Longarm and the Voodoo Queen Page 7

  "What about your family?" asked Longarm.

  Again, she shook her head. "Gran'pere the last one left, an' the sickness take him last winter, it did. Now jus' me, but I don't mind."

  "Where do you live?"

  She brought the paddle back into the pirogue and used her right hand to point. "My home, there."

  Longarm leaned over to look past her, and saw that she was pointing at a shack built on the edge of the bayou, part of it extending over the water on its stilts like some of the others he had seen today. This one was surrounded by thick brush and cypress trees, however, so that it seemed even more cut off from the rest of the world as it perched on the edge of the slow-moving water. Claudette turned and smiled at Longarm again, then resumed paddling toward the ramshackle cabin.

  There was a crude ladder built on the side of the shack that hung over the water, and Claudette sent the pirogue skimming straight toward it. As they came alongside, she caught hold of the ladder, which led up to a door mounted on sagging leather hinges. She stood up, steadying herself with the ladder, and tied the pirogue to it with a stout cord. Then she climbed up to the door and opened it, and Longarm couldn't help but admire the play of the muscles in her legs and rear end under the thin dress. She looked back over her shoulder and beckoned for Longarm to follow her.

  He reached up and grabbed the ladder, waiting until Claudette had disappeared into the cabin before he started up. When he stepped through the open door into the shack, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. Here under the cypress trees, the world was cloaked in perpetual green shadows, but the light was even dimmer inside the cabin. He saw Claudette moving on the other side of the single room, and after a few seconds he could tell that she was starting a fire in an old wood-burning stove.

  "Heat you up some gumbo, I will," she said. "He's gonna fill up your belly. Mighty tasty, I guarantee."

  Now that she mentioned it, he was getting hungry, Longarm realized. It had been a long time since breakfast in the hotel dining room this morning. He figured it was well past mid-afternoon, and when he pulled out his watch and flipped the cover open, he saw that he was right.

  "Pretty-pretty watch," said Claudette when she saw what he was doing. "Gran'pere, he have him a watch like that. When he die, bury it with him, I did."

  "Looks like you could have used it," commented Longarm as he put his own watch away.

  Claudette waved a hand to indicate their surroundings and said, "Time, she don't matter here in the bayou country."

  Longarm knew what she meant. In this region of heat and water and lush vegetation, this ever-shifting borderland between the sea and the shore, one day was much like the next. There were few changes, few reasons for anyone to know exactly what time it was.

  He looked around the inside of the cabin. Besides the stove, it was furnished with a rough-hewn table, several rickety-looking chairs, and a narrow bed with a straw mattress. Through a window in the front wall, he saw a hammock strung between two posts that held up a rotting porch roof.

  Claudette noticed him looking around, and she dropped her gaze to the unpainted planks of the floor as she said, "This a mighty sorry place to live, you're thinkin', Custis. And you're right."

  Quickly, he shook his head. In truth, he didn't understand how a bright, vital young woman like Claudette could be happy in such squalid surroundings, but he didn't want to hurt her feelings by saying that. After all, she had saved his life, more than likely, and she was about to feed him a bowl of gumbo.

  "Everybody's got a right to live where they want," he said, "and to live the way they want to as long as they ain't hurting anybody else. Which I don't reckon you are."

  "Just want to be left alone, me," she said, still not looking at him, and he wondered if somehow she had been hurt in the past. Had she left this bayou haven and ventured out into the rest of the world, gone to New Orleans maybe, and had something happen to her that was so bad she had run back here determined to spend the rest of her life among the cypresses and the bougainvillea and the water lilies?

  It was none of his business, of course. After what she had done for him, he didn't want to pry too deeply into her life.

  She found bowls and spoons in a wooden crate that evidently served as a pantry, then dished out the gumbo from the black iron pot on the top of the stove. Longarm sat down at the table as she brought over the food and took the chair opposite him.

  "Eat up," she said with a smile. "Hope you like gumbo."

