Longarm and the Yuma Prison (3 page)

It was easy enough to find the sheriff's office, but when they arrived, there was an old man sitting at a desk smoking a briar pipe and reading the newspaper. He glanced over his paper at Longarm and Jessica, then turned his attention back to the newspaper, saying, “If you're lookin' for Sheriff Morrell, you'll find him over at the hospital. I don't expect him to show up for a few days and I'm just watching over things here.”

Longarm approached the old man and said, “Are you a deputy?”

“No, I'm Art Morrell's father, Zeke Morrell. My son tried to break up a saloon fight last night and someone hit him over the back of his head with a chair. Once he was down, a pair of brothers kicked the hell out of him. He's laid up at the hospital.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

Zeke laid the paper down. There were dark circles around his eyes and he looked exhausted. “Who are you folks and how can I help you?”

“I'm a deputy United States marshal named Custis Long. I usually go to the main office, but we're out in this part of town and I wanted to stop by and inform the sheriff here that we have a problem with some men who have illegally taken over this lady's home.”

“I can't help you with that, Marshal, and I doubt that my son could help you, either. It sounds to me like you need an attorney, not a sheriff.”

“That might be true, but we're going over to the house in question to try to get some answers. I was just stopping by out of professional courtesy.”

“I'm sure my son would have appreciated that,” Zeke said, coming to his feet and extending his hand. “But my son is in pretty bad shape. There are two brothers named Pace and Slade Wittman and they're the ones that sent my son to the hospital. I don't suppose you'd be willing to arrest and bring them back to this jail?”

“Doesn't your son have any deputies?”

“Nope. We're unincorporated here and underfunded.”

Longarm scowled. It was not unusual for small localities in the suburbs of big towns to have their own staffs rather than rely on Denver to handle their issues. The trouble was, those localities, while adamant about retaining their independence, usually were poorly run and perpetually out of money.

“I can check into the matter,” Longarm offered. “But for the time being I need to help this young lady, Miss Jessica Ray.”

The old man smiled. “I sure don't blame you for putting my boy on the back burner given how pretty she is. I'd go after Pace and Slade myself except they'd either shoot or beat the shit out of me. I'm too old and slow to take on a young and dangerous pair like that.”

“What did they do that had your son trying to arrest them?”

“They beat up a whore a few days ago. Almost killed her. Her name was Loretta Love . . . probably not her real name . . . and they did some things to her that ought not to happen to an animal. When she fought back, they hurt her so bad that she can't eat or see out of either eye.”

Longarm's face tightened. “Where do those sons o' bitches hang out?”

“At the Buffalo Saloon.”

“I know where it's at. Maybe I'll pay a visit to them after we get this house trouble settled on Plum Street.”

“Nice street,” Zeke said. “Houses are expensive there now. More than me or my son could ever afford.”

“Do you want to come along and just watch what happens?” Longarm asked. “We could use a witness if things get rough.”

“If I do that, would you pay a visit to the Buffalo Saloon and arrest those Wittman brothers and bring them back here so I can lock 'em up in our jail and feed them dog shit and beans, with my piss in their coffee and spit on their breakfast eggs?”

“You'd do that?” Jessica asked with shock.

“I sure would,” Zeke said, eyes hard as obsidian. “And when my son gets out of the hospital, they'll get worse until they go before a judge and are sentenced to a prison. Marshal Long, they are too tough for the likes of me . . . but I got a feeling that you could handle them easy enough.”

Longarm turned around and studied the front door for a minute. He felt Jessica's hand on his arm and heard her whisper, “It sounds like you need to help this man.”

“Yeah, but I need to help you first,” Longarm told her. “I can tell you one thing, this weekend sure isn't shaping up to be the relaxing two days that I'd intended it to be.”

“Are you sorry we got together?” she asked, closely studying his face.

“No.”

“Good!”

