Longarm and the Voodoo Queen

When he reached the club, practically the first thing he saw was Claudette. She was wearing a blue gown that went well with her hair and eyes, and glittery earrings dangled from her ears. Her hair was piled atop her head in an elaborate arrangement of curls that made her look much more sophisticated than the simple bayou girl he had met a couple of days earlier. It was a little difficult to believe that she was the same person.

But as she saw him and came hurrying toward him, smiling broadly, he had no trouble recognizing her. She practically threw herself into his arms and hugged him.

"Oh, Custis, these clothes, she is so nice I never dream I wear such a thing, me," she exclaimed. "Thank you, thank you so much."

"You're welcome," Longarm told her. "If this is what you really want, Claudette, then I'm glad I could help you get it. You sure gave me a hand." He lowered his voice. "Speaking of that, you didn't say anything to Mr. Millard about how you helped me get away from those old boys the other day, did you?"

She shook her head, her smile disappearing to be replaced by a solemn expression. "This I did not do yet, Custis. You don't want Mr. Millard to know about it?"

"I'd just as soon we kept it between us. Not because I ain't grateful to you or anything, because I am, but-"

She shook her head and put a fingertip on his lips. "Don't say any more, you. You got your reasons, and I don't need to know 'em."

"That's mighty understanding of you."

She came up on her tiptoes, and instead of her finger, she brushed his lips with hers. "I do just about anything for you, Custis, no questions, no explanation. I guarantee."

Longarm slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him, giving her a proper kiss. Claudette's body melded against his. This was a mighty public place for such an embrace, thought Longarm, but he didn't rightly care. Besides, a man and a woman hugging and kissing was probably downright normal compared to some of the things that went on here from time to time, he speculated. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to them.

Then he heard the voice right behind'him saying, "Well, well, what have we here?" He froze as he realized it belonged to Paul Clement.

And wherever Paul was, Longarm thought as he stifled a groan, Annie was usually right with him.

CHAPTER 11

For a second, Longarm was afraid to turn around. He expected to hear Annie's voice lashing at him, demanding to know who in the hell Claudette was and just why she was in his arms with his lips pressed to hers.

But when Annie's voice didn't come, Longarm glanced over his shoulder and saw that Clement was standing there alone, the smile on his face even more mocking than usual. He walked slowly around them, and his gaze was frankly admiring as he looked at Claudette. "Hello," he said. "I don't believe we've met."

"This is Claudette," said Longarm. "She's a good friend of mine."

"Yes," Clement said dryly, "I could tell."

"Claudette, this is Monsieur Paul Clement."

Clement took Claudette's hand, bent over it, and kissed it as Millard had done. Claudette said, "Honored to meet you, M'sieu Clement, I surely am." She was almost glowing from all the masculine attention that was being paid to her today, and as he looked at the radiant expression on her face, Longarm thought that maybe getting her a job here hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

Cautiously, Longarm asked Clement, "Where's your sister?"

"Annie will be along shortly. She wanted her costume for tonight to be perfect."

"Costume?" repeated Longarm. Clement was wearing his normal evening clothes.

"Yes, this is Mardi Gras, remember?" Clement reached into his pocket, brought out a piece of black silk, and unfolded it to reveal that it was a mask. He placed it over his eyes and tied the strings attached to it behind his head. "The whole thing is a bit silly, I know, but one can't argue with tradition, can one?"

"I've heard of Mardi Gras," said Claudette, "but I didn't know it was tonight."

"Well, then, you're in for a treat, mademoiselle," Clement said as he moved smoothly alongside Claudette and slipped his arm through hers. "If you'll be so kind as to keep me company while I'm trying my luck at the blackjack table, I'll tell you all about it."

Claudette glanced at Longarm, and he gave a barely perceptible nod to let her know that it was all right with him for her to go with Clement. He didn't have any hold over her, and the sooner she understood that, the better, especially if she wanted to work here at the Brass Pelican.

As Clement and Claudette moved off toward the blackjack table, Clement tossed a look over his shoulder at Longarm, who nodded to him in gratitude. Annie would be here soon, thought Longarm, and it would be better all around if Claudette was distracted. Clement had proven surprisingly understanding about the matter.

Sure enough, not ten more minutes had gone by when Annie appeared, pausing just inside the doorway of the club to look around for Longarm. He happened to be looking in that direction when she came in, and although he didn't recognize her at first, as soon as his eyes met hers he knew her.

