Longarm and the Voodoo Queen Page 4

  And look for Annie and Paul Clement while he was waiting. Concern for their safety gnawed at him.

  The sounds of battle died away. The intruders had made good their escape. But they had left carnage and devastation behind them. Several women still sobbed softly, caught in the grip of fear. Men cursed bitterly and did some sobbing of their own.

  Millard shoved several men aside and shouldered his way roughly through the crowd to confront one of the policemen. The badge-toter was as burly as Millard himself, and he had a bulldog face and a thick graying mustache. Millard glowered at him and said loudly, "Damn it, Denton, you and your boys sure as hell took your time about getting here!"

  The officer was just as angry and stubborn as Millard. "You can't expect us to come into this hellhole you call Gallatin Street with any less than a full squad!" he blazed back at the club owner. "When the report of trouble came in, I rounded up my men and got here as soon as I could."

  Millard waved an arm at the wreckage around him. Not soon enough to keep Royale's men from busting in here and ruining my place! They killed Luther, damn it, and who knows who else is dead!"

  Longarm turned his back on Millard and the policeman called Denton. He pushed his way through the crowd toward the roulette table where he had last seen Annie and her brother. As he came up to the table, he saw that one leg of it had been broken, so that it tilted sharply down to the floor on one corner. Longarm didn't care about that. What mattered to him was that he saw Annie and Clement standing on the other side of the busted table. Both of them were pale and shaken, but other than that, they appeared to be all right.

  Annie cried, "Custis!" when she saw him, and Longarm made his way through the crowd to her side. She clutched at his arm, and he said over the hubbub, "Are you hurt?"

  She shook her head. "No, Paul and I are fine. How about you?"

  "Knocked around a mite, but I'll be fine."

  "That is what happened to us too, M'sieu Parker," said Clement as he slid a protective arm around Annie's shoulders. "Annie was very frightened."

  "You got any idea who those fellas were?" asked Longarm. "I heard the name Royale a couple of times. I guess it's a name anyway."

  Clement nodded grimly. "It is indeed. A nom de guerre, to be sure, belonging to one of the cleverest criminals currently operating in New Orleans."

  Longarm filed away that bit of information with interest. If Millard was actually connected with one of the smuggling rings, as rumor had it, then this attack tonight had likely been carried out by a rival gang. What Clement had said about the individual known as Royale supported that theory.

  Nodding toward the bar, Longarm asked, "Who's the badge-toter jawing with Millard?"

  "That's Captain Denton of the New Orleans police," said Clement.

  "Appears the two of 'em don't get along very well."

  Clement summoned up a laugh. "Captain Denton fancies himself an honest man, which makes him something of a rarity on the New Orleans force. He'd like nothing better than to close down the Brass Pelican for good. However, Jasper has friends who are well connected at City Hall, which makes it impossible for Denton to really do anything to him. I believe the situation frustrates the poor captain to no end."

  Longarm told himself to remember what Clement had just said about Captain Denton. If Longarm was in bad enough trouble and needed a helping hand from an honest lawman, he might have to reveal his true identity to someone like Denton... and then hope that he would be believed. Supposedly, only the special prosecutor was aware of the password "Pikes Peak" and what it signified.

  Beside the bar, Denton turned away from Millard with a curt, angry gesture and began gathering his men, who had spread out through the club with their shotguns. Unfortunately, anyone who might need a greener used on them was long gone. Denton and the other officers began trooping out of the club. Pausing near the door, Denton pointed his shotgun toward Luther's sprawled, bloody corpse and growled, "Bring him along for the undertaker."

  A couple of the policemen bent and grasped Luther's fancy coat, which was now sodden with blood, and began dragging him out of the club. An ugly red and gray stain was left on the sawdust-littered planks of the floor.

  "Hey!" Millard called to Denton. When the captain looked back, Millard pointed to the two men Longarm had killed. "What about these bastards?"

  "I'll send a wagon for them," replied Denton wearily.

  "The hell you will! I want 'em out of here now."

