Longarm #396 : Longarm and the Castle of the Damned (9781101545249) by Tabor Evans Page B

answer, she pulled a chair close beside Longarm’s and dropped onto it. “My name is Honey, honey. What’s yours?” She smiled and placed her hand on his forearm.
    â€œJohn,” Longarm said.
    â€œI’m happy to meet you, John. Buy me a drink? I would like that.” She squeezed his arm ever so lightly.
    â€œSure,” he said. “What would you like?”
    â€œI’m real partial to champagne, John. Would that be all right?”
    â€œSure thing, Honey.”
    The girl waved to the barman, who very quickly brought a dark green bottle of the bubbly along with a pair of glasses. The pop of the cork when he opened it suggested that it was genuine champagne.
    â€œWould you like another beer or will you settle for the wine?” the bartender asked.
    â€œI’ll stick with the beer,” Longarm said.
    Immediately after the champagne arrived so did his stew and a plate of corn dodgers and a small tub of sweet butter, carried out on a tray borne by a short, stout, swarthy woman. Mexican, Longarm thought, or Indian.
    â€œAre you hungry, Honey?” he asked.
    She shook her head and poured herself a foaming glass of the champagne. She quickly drained the first glass and poured another. Steeling herself with spirits, he figured. Preparing for a chore she would rather not do?
    She drank that one down too and poured a third glass.
    While Honey was busy with her fancy wine, Longarm dug into the stew. He did not know what the meat was, but the stew was good, thick with potatoes and carrots and swimming in rich gravy. The corn dodgers were excellent also, light and sweet. He slathered the butter on good and thick and thoroughly enjoyed his meal.
    The barman replaced the beer mugs, a fresh one arriving as soon as one was emptied. Probably Honey was giving the bartender signals, but Longarm did not notice how.
    The girl had worked her way through most of the bottle of champagne by the time Longarm was done eating.
    She took his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. She smelled of lilac water and sweat. She lifted her face to him and smiled sweetly. “Would you like to go to my room, John? I can make a man very happy.”
    Her hand was on his leg, creeping ever higher toward the bulge that appeared in his britches.
    She put her hand on his cock and lightly squeezed. “Very happy,” she repeated.
    â€œLet’s go,” he said, pushing back from the table and rising to his feet.

Chapter 31
    Honey’s crib was the third door from the road end of the line. The door was secured only by a small block of wood rotating on a single nail. It would keep the door from blowing open in a breeze but would not bar anyone from coming in if they really wanted to. Likely that was deliberate, Longarm thought, in case the management—whoever the hell that might be—had to come to the rescue of one of the whores.
    The crib was small, probably six feet across by eight feet deep. The entire back end was a platform the size of the double-wide mattress that lay on it. Underneath the platform was a long drawer, probably where Honey kept her clothing. The bottom third of the mattress was covered with oilcloth. That would be for the “gentlemen” who did not bother to remove their boots. The other two thirds were covered with a threadbare trade blanket. A scrawny pillow was propped against the wall at that end.
    The rest of the furnishings consisted of a three-legged stool and half a dozen coat hooks screwed into the left-hand wall. A lamp was mounted on the right-hand wall.
    Honey left the door open to admit some light while she struck a match and lighted the lamp, then she pushed the door shut and turned the wooden latch to hold it closed.
    She stepped close to Longarm and began unbuttoning his shirt.
    The girl presented a problem for him. He did not really want to fuck her. She looked just too damned young, and deputy United States marshals were not supposed to involve