She was wearing a gypsy costume, with an embroidered white blouse that left both shoulders bare and a neckline that plunged low enough to reveal practically all of the creamy valley between her breasts. A bright red skirt, also decorated with embroidery, swirled around her ankles. Golden hoop earrings and a wig with curls as black as midnight completed the costume. She was wearing a mask too, like her brother.

Her face assumed a coy expression as Longarm approached her. "Would you like to have your fortune told?" she asked over the music and laughter that filled the room. Even raised so that he could hear, her voice seemed to contain a purr.

Longarm extended his hand toward her. "Sure. Just don't tell me I'm going to meet a beautiful woman, 'cause I already have."

She took his right hand in her left, then used the index finger of her right hand to trace the lines on his palm. Her long, red-painted nail dug almost painfully into his skin. "You will meet many beautiful women, but only one is right for you. If you ignore her, you will be in much danger."

Longarm chuckled. "I reckon I'd better pay a lot of attention to her then." He reached up and cupped her chin, tilting her head back so that he could bring his mouth down on hers.

He sure hoped Paul Clement was keeping Claudette occupied.

For the second time in less than a half hour, he was kissing a beautiful woman and molding the soft warmth of her body against his as he drew her into an embrace. A different woman, at that. All the hazards of his life as a federal lawman didn't quite measure up to that, he thought wryly. He was really living dangerously now.

"Come on," he said to Annie as he broke the kiss. "I'll buy you a drink."

Annie nodded. "But not too many drinks tonight," she said. "I want you to take me home tonight, Custis."

"If I can," promised Longarm. How the night ended up, though, really depended on Millard, and Royale, and even Claudette.

Longarm stayed close by Annie as the long evening began to roll by. The club was too crowded and noisy to do much more than sit at a table, try to carry on a conversation in half-shouts, and hope that they didn't get trampled by the mob. Worry gnawed at the back of Longarm's brain. As packed in as the customers were tonight, anything that went wrong could easily turn into a catastrophe. It was a perfect opportunity for Royale to strike again at Millard.

But despite the crowd and the noise, the night's festivities went fairly peacefully. A few men got a little boisterous from too much to drink, but Millard's bouncers handled them with ease. Millard came over to the table while Annie had gone to use the facilities, which were indoors rather than out back of the building, a luxury Longarm hadn't expected to find in a place like the Brass Pelican. With a nod to Longarm, Millard sat down and said, "I was halfway expecting trouble tonight."

"You and me both, Boss," Longarm told him. "I reckon Royale must be celebrating Mardi Gras like everybody else."

"Let's hope so."

Claudette swept over to the table then, followed by Paul Clement. She was laughing brightly at something Clement had said. "Custis!" she greeted Longarm, and from the level of her merriment, he figured she had been sipping on a few drinks this evening. "Paul, he is going to take me to watch the Mardi Gras parade. Why don't you and his sister come with us?"

Longarm swallowed hard. "Sister?" he repeated.

"Oh, don't worry, Custis," said Clement. "I told Claudette how kind you've been to my poor maiden sister, paying attention to her while we're here in New Orleans."

Longarm took back what he had thought earlier about Clement being understanding. He was a damn rabble-rouser! But there was nothing Longarm could do now except plunge ahead and be thankful that Claudette seemed to be in a good mood.

"Sure," Longarm said. "I don't reckon I've ever seen a Mardi Gras parade, so I wouldn't mind at all." He looked at Millard. "If it's all right with you, Boss."

"Go ahead," Millard said with a wave of his hand. "Like you said, Royale's probably celebrating tonight too. He might even be at the parade. Who knows?"

Claudette looked at Longarm. "Who is this Royale, Custis? Another of your lady-friends, maybe?"

"Not hardly," Longarm replied vehemently. "Just a... business associate, I suppose you could say. Nothing for you to worry about."

Clement looked across the room and said, "Here comes Annie now."

It took a few minutes for Annie to make her way through the crowd. Even in the press of people, Longarm had no trouble spotting her in that colorful outfit. As she came up to the table, he stood and reached out to take her hand. "We're going out to watch the Mardi Gras parade, if that's all right with you," he said.

"Of course. I'd like that." Annie looked at Claudette and went on. "I don't believe we've met."

Clement began, "She's a friend of-"

"A friend of your brother, me," Claudette cut in. She put out her hand and shook with Annie. "Claudette, that is my name."

"What a pretty name," said Annie. "And that gown and those earrings are beautiful. You and Paul are coming to the parade too, aren't you?"

"Of course. I would not miss my first Mardi Gras parade."

Longarm tried not to heave a sigh of relief. Claudette was really helping him out. Most women would have been spitting jealous, but she was going out of her way to keep the peace with Annie for tonight. He would have to thank her later if he got the chance. And he hoped that Paul Clement's big grin didn't tip off Annie that something more was going on than was readily apparent.