  Denton sighed and motioned for more of his men to retrieve the other two corpses. With grunts and groans of effort, all of the bodies were soon hauled out of the place. Other men had suffered wounds in the melee, but none of them had proven fatal. Some of the women who worked for Millard were already patching up cuts and scrapes and bullet holes with practiced ease that spoke of repeated trouble in the club. The woman whose clothes had been torn off of her was still sobbing, but at least she was no longer naked. Someone had wrapped a frock coat around her, and her escort was leading her to one of the tables that was still upright and undamaged.

  Millard jumped up onto the bar, the ease with which he did so rivaling that of Longarm's earlier move. He lifted his hands and shouted for attention. "All right, folks, it's all over! No need to worry anymore! We're going to set things right as quick as we can, so that you can go back to enjoying yourselves! In the meantime, drinks are on the house!"

  Some of the club's patrons had been on their way to the door, but they stopped when they heard that offer. Slowly, like the tide running out, nearly everyone in the place began heading toward the bar. Millard hopped down behind it and took off his coat, rolling up his shirt sleeves so that he could help his bartenders pour drinks.

  "Well, it shouldn't be long before things are back to normal," Paul Clement said to Longarm. "It's not as if this is the first time Royale's men have caused trouble for Jasper."

  "The feud's been going on a long time, eh?" said Longarm.

  "For over a year."

  Annie shuddered. "This is the only thing I don't like about coming to the Brass Pelican. There's always the possibility of trouble."

  "Ah, but that's part of the appeal of the place," said her brother. "One never knows what is going to happen."

  "Some uncertainty I can live without!" said Annie.

  Clement took her arm and steered her toward the bar. "Let's go get that free drink Jasper offered," he said. "Who knows how long such generosity will last?"

  Longarm trailed along behind them, surveying the damage to the club along the way. Several of the tables were broken, and some of the chairs had been reduced to kindling. The green baize top of one of the poker tables had been ripped to shreds with a knife. The light in the place was dimmer than ever, since several of the fixtures had been shattered. It was damn lucky that a fire hadn't broken out, thought Longarm. Broken oil lamps were bad about starting blazes.

  As for the human toll, none of Millard's bouncers had escaped unscathed. All of them had minor bullet wounds, or lumps on their heads from the clubbing, or both. Half a dozen or more of the customers had been hurt too. The most serious injury appeared to be the bullet wound in the shoulder suffered by the woman Longarm had seen go down early in the attack. She was being tended to by a heavyset man in evening clothes. Longarm nudged Paul Clement, nodded toward the man, and asked, "Who's that?"

  "Doctor Deveraux, of course," replied Clement. "He's one of the best-known physicians in New Orleans."

  Longarm grunted. Clearly, a respected doctor thought nothing of being caught in a gambling den like the Brass Pelican. Folks here in the Crescent City had their own way of looking at things, that was for sure. What would have been a scandal in a lot of places was just an everyday occurrence here.

  The area in front of the bar was still very crowded, but Longarm and the Clements managed to finally make their way up to the hardwood. They found themselves opposite Jasper Millard, who continued to work alongside his bartenders. He stopped short in what he was doing, however, and po
inted a blunt finger at Longarm. "You!" he said. "I want to talk to you."

  Longarm felt a moment of... not apprehension, exactly. Puzzlement was more like it. Millard sounded angry.

  Instead of harsh words, though, the club owner extended a hand across the bar to Longarm and suddenly grinned. "You saved my life, Parker!" he said. "I just want you to know I won't forget it."

  Longarm returned the handshake, which was just as crushing as the one before. He nodded to Millard and said, "I never did like to see a fella being bushwhacked, and that's sure as hell what those gents had in mind."

  "Yeah," said Millard as he released Longarm's hand. He frowned in thought for a moment, then jerked his head toward the door at the end of the bar. "Let's go back to my office. Paul, you and Annie can come along too since you're the ones who brought Parker here tonight." Clement looked excited at the prospect of visiting Millard's office. He said, "We'll take you up on that invitation, I

  I Jasper. Come along, Annie."

