Longarm 243: Longarm and the Debt of Honor (3 page)

Longarm waited until Jeremy was well out of hearing, then asked, “That kid know who he's supposed to be working for, Norm?”

“Jeremy's a good boy, Longarm. Don't you go confusing him any.”

“I'll try an' keep that in mind,” Longarm said in a dry tone of voice. “So while we got some privacy here, whyn't you tell me what this crap is all about, Norm.”

“It's a long story and kind of stupid.”

“That sounds like one of yours, all right.”

“If you want to hear it all, friend, drag that chair over and make yourself comfortable. And don't worry about Jeremy. He isn't as dumb as you might think. He knows I'll be wanting some privacy and he won't be back for a spell.”

Longarm nodded and hauled out smokes for himself and for Norm, then did as the old man suggested and made himself comfortable in anticipation of a lengthy yarn.

“Politics,” Norm said with a shrug and a grin, as if that explained everything. And hell, maybe it did at that, Longarm conceded. Politics was responsible for most of what was fine and good about the country. But partisan political bickering was also responsible for one hell of a lot of what was ugly and rotten too. Not all, of course. But certainly an outsized proportion of the bad could be chalked up to politics.

“Tell me,” Longarm said, crossing his legs and drawing deep of the clean, rich-tasting smoke from his cheroot. Inside the cell, perched on the edge of a mighty hard and uncomfortable-looking bunk, Norm did the same.

“Like I said,” Norm repeated, “politics. In a nut-shell.”

“That mayhap tell everything, but it sure doesn't tell a man much, old friend.”

Norm grinned again. “Relax, Longarm. I got time to tell it all.” The grin turned into a laugh. “It isn't like I'm in a hurry to go someplace, y'know.”

Longarm leaned back and decided to let Norm tell the story in his own good time.

Come September there was a referendum election scheduled in Hirt County, Kansas. Crow's Point, which used to be the focal point for cow-country ranching in this part of the state, was the current seat of the county. A nearby farming community called Jasonville wanted that honor. In September the voters would decide where to situate a planned new courthouse along with the sheriff's office, county clerk and records, all of that.

The result of the coming election was a foregone conclusion, Crow's Point Town Marshal Wold admitted. The residents of Jasonville outnumbered those of Crow's Point by a good three to one. More to the point, the population of farmers in the county was at least six times larger than that of the ranchers who'd remained after the cow business had moved north into Nebraska, Wyoming, Dakota, and lately, Montana. Cattlemen were getting kind of thin on the ground these past few years, Norm allowed. Soon after the election the county seat would leave Crow's Point, and a new one would be born at Jasonville.

“And you, you old curmudgeon, you're still thought of as a cow-town peacekeeper, I take it,” Longarm said.

“Hell, yes, I am. I was a town tamer, Longarm. The real thing. Dammit, Custis, should I start in to be ashamed of that all of a sudden? I did a fine job for these folks ... and for the folks in a lot of other towns and railhead cesspools... for a lot of years. I'm proud of my record.”

“As you damn well oughta be,” Longarm agreed.

“Right. But that won't buy me no groceries once the farmers take over everything. Which they will come September.” Norm sighed. “I'm getting sidetracked here, aren't I?”

“Are you?”

“I expect so. It's just... it gravels me, that's all.”

Longarm nodded and took another drag on his cheroot, waiting patiently for the old man—Norm hadn't been old the last time Longarm saw him, but now he sure as hell was—to go on with his story of how he came to be sitting inside a jail cell.

“The county seat moving, that's going to have a lot of consequences, you see. This old courthouse, such as it is, will revert to the town as a town hall. Not that there will be much point to having a town hall, since most of the business will move to Jasonville along with the courts and all those public jobs that go along with a seat of government.”

Longarm nodded. He too had seen the same thing happen in a dozen towns or more. Once the source of money left, so did the people who fed off the government, those who held the public jobs and those who depended on them for trade. Crow's Point was sure to wither if not entirely die once this Jasonville became the county seat.