“All right,” Longarm said, turning around to face the old man. “If you tag along as a witness, I'll drop by the Buffalo Saloon early this evening and put some misery on Pace and Slade Wittman.”

“And you'll arrest and bring them here to jail.”

“Yeah, I'll do that, too. But you might have to pay for someone to carry them over here because I don't have much use for a woman beater or a couple of men who would kick a lawman when he's down.”

Zeke filled his lungs and smiled for the first time. He marched over to the gun rack and found a shotgun and then he checked to make sure that both barrels were loaded. He also snatched a badge off his son's desk and pinned it on his chest. “Let's go!”

Longarm allowed himself a small grin. “Zeke, before we do this we have to have an understanding.”

“Which is?”

“I'm in charge and I'll do the talking. You keep that scattergun pointed down at the ground and don't use it unless it's absolutely necessary and bullets are being fired.”

“You've my word on that.” He turned to Jessica. “Miss, why don't you just stay here at the office and make yourself comfortable?”

“Why don't you button up your fly before you expose and embarrass yourself?”

Zeke grabbed at his crotch, discovered that his fly was open and that his little wiener was poking out like a worm from its hole. The man colored and turned away suddenly. “Gawdamn old age,” he muttered. “A man hits seventy and he loses all his dignity and good sense. Can't remember anything and just generally is pathetic.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself,” Longarm told the man. “In your day I'll bet you were quite a fine figure of manhood.”

“I was! But that day is long gone and look at me now. Not even enough gumption and fire in my belly to go over to the Buffalo Saloon on my own tonight and take on the Wittman brothers for beating a whore and my son half to death.”

“I'll make it right by you and your son,” Longarm promised.

“And I'll be there to back you up,” Zeke promised.

“Me, too,” Jessica added. “We're going to make a good team and we'll soon cut our teeth on my Uncle Willard and his two brothers.”

Zeke's eyes widened. “Did your own uncles really steal your house?”

“Yes.”

“That ain't right.”

“No,” Jessica said, “but just like with the poor woman and your son, we're going to set things straight.”

Zeke nodded, screwed down his hat, and followed Jessica and Longarm out the door, carefully locking it in his wake.

Longarm had often thought that, if he lived to get old and had saved some money, Plum Street would be just about right. All of the houses, while not huge, were well kept as were their yards. They were constructed of red brick and had nice porches. There were flower gardens everywhere and on some of the fences were big roses . . . yellows, whites, reds, and a pretty peach color that was his personal favorite. Being a nice day, many children were out and about playing ball in the street and quite a few families were enjoying their Saturday by sitting on their porch sipping tea and watching the world go by. Denver winters were hard so when the weather was as pleasant as it was today, people liked to stay outdoors.

“That's Uncle Willard and his brothers sitting on our front porch,” Jessica said quietly.

“Yeah, I spotted your house the minute we rounded the corner and started up the block. It looks like hell.”

“It didn't used to look like that.”

The three men were large and slovenly. They were dressed in bib overalls without shirts and when they saw Jessica, two of them jumped up and went into the house to emerge a moment later with guns in their hands. Longarm took this all in without breaking stride.

“Just let me do the talking.”

“That's fine with me, but talk won't get them to leave,” Jessica replied. “Willard is the biggest one with the red bandanna tied around his throat.”

When Longarm came to the sagging front gate, he pushed it aside and took a few steps up the walk. “Afternoon,” he said, cheerfully.

“What do you want?” Willard turned a cold stare on Jessica. “If you brought some friends to help you, they aren't enough.” He turned his eyes back on Longarm. “I'll thank you to get off our property.”

Longarm didn't budge. “I'm assuming your name is Willard and the other two drinking whiskey with one hand and holding pistols in the other are your brothers, Clyde and Herman.”

“That's right.”

“Miss Ray says that you have no right to live in her house and she wants you to pay her back rent and to get out of the house today.”

“Ha! We ain't payin' no back rent and we damn sure ain't leavin'. This here property is ours now.”