  Annie seemed less enthused at the idea of joining Millard in the club owner's office, but as usual, she went along with her brother. Longarm had already figured out that Annie might sometimes give in to impulses of her own when she was alone, as when she had invited him to join them tonight, but whenever she was with Paul, he called the shots. Now that the crush at the bar had lessened somewhat, Millard was able to leave it to his bartenders to handle things. He shrugged back into his coat and led Longarm, Clement, and Annie through the door and into a rear hallway. Several doors opened off the corridor. At the far end was a door leading out to a dark alley. That was the entrance that the second wave of Royale's men had used. From the looks of the splintered jamb, they had kicked their way in. Millard already had a couple of men standing guard there, both of them armed with greeners.

  Millard led Longarm, Clement, and Annie through another door, this one opening into a luxuriously appointed office. A large desk was the main item of furniture inside the office, but there were also several chairs upholstered in dark leather. Bookshelves, a liquor cabinet, and another cabinet containing several shotguns lined the walls. A lamp on the desk was burning low, and the shadows were thick in the corners of the room. There were no windows, and Longarm wondered if that was so no one could take a shot at Millard through them. A man like Millard had to lead a worrisome life.

  With a sigh, Millard lowered himself into the chair behind the desk and gestured for his guests to take the other chairs. Clement held Annie's chair for her. When everyone was seated, Millard reached into one of the desk drawers and brought out a bottle and some glasses. "This is my best cognac," he said. His eyes lifted to meet Longarm's. "I'd be honored to have you join me, sir. And you and Annie too, of course, Paul."

  "Much obliged," said Longarm with a nod. He reached into his vest pocket for a cheroot.

  Millard paused in pouring the cognac to gently push a fine wooden box across the desk. "Try one of those, Parker. I get a shipment of them from Havana every month."

  Longarm lifted the lid of the box and took out a cigar. He sniffed it appreciatively, broke the band on it, and stuck it in his mouth. As Longarm scratched a lucifer into life, Paul Clement leaned forward and helped himself to one of the cigars too. Millard didn't seem to mind. Longarm puffed on his smoke and got it going, but Clement just tucked his away in a pocket for later. Millard handed glasses of cognac across the desk.

  "To timely arrivals," said the club owner as he lifted his drink. Longarm nodded, wondering what Millard meant by that. He found out soon enough, because Millard went on, "I'm talking about you, Parker."

  Longarm sipped his cognac and grinned. "You mean the way I was able to stop those two old boys from ventilating you? Hell, that was just good luck."

  "And good shooting," grunted Millard. "But I don't really believe in luck, Parker. I believe in Fate. It had to be Fate that brought you here to New Orleans just when I was looking for a man like you."

  Longarm frowned. "You mean-"

  "I mean, how would you like to go to work for me?"

  CHAPTER 5

  Longarm tried not to stare across the desk at Millard. Good luck was still playing into his hands. He had wanted to work in amongst the smugglers, and here and now, on his first night in New Orleans, one of the reputed ringleaders was offering him a job.

  Once again, Longarm's brain swiftly considered the possibility that he was being set up somehow. He came to the same conclusion he'd come to earlier when he was pondering Annie's invitation to join her and her brother tonight. There was simply no way that anyone in New Orleans could know who he really was. Fortune had merely been on his side so far on this assignment.

  Which was enough to make him a mite nervous, he reflected. Good luck couldn't be depended upon, because it could run out at any time with no warning.

  Those thoughts ran through his head in a matter of seconds, but the pause was long enough to prompt Millard to ask, "Well? How about it, Parker?"

  Longarm nodded. "I appreciate the offer, Mr. Millard. Like I told you, I'm sort of between jobs."

  "Does that mean you accept?"

  "I sure do," Longarm told him.

  "Without even asking what it is I want you to do?"

  Longarm grinned easily. "I figure whatever it is, I'll be able to handle it all right."

  Millard gave a short bark of laughter and said, "That's what I figure too."

  "Despite the trouble, this evening has worked out well all around, I'd say," Paul Clement put in.

  Millard scowled. "I don't know that I'd go that far. This business with Royale..." He shook his head, and the hand that wasn't holding the glass of cognac tightened into a fist.

