety iron fire escape that has mostly pulled free from its anchoring and couldn't support a child, much less an assassin.”

“It will be expensive,” Kent said. “But the hotel owner does owe me for some work that I've done for him in the past. If several upstairs rooms are available, that might be the best and safest solution.”

“I agree,” Peter said. “And besides, we can overlook some formalities in this retrial but I think that if the presiding judge is not only the defense attorney's brother but is also staying in his house, that is pushing things a bit too far.”

“Then it's settled,” Longarm told the men. “Let's go see Jessica and find out how soon we can move her to the hotel. I know that the room that adjoins mine is empty.”

When they arrived at the doctor's office, Jessica was sitting up drinking a glass of milk. Kent gave her a gentle kiss and hug, and then introduced his brother.

“Pleased to meet you, Jessica. I know my kid brother has been in love with you since way back when.”

Jessica actually blushed. “I loved him, too, but as a friend.” Her eyes settled on Longarm for the briefest of moments, and then she returned her attention to Peter. “How difficult will this retrial be?”

“Well, I'll need a day to file some papers and to study the court proceedings, but I think we can quickly select a new jury.” Peter turned to Longarm, “Marshal, as long as we have those two witnesses who were actually at the card table when the shooting took place saying it was self-defense, then I can't see that the trial should take much time at all.”

“I need to ride out with a wagon and collect them,” Longarm said. “I'll do that this very afternoon and we'll also have to room them up at the hotel.”

“More expenses,” Kent said.

“I'll pay them with the house sale money,” Jessica promised. “I can't think of a better use than to protect everyone. Mitch Lang isn't going to just sit back and let us win. He's rich and he's connected to everyone in Yuma with money, power, and influence.”

“She's right,” Kent said in full agreement. “We'd be fooling ourselves if we thought that this was going to be a quick trial, full exoneration for Jessica's father, and then we'd all happily board a train for Santa Fe never to return.”

“Denver for me,” Longarm reminded them.

Dr. Kelly and his wife entered the room and were introduced to Peter. “I'm afraid that all of you need to step outside . . . except for the husband, of course . . . while we change Miss Hamilton's dressings and decide if it is in her best interest to leave this office.”

“Believe me,” Longarm said, “it is. Her life here is probably in even greater danger than before. If Mitch Lang and his cohorts can eliminate Jessica, then everything we're trying to do is bound to unravel.”

“I agree,” Kent said. “With my wife dead . . . with any of us dead . . . we all lose. Lang and Beeson will stop at nothing and you can bet that right now they are recruiting new guns and plotting their next move.”

Federal judge Peter Hamilton nodded and stroked his long goatee for a moment. “I realize that I . . . having never met either Lang or Beeson . . . am the one least qualified to judge their future actions; however, it seems clear to me that their goal would be to prevent a retrial at all costs. And if they truly have unlimited resources here in Yuma, then we must constantly be on our guards.”

“Are you armed?” Longarm asked the brothers.

They nodded.

“And can you shoot fast and straight?”

Kent said, “I'm a passable shot. Brother?”

“I'm probably better than passable,” the judge from Santa Fe told them. “I've had my life threatened many, many times and I've taken it upon myself to become very familiar with firearms.”

“That's good news,” Longarm told them. “It gives me comfort.”

“And don't forget that I can shoot straight, too,” Jessica said with a hard look. “I wish that I had those two murdering deputies in my gun sights right now!”

“I don't think that you'll ever get that chance,” Longarm told her. “I broke a lot of their bones just to make sure they were put out of play.”

“So that means that Marshal Beeson will be looking for new gunmen,” Kent said.

“It does,” Longarm agreed. “But if we can get this trial under way and over with quickly, he won't have time to send out for the best talent.”

We'll need to move fast,” Kent said, “because, if I'm reading this right, all our lives depend upon it.”

“All right,” Dr. Kelly said, returning. “I'm going to allow Miss Hamilton to move over to the hotel but she's going to need care and I'll stop by twice a day until this is all past us.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Kent said. “This way you or your wife won't be in any danger.”