With Annie on his arm and Claudette being accompanied by Clement, Longarm shouldered his way through the crowd and led the little group to the door. As they stepped out onto Gallatin Street, the press of people around them lessened slightly, but the sidewalks and the cobblestone street itself were still unusually crowded. All the street lamps had been lit, and light flooded out through open doors and windows so that the revelers could see what they were doing. Everywhere, purple and green and gold--the official colors of Mardi Gras--were dominant, and hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of voices were singing the anthem of Mardi Gras, "If Ever I Cease to Love." Longarm found himself humming along with the tune as he and his companions made their way through the throng.

"Come on," Annie cried merrily as she tugged on Longarm's hand. "The parade is on St. Charles Avenue."

That seemed to be the direction the crowd was flowing, all right, thought Longarm. He was glad he wasn't trying to go the other way. It would be like trying to swim upstream against a strong current.

Claudette and Paul Clement were still talking animatedly. Longarm knew it was unreasonable, considering the way he had felt earlier, but now he was the one who was a mite jealous. Obviously, Claudette had been telling the truth: It wasn't so much seeing him again that had brought her to New Orleans. It was an honest desire to try something new in her life--an attempt to leave the bayous behind her. Longarm wished her the best of luck in the effort.

Longarm hadn't been to the hotel much in the past few days, but he had been aware of the sound of hammering whenever he went in and out of the place. Now he understood the reason why. Viewing stands had been built all along the avenue, and they were already packed. It was doubtful that Longarm and the others would be able to find a place to sit. They would have to stand along the sidewalks with the hundreds of others who had gotten there a little too late to fit into the viewing stands.

Annie noticed the same thing and mentioned it, then said, "But that's all right. When the floats pass by, we'll be able to catch some of the things the crew members toss down as they pass by."

She went on to explain the tradition to Longarm and Claudette. Each year, the members of the societies that built the floats threw candy, flowers, and coins to the spectators who lined the parade route. The gifts were meant primarily for the children... but at Mardi Gras, everyone was a child, at least to a certain extent.

Longarm, Annie, Claudette, and Paul Clement managed to find a place to stand near the front of the crowd. They were just in time, because not far away, someone shouted, "Here they come!"

Annie leaned closer to Longarm's ear and called over the clamor, "Rex, the King of Mardi Gras, will be on the last float! It's quite an honor for the gentleman selected."

Longarm supposed that was the case. He would have felt mighty funny dressing up in a mask and a gold crown and a long, fur-lined cape, so he was just as glad that he would never be the King of Mardi Gras.

The huge, elaborate floats began rolling by, pushed along on their wheeled platforms by krewe members who were concealed under the layers of flowers and bunting. Cheers went up from the crowd as the costumed men atop the floats began tossing their gifts over the heads of the spectators. It seemed to be raining candy and flowers and coins. Longarm grinned and ducked his head as a particularly heavy shower of gifts pelted him. Beside him, Annie was gleefully plucking items out of the air. On the other side of her, Claudette was doing the same thing. Children swarmed around them, darting between them to scoop up the treats that had fallen to the sidewalk.

Someone bumped heavily into Longarm from behind, and taken by surprise, he stumbled forward a step. As he caught his balance, he glanced back to see who had run into him, forcing down the irritation that was welling up inside him. Mardi Gras was no time to be losing his temper just because some old son was clumsy.

The light from a torch on one of the passing floats glinted off steel. Longarm's eyes widened as he saw a man in a pirate costume thrusting a short cutlass at him.

He would feel foolish if the cutlass turned out to be rubber and the "pirate" only playing, but Longarm had learned a long time ago it was better to be foolish than dead. He twisted, letting the blade pass harmlessly by him, and clamped his left arm down on the arm of the man holding the weapon. He drove his right fist into the man's midsection, sinking it almost to the wrist. Breath puffed out of the man's mouth.

Longarm caught hold of his wrist and wrenched it, forcing the pirate to drop the blade. It clattered to the cobblestones, and the sound told Longarm that the cutlass was most definitely the real thing. For some reason, this piratical reveler had just tried to kill him.

Close by, a woman screamed.

Longarm brought his fist up and slammed it into the pirate's jaw. The blow didn't travel more than half a foot, but it had all of Longarm's strength behind it. The would-be killer's head slewed to the side, and he sagged against Longarm, stunned. Longarm let go of him and stepped back, allowing the man to slide to the ground. He didn't want the pirate to be trampled to death, but that scream had sounded like Annie, and he was more interested in making sure she was all right. He looked urgently through the crowd for her.