  "Tell me about Royale," said Longarm. "I reckon if I'm going to be working for you, I'd best know what's going on."

  "I tell my people what they need to know, and that's all," growled Millard. His tone softened a little as he went on. "However, since I'm counting on you to be my right-hand man, Parker, I suppose you do have a right to know about Royale. Hell, I won't be giving away any secrets. Practically the whole town knows that we're enemies, Royale and I."

  "Who is he?" asked Longarm.

  Millard shook his head. "Nobody really knows. Nobody I've ever talked to has even seen him. I've gotten my hands on a couple of men who worked for him, and even they don't know who he really is or what he looks like." He scowled in frustration. "And I know how to ask questions that get honest answers too."

  I'll just bet you do, old son, thought Longarm, but he kept the comment to himself. Aloud, he said, "Sounds like some kind of mystery man."

  "Exactly. But as you saw tonight, it's no mystery what Royale wants. He wants to put me out of business."

  "You reckon he owns another gambling club?"

  "I don't think so." Millard glanced at the Clements. "The Brass Pelican isn't my only business. I have... other enterprises." It was clear that he didn't want to speak too openly about those enterprises in front of Annie and her brother.

  Clement took the hint. He drained the last of his cognac and reached for Annie's hand as he stood up. "If it's all right with you, Jasper," he said smoothly, "Annie and I will go back out and see if the roulette wheel is functioning again. You know me--all this talk of business bores me."

  Millard waved a hand toward the door. "Sure, go ahead. Just one thing, Paul..." Clement and Annie paused at the doorway. "Yes?"

  "Thanks for bringing Parker with you tonight."

  "It was our pleasure," said Clement with a grin.

  Annie looked at Longarm and said, "I'll see you later, I suppose, Custis."

  "I reckon you can count on that," Longarm told her sincerely.

  Annie and Clement left the office. When they were gone, Longarm leaned back in his chair and puffed on the cigar while Millard refilled their glasses. "Martell," the club owner said, indicating the label on the cognac bottle. "The finest in the world. I bring it in from France."

  "The same way you bring in cigars from Cuba?" guessed Longarm.<
br />
  Millard's quick grin told Longarm he was right. "I don't pay customs duty on either one of them, if that's what you mean. They come in through the Delta."

  "So one of those other business enterprises you mentioned is smuggling."

  "That bother you?" asked Millard bluntly.

  Longarm took another puff on the cigar and shook his head. "Nope. Not even a little bit."

  "When I saw how handy with that gun you are, I knew you were the sort of man who wouldn't let anything stand in his way. That's good." Millard sipped his cognac and looked intently at Longarm over the glass, then added, "As long as you're not too ambitious."

  "When I take a man's money, I back him all the way," Longarm said with conviction.

  "Good." Millard leaned back in his own chair. "Royale runs a smuggling ring, just like I do. He'd like to see me dead, and I'm convinced that raid tonight was just a cover for an attempt to kill me. I was supposed to die in the confusion."

  Longarm nodded slowly. "I can see that. Those two gunmen came straight for you while the rest of 'em were raising hell."

  "That's right. And if the attempt failed--which, thanks to you, it did--at least Royale hurt me a little by damaging my club."

  Longarm had no doubt that Millard was right, but he said, "Do you know for sure that Royale was behind what happened tonight?"

  Millard snorted in disgust. "Of course Royale was behind it. Nobody else moves a fraction as many goods through the Delta as Royale and I do. Our organizations control the smuggling now. If Royale could get rid of me, he'd have the whole thing right in his hands." The club owner shrugged his burly shoulders. "Besides, Royale's men always wear those derbies and have masks over their faces. It's like a badge."

  "Speaking of badges, how does Captain Denton feel about Royale?"

  With a harsh laugh, Millard replied, "Denton hates Royale as much as he hates me. He'd like to see Royale behind bars--or dead, same as me. That stupid bastard actually thinks he can clean up New Orleans if he works at it hard enough." Millard laughed again. "But it'll never happen. This town doesn't want to be cleaned up. Nobody really gives a damn about the law."