“I'd like to see the legal papers saying that is the case.”

“The papers ain't here.”

“Where are they?”

The three men exchanged quick glances and one of them said, “At our lawyer's office. His name is Mr. Lee Monroe.”

Longarm nodded and showed them his badge. “Monroe is crooked.”

They stared at his badge, unsure what to say or do next. Finally, the one that hadn't spoken yet blurted, “Even the law can't take a man's house.”

Longarm pointed down the street. “Do you think your lawyer lives over there?”

All three men pivoted to look just as Longarm expected and when they turned back, Longarm's gun was on them. “You men have no right to be here and you've done considerable damage to this property. Get out of those chairs and come down here right now or I'll come up and drag you off the porch and split your heads open in the process.”

“You got no right to do this!”

Zeke cocked back the hammers of his shotgun. “The marshal has given you an order, and you're just lucky we don't arrest you.”

“Arrest us!”

“That's right,” Longarm said, “and I'm not asking you boys to leave again.”

“But . . . but every damn thing we own is inside!” one of the men cried. “We got rifles and stuff worth a lot of money.”

“Glad to hear that,” Longarm said. “We'll sell it for the damages and back rent you owe Miss Ray. If what you leave behind doesn't cover the charges, where can I find you three deadbeats?”

“Son of a bitch!” Willard wailed. “You'll be hearing from Mr. Monroe about this house!”

“Send him over right away,” Longarm told them. “I've met him before and I promise you that he won't be eager to get reacquainted.”

Willard's eyes narrowed. “You know him?”

“That's right. I almost got him disbarred last year and I'm betting this time I'll get him run out of town.”

The three men swore and stepped down from the porch. “This isn't over,” Willard growled as he passed through the gate. “It ain't over by a long shot.”

Zeke jammed his shotgun into the man's gut. “Maybe you want it to end right now. Huh?”

The blood drained out of Willard's round face and he backpedaled so fast he tripped over a trash can and went sprawling. His brothers picked him up and they set off down the street cussing and screaming at the top of their lungs. Several of the neighbors who were sitting on their front porches began to clap and jeer the brothers.

Jessica rushed inside, stopped in her tracks, and breathed, “Oh my God, it's even worse than I'd feared.”

Longarm and Zeke were right behind her and they immediately saw what she meant. The interior of the house was a disaster. It stunk from garbage laying on kitchen counters and on tables littered with cigarette butts and dirty dishes.

“I want to cry,” Jessica wailed. “It's awful!”

Zeke walked over and inspected a good Winchester rifle. In a pair of saddlebags he found some money and slowly counted it out after clearing a table of refuse. “Comes to almost two hundred dollars.”

“It'll have to do,” Longarm said. “We'll hire a couple of people to start cleaning. Jessica, this house will be looking good inside just a few days.”

“I'll believe that when I see it,” she replied, grabbing a broom and starting to work. “What pigs!”

Longarm and Zeke found some trash cans and began helping. Longarm wasn't happy about any of this, but he figured Jessica was worth the trouble, and although he'd lied to the brothers about nearly running attorney Monroe out of Denver, he hadn't lied about the man's sleazy and unethical reputation. If Monroe had a document, it would be forged and that would be his undoing.

As if reading his mind, Zeke said, “You think that their attorney will show up pretty quick?”

“No,” Longarm said. “I don't. When Willard and his brothers run to him and tell the man who I am, he'll know better than to push things. My guess is that he'll tear up any phony documents and we'll never hear a peep out of him.”

“Hope you're right.”

“Lee Monroe has been tap-dancing with the law for years,” Longarm continued. “I've spoken to him a few times and he doesn't want to cross me. I'm almost sure this is over.”

“Then that leaves us free to visit the Buffalo Saloon tonight.”

“That's right,” Longarm agreed, moving outside as Jessica began raising a big cloud of dust with her fast-moving broom. “This is turning out to be a very productive day.”