  "Sure do," said Longarm. He dipped up a spoonful of the thick, steaming soup. It tasted good and was full of chopped-up okra, just the way he liked it. He said as much to Claudette, who smiled brightly.

  They ate in silence for several minutes. Then Longarm asked, "How'd you happen to be down there in the marshes so that you could help me out?"

  "Planned to go out into the bay and do some seinin' for shrimp, I did," she replied. She grinned across the table at him. "Caught me a big ol' fish instead."

  Longarm chuckled. He had been called a lot of things in his life, but he didn't remember anyone ever referring to him as a fish before.

  "A shark, maybe, with plenty-plenty sharp teeth," Claudette went on. Her smile disappeared, replaced by a solemn look. "Why you runnin' round the marshes with smuggler men tryin' to shoot you, Custis?"

  Longarm hesitated, unsure how to answer that question. Claudette had an obvious antipathy for smugglers, so he didn't want to admit to working with Jasper Millard, but he wasn't just about to reveal his true identity to her either. Finally, he said vaguely, "I was on my way down to Grand Isle to see a man about a boat. Those fellas you say were smugglers jumped me for no good reason and tried to kill me." He said nothing about Millard.

  Claudette nodded, seeming to accept his explanation. "Prob'ly see you and think you spyin' on 'em, they did. Hones' folks in the Delta stay away from them smugglers, you bet."

  "That sounds like a good idea," said Longarm sincerely. He didn't want an innocent like Claudette getting tangled up in the feud between Millard and Royale. Of course, by helping him, she had already taken a hand, but maybe he could keep her out of any further involvement.

  He scraped up the last of the gumbo, swallowed it, and asked, "What's the best way back to New Orleans from here?"

  "There a road not far off. Take you there in the mornin', I can."

  Longarm frowned. "I figured I'd start back to town today."

  Claudette shook her head. "No. Too far to walk 'fore dark, and you don't want to be out trampin' round the bayous after the sun, she is gone down. Too many snakes, and the night is black like God damn. Best you stay here tonight, tomorrow maybe catch a ride on a wagon goin' to town."

  What she said made sense, all right, but Longarm still chafed at the delay. He wanted to get back to New Orleans and find out if Millard had survived this second attack by Royale's men. Two attempts on Millard's life in less than twenty-four hours, mused Longarm. Royale was certainly turning up the heat. The friction between the two leaders of the smuggling rings was going to burst into the flame of an all-out war if this kept up.

  But there was nothing he could do about it tonight, so he nodded in acceptance of Claudette's advice. "I'm much obliged," he said. "I reckon that hammock out on the front porch will hold me all right."

  Again she shook her head. "You get the bunk, Custis. Gran'pere sleep there when he still alive. I take the hammock, me."

  "Don't hardly seem fair," said Longarm with a frown as he reached into his pocket for a cheroot. "This is your place."

  "And you my guest. Don't argue with me 'bout this, you."

  He had to grin. "All right," he said as he held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'll take the bunk, and you can use the hammock."

  She nodded, clearly pleased with her victory.

  Nightfall was not far away now. Longarm smoked a cheroot, which Claudette said reminded her of her gran'pere's pipe. She brought out a clay jug with a wooden stopper and offered it to Longarm. "Home brew," sh
e told him. "I like a little taste now and again, me."

  "So do I," he said with a grin. He pulled the stopper with his teeth, then crooked his arm and tipped the jug to his lips. Fiery liquor flowed into his mouth. He caught his breath as the heat of it seared his gullet and fairly exploded in his belly. "Potent stuff," he said as he blew his breath back out.

  "Good for the digestion." Claudette took the jug from him and downed a healthy swallow of the homemade whiskey. She wiped the back of her other hand across her mouth.

  She was quite a contradiction, thought Longarm. Undeniably lovely, probably intelligent, yet she willingly lived this primitive backwoods existence... which, of course, was her choice and none of his business, he reminded himself. Yet he couldn't help but wonder how she would look cleaned up and in some better clothes.

  Shadows were gathering outside, making it even darker in the shack. After putting the jug away, Claudette opened the front door and said, "Good night, Custis."