“What it means to me personally,” Norm said, “is that I'll soon be out of a job. Hell, I know that. I've been out of work before, you know. They can fire me, but they won't be getting no virgin. Every town tamer I ever knew has had the same. We're heroes as long as we're needed, but an unnecessary expense once that need is gone. That's when we get fired. Hell, I don't mind that. But I expect some folks don't understand it. There's some that think I want to try and hang on here no matter what. Which is where these charges come in, if you see what I mean.”

Longarm didn't see. Yet. But he didn't say anything about it, just let Norm run on.

“Somebody . . . I don't have any idea who and can't look into it so long as I'm sitting in here . . . tried to burn down the courthouse. Or at least to burn all the voting records that are stored downstairs. The popular theory is that I did it in an attempt to destroy the voter registration records so the election can't be held. Dammit, Custis, an accusation like that is purely crazy. If every voter record went up in smoke tonight, there'd still be plenty of time for it all to be reassembled before the election. If nothing else, they could re-register everyone, pass a special resolution allowing folks to register at the polls on voting day. Burning those records wouldn't accomplish a damn thing. Which I've tried to point out, but no one is listening.”

“So why'd they point the finger at you anyhow?” Longarm asked.

Norm snorted loudly. “Evidence, of course. I have a little place over on the east edge of town. It isn't much, but it's mine. I'd even thought of retiring there. Now I'm not so sure. Anyway, out back of the place I got a shed. Somebody... whoever it was that started the fire, I'd expect . . . hid an empty coal-oil tin there along with a couple things that'd been stolen out of the clerk's office.”

“Somebody tried to frame you, Norm?”

The tired old town marshal shook his head. “The truth is that I doubt it. I don't own a horse. Haven't bothered to own a mount of my own in years. Don't have any saddle or harness or anything like that either. The fact is that I own that shed but don't hardly ever use it. Hell, I doubt I walk inside the thing twice, three times a year. Anybody that knows me could know that. No, what I think is that the arsonist, whoever the hell he is, just thought my shed was a good spot to hide something. Likely thought it wouldn't be looked at, me being a law officer and everything.”

“So how was the stuff found?” Longarm asked.

“Our sheriff... he's favored by the sodbusters, Longarm, but he's a good man. Thorough. Him and his deputies looked every damn place. It wouldn't have occurred to any of them, I suppose, to walk past my shed. They were intent on looking for evidence, and so they searched everything they came across.”

“Like you said,” Longarm agreed. “Thorough.”

“Sure. And I got no grief with that.”

“Malfeasance in office?” Longarm asked. “I think that was one of the charges the article in the newspaper mentioned.”

Wold chuckled. “Longarm, if arson and larceny aren't malfeasance, then I don't know what would be. I mean, if all the others are true, then that would sorta have to be too.”

“Do you have any idea what the motive of the arsonist might have been?” Longarm asked.

Norm shrugged. “I've wondered about that. Believe me, I have. But without knowing who, it's hard to figure out why in this case. It could be as simple ... and as stupid... as some cowman not wanting to lose the county seat to Jasonville like they're accusing me of thinking. More likely, I'd think, it could be some idiot thinking to get his tax records done away with or ... I dunno ... get rid of some sort of evidence against him.

“Or hell, I suppose it could be nothing more sinister than some kid breaking in to see what he could steal and thinking to sweeten the fun by watching the courthouse burn. After all, it's going to be abandoned by the county soon anyhow, right? And the town won't hardly need anything this big for what little business the town does. Damn fool just might've wanted to watch the flames and see everybody get in an uproar. It could be nothing more than that, Longarm. I wish I knew for sure.”

“I expect you won't mind if I poke around some, Norm? Ask a few questions here and there?”

Norm kneaded his chin and jaw with his hands and made a great show as if pondering Longarm's offer. “Oh, I suppose I won't get too awful mad at you if you want to hang around for a few days.” The old man's grin returned again. “My trial comes up in a couple weeks. If nothing else, you'll be able to learn what prison I'm sent to so you'll know where to send my card come Christmas.”