“That thought had occurred to me,” the doctor admitted. He turned to Jessica. “You have had a very serious injury and once you are settled in at the hotel you need to stay in bed except to get up and be helped to the bathroom. Is that understood?”

“It is,” Jessica replied.

“No going down the stairs, either. If you missed a step, lost your balance, and fell, you could start internally hemorrhaging and I most likely would not be able to save you.”

“We'll carry her up the stairs and keep her comfortable,” Kent promised.

“All right then, just be careful and I'll be over to check on you late this afternoon or early in the evening.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

They eased Jessica into a stout chair and then carried the chair up the street, into the hotel, and up the stairs. It was hard work and Jessica kept apologizing for the trouble she was causing. When they finally got her into bed, Longarm and Peter went downstairs and made arrangements for a third room. Then, Longarm turned to the Santa Fe judge and said, “I suppose you need to see the court records right away.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then let's take care of that,” Longarm told the man.

They marched over to the stone courthouse and when they entered and were shown to the records file, Judge Thompson barged into the records office. “What the hell do you think you're doing!”

“We're going to have a retrial,” Longarm said. “Judge Thompson, this is federal judge Peter Hamilton. He's got the proper paperwork and we need to see the records of the trial you held for Tom Ray.”

“How dare you come here and try to usurp my authority!” Thompson shouted. “I will not allow this. Get out of here right now!”

Peter Hamilton was very cool and collected. From the inside of his coat pocket he produced some official-looking papers and handed them to Thompson. “I'm sure after you've read these you will see that I have the authority to preside over a retrial given the new evidence that has surfaced and the fact that there are some obvious improprieties on your part, Judge.”

“What new evidence! What ‘improprieties'!” the man raged.

“It's all in those documents, and I suggest before you say anything more you read them very carefully. I also suspect that you might be placed on trial if we can prove that you had a hand in prejudicing this case.”

Judge Thompson snatched the papers up and marched off into another office where he slammed a door. “Not too happy,” Longarm said.

“If we can get some people to take to the witness stand and swear that Judge Thompson had a hand in seizing or fraudulently altering documents to obtain ownership of Tom Ray's mining claim and house in Denver then he very well might be going to the same prison where I'm sure he has sentenced many a man.”

“Nothing would please me more than to see that happen,” Longarm said.

 • • • 

A few minutes later they left the courthouse with several thick files regarding the Tom Ray murder trial.

“I'll go up to my room and burn some midnight oil going over these,” the judge said in the lobby of the hotel. “What are you going to do now?”

“I think I'd better go out to the mining claim and collect our two critical witnesses,” Longarm told the man. Their names are Albert Dodd and Carl Wittman.”

“They're miners?”

“Yes, quite rough.”

“Will they make creditable witnesses and be able to convince a new jury that Mr. Ray fired in self-defense?”

“I hope so. They need to be cleaned up. I'll get them rooms here and they need baths, shaves, and haircuts. Some new clothes and a little tutoring as to how to make their testimony.”

“They do sound pretty rough,” Peter said, looking worried.

“The last time I saw the pair they were drunk and naked in the Colorado River.”

“Oh, gawd help us!”

Longarm patted the judge on the shoulder. “Don't worry. They're probably both illiterate but they're not stupid, and your brother has promised them a new life if they tell the truth about what they saw when they were at that card table with Tom Ray and the two dead card cheats. Once they do that with honesty and conviction, I'm sure that the jury will make it easy for you to declare Tom Ray innocent of murder because he acted purely in self-defense.”

“Good. I'd like to meet them once you've brought them in.”

“How about tomorrow after they bathe? I'm sure they smell to high heaven from working in the dirt and the heat. The Colorado River is cool, but it's muddy and I'm sure that they need some soap, a scrub brush, and a lot of buckets of hot, soapy water.

“Go get them straightaway.”

“Consider it as good as done,” Longarm promised.