She was gone.

So was her brother, Longarm saw. No sign of Paul Clement met his searching gaze. Of course, in this crowd someone could be only a few feet away and be invisible. Claudette was still there, looking surprised and more than a little frightened. Longarm leaned close to her and shouted, "What happened?"

"Paul and Annie, they are gone, them!" she replied. "I did not see where they went-"

Longarm wasn't surprised. No one in the wildly celebrating crowd had even noticed when the pirate tried to run him through. Everyone was too caught up in the excitement of Mardi Gras.

Which meant it was a damn good time to get rid of some enemies without anyone noticing.

"Royale," muttered Longarm through clenched teeth.

"What did you say?" asked Claudette, looking worried.

Longarm shook his head. "Nothing. Let's get you out of here, and then I'll find Paul and Annie."

He hoped he could make good on that statement. Royale clearly had spies everywhere, and he would know that the Clements were regular customers and friends of Jasper Millard's. It seemed unlikely that Royale would try to strike at Millard by hurting Annie and Paul... but none of Royale's other recent attempts had worked out exactly as planned. Royale could be getting desperate enough to kidnap the Clements and use them to try to force some concessions from Millard.

Those thoughts raced through Longarm's brain in an instant as he gripped Claudette's arm and attempted to wedge a path through the crowd for them. Everyone was pushing forward, trying to get closer to the floats that were still passing by, and once again Longarm was struck by the similarity to swimming upstream. He and Claudette were making only scanty progress.

How he heard the gun being cocked over the uproar was beyond him. Maybe it was instinct again. But something made him jerk around in time to see the little pistol being pointed at him by an Indian--or somebody made up to look like an Indian. Longarm's hand shot out and grabbed the barrel of the gun, twisting it upward just as it cracked spitefully. He heard the wicked whine of the bullet passing close beside his ear. It struck his hat and sent it spinning off his head. The Indian tried to bring the gun back to bear, but Longarm held it off while he brought his other hand up in a jabbing blow. With people all around him, there was no room to swing the roundhouse punch he wanted to throw.

The jab was good enough. The Indian's head rocked back, and the pistol slipped from his fingers. Longarm shoved him away and turned back to Claudette, hoping nothing had happened to her.

She was still there, but the crowd around her was clearing out a little. The gunshot had been loud enough to carry to the ears of the nearest revelers, and they were scurrying for cover. Several men shouted angry questions, and a couple of women cried out in fear. Longarm just grabbed Claudette's arm again and took advantage of the opportunity to plunge through the momentary opening in the crowd.

The whole place might be full of assassins, he realized. Like a damn fool, he had come out here to have a good time, and Royale's hired killers had followed him. He still had no idea what had happened to Annie and Paul, but there was no time to search for them now. He had to get Claudette to someplace where she would be safe.

For several yards, they were able to hurry along the sidewalk, but then the crowd closed in around them again. These people further along the block had not heard the shot, and did not know that a murder attempt was occurring in their midst. Frustrated, Longarm tightened his grip on Claudette's hand and pulled her toward the only open space he saw.

Together, they ran into the street, darting between two of the floats.

A startled shout went up from the krewe members on the next float in line. Longarm turned and began running alongside the colorful procession, tugging Claudette along with him. It was as if they were part of the parade, despite the fact that neither of them wore costumes. More shouts of surprise trailed them. Interfering with the Mardi Gras parade was unheard of. Not even those who had drunk far too much champagne would dare such a thing.

Longarm looked back and saw that he and Claudette weren't the only ones ignoring tradition tonight. Several men were pursuing them: a clown, a devil, and a man in the buckskins and coonskin cap of an early-day frontiersman. Dan Rice, Satan, and Davy Crockett, Longarm thought wildly. But the guns in their hands made them a deadly trio.

Those guns began to bang, and again there were screams as the crowd broke and ran for cover. The parade came to a screeching halt. Longarm ducked around another float, crossing back to the side of the street where he and Claudette had started. The would-be killers veered after them, firing again. Longarm heard bullets whip past his head, and hoped that the stray shots didn't hit anybody in the crowd.

He hoped as well that Captain Denton had some officers assigned to the parade route, but so far Longarm hadn't seen any police. Maybe they knew better than to interfere with Mardi Gras. It was certainly beginning to look like Longarm couldn't count on any help from that quarter.