Norm Wold seemed to be taking the possibility lightly enough, but Longarm's expression hardened. “You aren't going to any damn prison, Norm. Not you.”

“All in all,” Norm mused, “I expect I'd rather not. Considering what the other cons are like to do to a former peace officer behind prison walls.”

“We can't let that happen, Norm. We just can't.”

“Longarm, old son, if you can think of some way to keep the wolf off my doorstep, then I reckon I'd go so far as to thank you.” Norm winked at Longarm, then turned to face the doorway and bellowed, “You can bring that coffee up now, Jeremy. But mind that it's hot, you hear?”

“Yes, sir, Marshal, I hear,” the young deputy's voice called thinly from the next floor down. “I won't be long, so wait there for me if you don't have more important stuff to do.” Longarm could hear a distant clatter of boots on the staircase.

Longarm glanced down to check the crude sketch he was carrying in the palm of his hand, decided this pretty much had to be the right spot, and nudged the gate open with the toe of his boot. His hands were full, what with his saddle and carpetbag and other gear, along with a sack of canned goods and such that he'd picked up on the way over.

He carried everything up onto the porch, and unloaded it all onto the pair of aging rocking chairs he found there. That part of the chore done, he fished in his pockets for the ring of keys Norm had given him back at the jail—as a prisoner Norm wasn't allowed metal objects inside the cell, but the young deputy named Jeremy had been helpful about fetching anything Norm wanted from among his personal possessions—and let himself into the house.

There was a musty scent in the place. Likely the windows hadn't been opened since Norm was locked up. Longarm went through the house opening windows and shutters to let in both light and air, and by the time he was done with that, everything looked and smelled considerably better.

There wasn't much to Norm's little house, just a parlor and small bedroom and overlarge kitchen. Obviously the kitchen was intended to be the main room of the house, but it was not where Norm seemed to spend the bulk of his time, as the kitchen shelves and cabinets were mostly empty. The parlor, on the other hand, looked well used, with a man-sized overstuffed armchair, ottoman, and reading lamp filling most of the space. A pair of spectacles lay atop a recent issue of the
Police Gazette.
Longarm hadn't ever seen Norm wear eyeglasses, but then there appeared to be a good many things that had changed in Norm Wold's life these past few years.

An ashtray handy to the reading chair showed more pipe dottle than ashes, and there was a fancy-looking cut-glass container close by that held an amber liquid. Longarm pulled the glass stopper out and smelled the stuff. Brandy, he guessed, which didn't interest him much. Too syrupy for Longarm's taste. But then, every man to his own vices.

Longarm poked through the rooms for a few minutes, then carried his gear in and distributed the things among the rooms as future use would require.

Norm's wide bed, soft and comfortable, with a deep goose-down mattress and a heavy quilt on top, was as tidy as a virgin's drawers, and the sheets even smelled clean. Longarm took that to be a welcome bonus as he put his carpetbag onto a straight chair beside the wardrobe. He dumped his saddle and Winchester in a corner, and considered himself fully moved in.

Out in the kitchen he had the wherewithal to build himself a lunch, but Longarm wasn't much bigger on cooking than Norm seemed to be.

Besides, a man can keep his belly from going empty if he takes care of his own needs, but he won't learn a whole hell of a lot from talking with himself.

Seeing as it was coming lunchtime anyway, Longarm took a last look around Norm's little house, then went back outside and headed for town and another crack at the cafe where he'd had breakfast earlier.

He didn't bother to lock the door behind him. Marshal Wold's recent experience aside, Longarm kind of doubted that Crow's Point was the sort of place where a man had to worry overmuch about burglars, snatch-purses, or other such miscreants. Excitement in a town like this wasn't apt to consist of anything much more serious than Sister Hattie's mule getting rambunctious and causing a display of stocking.

The same young fellow who had served Longarm his breakfast was still on duty. He greeted Longarm at the door with a smile and a nod toward a table in one of the far corners. “Nice to see you again, Marshal,” he said. “You're invited to join the gentlemen over there.”