  "Sort of early to turn in, isn't it?"

  She shrugged. "In the bayou country, not much to do after dark."

  Longarm might have been able to make a suggestion or two about how they could pass the time, even in the dark, but with all Claudette had already done for him, he didn't want to force himself on her. He nodded and said, "All right then. Good night, Claudette."

  She shut the door, and he heard her climb into the hammock on the front porch. Longarm went over to the bunk, trying not to think about how Claudette's grandfather had likely died there, and sat down to pull off his boots. He took off his gunbelt as well, coiling it and placing it on the floor beside the bunk within easy reach. He had already tossed his hat onto the table. That left his tie and his shirt, because he intended to keep his pants on. He undid the tie, shrugged out of the shirt, and placed both of them on the table beside his hat. The light in the room was just about gone by the time he stretched out on the bunk, feeling the ropes underneath the straw mattress sag a little.

  Longarm didn't expect to go to sleep right away, but he surprised himself by dozing off almost immediately. He slept lightly, though, so he was instantly awake when he heard the soft scrape of the door opening sometime later. He was unsure exactly how much time had passed, but it was pitch dark in the cabin.

  Quiet footsteps came across the room toward him. From the confidence with which the person was moving in the darkness, Longarm felt fairly sure it was Claudette. He wasn't sure why she was sneaking around like this; if she had wanted to harm him, she'd had ample opportunity before now. But he reached down and silently wrapped his fingers around the butt of his holstered Colt anyway.

  He could hear her breathing as she knelt on the other side of the bed. Suddenly, something touched his chest, light as a butterfly, and he realized she was stroking him with her fingertips. She trailed her fingers through the thick dark hair that curled on his chest, moving them ever lower. She reached his waist and then moved even lower, flattening her hand to press the palm of it against the rapidly rising bulge at his groin. Through the fabric of his trousers, her fingers closed around his hardening shaft.

  "Custis, I know you got to be awake," she whispered as she squeezed him lightly. "Either awake or dead, you."

  "I ain't dead," he told her, his voice sounding strangely hoarse in his ears.

  She squeezed harder. "Good, 'cause I need a live man tonight, me."

  Longarm let go of his Colt and reached up toward her. His hand encountered soft, yielding flesh and closed around it. He could feel the pebbled ring of her nipple prodding against his palm. He squeezed her breast for a moment, then ran his thumb over the erect nub of flesh, plucking at it like a guitar string and drawing a low note of pleasure from her throat.

  "Afraid you got a shameless hussy here, you be Custis," she said. She unbuckled his belt, and then he felt her fingers go to work on the buttons of his trousers.

  "That's just fine with me," he told her, reaching up to cup her other breast.

  She finished with the last button and reached inside his trousers to free his shaft. As it bobbed up, she wrapped her hand around it and began sliding her palm up and down.

  "Oh, you be plenty-plenty big," she said, breathless with anticipation. "Goin' to feel so good inside me."

  He slid his hands from her breasts along her flanks. As he had thought, she was naked, having shed the old dress she had been wearing earlier. He reached down and moved his hand between her thighs. He probed her with a finger, and found her hot and wet. She moaned and pressed her pelvis against him as he explored her slick femaleness.

  Then she leaned over and planted a kiss on his chest. She tongued each of his nipples for a moment, then moved down his torso, her lips and tongue leaving a fiery trail of sensation behind them. She lifted herself over him so that she could reach his manhood, and a second later, her lips closed around the tip of the throbbing pole of flesh.

  Longarm's hips wanted to surge up off the bed and drive his shaft deeper into her mouth, but he controlled the urge and let Claudette set the pace. Her tongue swirled around the head and toyed with the slit at the very tip, licking up the moisture that welled from it. After a few maddening moments of that, she moved on down the shaft, kissing and licking until she had it wet all over. It was all Longarm could do not to explode in her mouth.

  He caught hold of her hips and pulled her onto the bunk with him so that she lay with her thighs straddling his head. As she took his manhood into her mouth again, sucking it deeper this time, he reached down and tangled his hands in her thick dark hair. The musky scent of her femininity filled his nostrils as he lifted his head and thrust his tongue into her. She groaned around his shaft and clenched her thighs on his ears.

