from getting sucked under. Royale's men were hollering at each other while they looked for us, so I just steered clear of them as much as I could. Didn't hear any more shots, so I was hoping you'd gotten away too."
"How did you get back here to New Orleans?"
Longarm puffed on his cheroot, then blew out the smoke and said, "First I found me a tree to climb up into so I wouldn't have to spend the night on the ground. Then when the sun came up this morning, I paddled on some more until I came across a road. Figured it had to lead me back to town sooner or later, so I started walking. Wasn't long before a farmer came along heading to market and gave me a ride on his wagon. Fella brought me practically right to your door."
As stories went, it was a little far-fetched, Longarm knew, but it was certainly possible that everything could have happened that way. And Millard had no reason to doubt him either. In fact, the club owner began nodding his bald head even as Longarm finished the concoction of lies and half-truths.
"You're lucky, all right," said Millard. "Damn lucky. Fella like you who doesn't know the bayou country ought to be in some gator's belly after spending a night out in the open like that."
The mention of alligators reminded Longarm of Douglas Ramsey. He shuddered and said, "Don't talk about gators. I never have liked those critters."
A humorless grin plucked at Millard's mouth. "They come in handy sometimes," he said cryptically.
Longarm kept the reaction he felt hidden, but his heart began to slug a little harder. Was Millard talking about how Marshal Ramsey's body had been disposed of? Or did he have something else in mind? Given the line of work Millard was in, he might have had plenty of other bodies to get rid of. Millard's comment still wasn't the proof Longarm needed to feel certain he was responsible for Ramsey's death.
But there was another angle Longarm had yet to explore. Maybe it was time for that, he thought.
"What do you intend to do about Royale?" he asked. "Reckon you could put one of those voodoo curses or something like that on him?"
Millard frowned again. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded.
"I thought everybody in New Orleans did that voodoo stuff," said Longarm with an innocent shrug. "Sticking pins in dolls, things like that."
From the way Millard was glaring, even the mention of voodoo was a sore point with him. "Nobody in his right mind messes with voodoo. It's too easy to get the people who believe in it all stirred up." He paused, then added, "Anyway, only a fool would really believe in that mumbo jumbo."
"Reckon you're right," Longarm said easily, appearing to forget about the subject entirely as he went on. "What happened with that shipment of goods you went down to the Delta to set up yesterday?"
"Royale's men killed several of the Cajuns who work for me," replied Millard, his face still grim. "But I'm going to get those goods anyway. I sent a dozen well-armed men down there this morning to collect them. Would've sent you with them, Parker--if I'd known you were still alive."
Longarm shrugged. "I was still trying to get back to town. Sorry I let you down, Boss. I should've been able to do something about that ambush yesterday."
"There wasn't anything you could have done," Millard said with a shake of his head. "The odds were too heavy against us. I didn't expect Royale to go to that much trouble so soon after his men raided the club." Millard's dark eyes narrowed ominously. "Looks like I'm going to have to take a good-sized group of men with me wherever I go for a while, till things settle down again." Longarm wasn't sure things were going to settle down. Royale seemed to be dead set on bringing the rivalry between him and Millard to an end, one way or the other. Longarm kept that thought to himself, however. As long as Millard was having trouble, he would need Longarm around--and that was just what Longarm wanted.
"You might as well go on back to your hotel and get
"How did you get back here to New Orleans?"
Longarm puffed on his cheroot, then blew out the smoke and said, "First I found me a tree to climb up into so I wouldn't have to spend the night on the ground. Then when the sun came up this morning, I paddled on some more until I came across a road. Figured it had to lead me back to town sooner or later, so I started walking. Wasn't long before a farmer came along heading to market and gave me a ride on his wagon. Fella brought me practically right to your door."
As stories went, it was a little far-fetched, Longarm knew, but it was certainly possible that everything could have happened that way. And Millard had no reason to doubt him either. In fact, the club owner began nodding his bald head even as Longarm finished the concoction of lies and half-truths.
"You're lucky, all right," said Millard. "Damn lucky. Fella like you who doesn't know the bayou country ought to be in some gator's belly after spending a night out in the open like that."
The mention of alligators reminded Longarm of Douglas Ramsey. He shuddered and said, "Don't talk about gators. I never have liked those critters."
A humorless grin plucked at Millard's mouth. "They come in handy sometimes," he said cryptically.
Longarm kept the reaction he felt hidden, but his heart began to slug a little harder. Was Millard talking about how Marshal Ramsey's body had been disposed of? Or did he have something else in mind? Given the line of work Millard was in, he might have had plenty of other bodies to get rid of. Millard's comment still wasn't the proof Longarm needed to feel certain he was responsible for Ramsey's death.
But there was another angle Longarm had yet to explore. Maybe it was time for that, he thought.
"What do you intend to do about Royale?" he asked. "Reckon you could put one of those voodoo curses or something like that on him?"
Millard frowned again. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded.
"I thought everybody in New Orleans did that voodoo stuff," said Longarm with an innocent shrug. "Sticking pins in dolls, things like that."
From the way Millard was glaring, even the mention of voodoo was a sore point with him. "Nobody in his right mind messes with voodoo. It's too easy to get the people who believe in it all stirred up." He paused, then added, "Anyway, only a fool would really believe in that mumbo jumbo."
"Reckon you're right," Longarm said easily, appearing to forget about the subject entirely as he went on. "What happened with that shipment of goods you went down to the Delta to set up yesterday?"
"Royale's men killed several of the Cajuns who work for me," replied Millard, his face still grim. "But I'm going to get those goods anyway. I sent a dozen well-armed men down there this morning to collect them. Would've sent you with them, Parker--if I'd known you were still alive."
Longarm shrugged. "I was still trying to get back to town. Sorry I let you down, Boss. I should've been able to do something about that ambush yesterday."
"There wasn't anything you could have done," Millard said with a shake of his head. "The odds were too heavy against us. I didn't expect Royale to go to that much trouble so soon after his men raided the club." Millard's dark eyes narrowed ominously. "Looks like I'm going to have to take a good-sized group of men with me wherever I go for a while, till things settle down again." Longarm wasn't sure things were going to settle down. Royale seemed to be dead set on bringing the rivalry between him and Millard to an end, one way or the other. Longarm kept that thought to himself, however. As long as Millard was having trouble, he would need Longarm around--and that was just what Longarm wanted.
"You might as well go on back to your hotel and get
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