  There was a limit to how much of this Longarm could stand without losing control, and he reached it after a few minutes. Claudette seemed to be totally willing to move on to the next step too, as he pulled her around so that she faced him. She reached down to guide the long, thick rod of flesh into her, and they were both so wet that he slid inside with no trouble. Claudette put her hands on his chest and pushed herself upright so that she was sitting on him, so stuffed with his manhood that they both felt it hit bottom. Or top, as the case might be. Claudette gasped and began to rock her hips back and forth.

  "Oh, fill me up so good, you, Custis!" she cried.

  He held her hips to steady her as he began thrusting up from the bunk, meeting her movements with his own. Urgency crept over him, making him drive into her harder and faster. She was caught up in the grip of passion just as he was, and she said, "Oh!... Oh!... Oh!" as he made love to her. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness inside the shack by now, and in the faint glow of moonlight and starlight that filtered through the trees and into the cabin, he could see her throwing her head back and forth, her hair whipping around it. Her fingers dug into his chest, holding on for dear life.

  Finally, arching his back, Longarm drove the bar of flesh that was both velvet and iron as deeply into her as it would go, and held it there as his climax exploded from him. Spurt after spurt of the thick seed boiled from his manhood and filled her to the brim. Her own climax burst at the same time in a series of shudders that rolled through her. Longarm threw his head back and groaned through clenched teeth as the last of his juices welled out of him.

  Claudette collapsed on top of him, her breasts flattening against his chest. Both of them were breathing heavily, their bodies slicked with sweat from the humid heat of the bayou country--and the heat of their lovemaking. She nuzzled her face against his shoulder for a moment. Then Longarm cupped her chin and turned her toward him so that he could kiss her. His lips brushed hers with a tenderness that might not have been possible had he not already been sated. In fact, as he tasted the sweet, hot wetness of her mouth, another throb went through his shaft, which was still buried within her. The reaction made her give a throaty little noise almost like the purr of a cat.

  "I am so happy--happy I find you in that marsh, Custis," she whispered.


  "You and me both, Claudette," he told her. "You and me both."

  CHAPTER 8

  As Claudette had predicted, Longarm was able to hitch a ride into New Orleans the next morning with a farmer who was taking a load of produce into town to the market near the docks. That put Longarm close to Gallatin Street too, so he was able to walk to the Brass Pelican. The door of the gambling club was locked when he got there, however, so he pounded on the panel and waited to see if anyone was going to open it.

  His thoughts went back to Claudette. She had awakened him that morning when dawn was just beginning to gray the sky, and a mighty nice way of waking up it had been. She had been kneeling beside the bunk, her head bobbing up and down over his groin as she sucked on his manhood. He had caught hold of her shoulder and tried to pull her up onto the bunk with him, but her lips and tongue had ceased what they were doing long enough for her to say, "No! You leave him where he is. That what I want, me."

  Longarm didn't argue. He let her continue with the French lesson--appropriate enough name for it, he considered, since she was descended from those Acadian settlers who had once called France home--and after a few minutes he felt his climax nearing again. Claudette seemed to sense it too, because she gripped his stalk firmly with one hand and tightened her lips around it, as if to make sure that he didn't get away from her.

  That was the last thing he had in mind. He poured out his seed into her mouth as she swallowed eagerly. She had reached down between her legs to rub herself, and her hips were pumping back and forth in a frenzy as she drained him, using her hand to squeeze out the last drops so that she could lap them up. Longarm flopped back on the bunk and reflected that if he didn't get back to New Orleans pretty soon, this lusty Cajun gal was liable to just about love him to death.

  After that she fed him breakfast, showed him the road she had mentioned the night before, and gave him a sweet kiss of farewell. He had walked along the road only about a mile when a farmer came along with a wagon loaded with produce, and now here he was standing in front of the Brass Pelican, lifting his hand to knock once more on the door.