Shoving Claudette on ahead of him, he turned and palmed out his Colt. He took careful aim and squeezed off a quick shot, and the clown stumbled, clutching at the leg Longarm's bullet had just ventilated. The brightly garbed killer tumbled off his feet, shouting curses. The Devil and Davy Crockett came on without slowing down. The guns in their hands blasted.

Longarm turned and ran again, thankful that Claudette hadn't slowed while he paused to cut down the odds. She was several yards in front of him now. She threw a frightened glance over her shoulder to make sure he was still behind her.

The mouth of an alley loomed up on their right. "In there!" called Longarm, indicating the alley with a wave of his gun hand as Claudette looked back again. She made the turn, stumbling only a little as she did so. Longarm plunged into the gloom of the alley behind her. Here in the thick shadows, Claudette was forced to slow down, and he caught up with her in a matter of seconds.

"Custis!" she panted, breathless from both exertion and fear.

"Keep going," he told her. "I'll slow them down again."

As he stopped and turned, he saw two figures loom up at the mouth of the alley, silhouetted by the light from the street behind them. One shape was indistinct, but the other was clearly marked by horns and a tail. Longarm triggered twice, aiming low. The muzzle blasts lit up the alley for an instant like orange lightning, and the roar of the shots was deafening in these narrow confines. Longarm couldn't tell if he had done any damage or not. Both of the pursuers fired, and brick chips thrown out by the bullets as they struck the building beside Longarm stung his face.

Behind him somewhere, Claudette let out a scream and shouted, "Custis!" Her voice was filled with mortal fear.

Longarm whirled around, leery of turning his back to the assassins, but knowing that he had to see what was happening to Claudette. He ran down the alley, heedless of any obstacles that might be in his path, veering from side to side to make himself a more difficult target. Suddenly, without any warning, he emerged into a small rear courtyard behind the buildings, and enough light came from the windows for him to see what was going on.

Despite the warmth of the night, his blood froze at the scene laid out before him.

Claudette was struggling in the grip of a huge black man in work clothes. She flailed at him and clawed his face, but he didn't seem to even feel the blows. He wasn't trying to hurt her, but he was holding her in an unbreakable grip.

Another man was shuffling toward Longarm, arms outstretched, his face as dull and lacking in expression as that of his companion. Longarm took one look at him and uttered a heartfelt, "Shit!"

The Devil and Davy Crockett behind him, bent on filling him full of lead, and a pair of equally murderous zombies in front of him...

It was times like this that made a fella wonder why he had ever pinned on a lawman's badge in the first place.

CHAPTER 12

The two pursuers burst out of the alley into the courtyard and opened fire just as the dead-eyed man lunged toward Longarm. Longarm threw himself to the side, rolling out of the way. The gunmen couldn't stop their trigger fingers in time, and several shots roared out.

But instead of hitting Longarm, the bullets thudded into the broad chest of the huge black man who had tried to grab him. Just as before, the slugs barely slowed the man. Unable to stop his single-minded charge, he crashed into the two costumed bushwhackers. They yelled in horror as his hands found their throats. More shots roared, the explosions muffled by the huge body.

Longarm came up in a crouch, knowing that for the time being at least, three of his enemies were occupied with each other. That left Claudette, who was still struggling in the grip of the other... well, zombie. There was nothing else to call them, thought Longarm. He reversed his hold on the Colt and threw himself at the figures swaying in the shadows.

Even in this gloom, he could make out the man who towered over Claudette. Longarm brought the Colt down, slamming the butt of the gun against the back of the man's skull. There was no response, so he struck again and then again. Finally, after the third blow, the man shoved Claudette aside and swung around toward Longarm, his movements slow and lumbering but no less dangerous.

From the corner of his eye, Longarm saw Claudette stumble backwards to lean against the side of a building as she gasped for breath. He flipped the gun around so that its barrel pointed toward the huge shape. Even though he knew he was probably wasting his breath, he said harshly, "Hold it right there, old son! I don't want to have to kill you!"

These men, entranced just like the first one who had stalked Longarm, were not acting of their own accord. Longarm was convinced of that. Someone had put a spell on them--or drugged them, that was the more rational explanation--and sent them after him. Who had done that, and why, he didn't know. Royale was the best bet, but he had no proof that Royale used voodoo. The zombies looked like dockworkers. They were probably innocent men who had been turned into living weapons, and now that he knew what he was facing, Longarm didn't want to have to shoot them.

But there might not be any other way to stop them. Even now, the second man, the one who had been hit by several shots from the two gunmen, was climbing ponderously back to his feet, leaving two motionless figures sprawled on the alley floor behind him, their heads set at odd angles. The Devil and Davy Crockett had come to a bad end.

And so would Longarm and Claudette if they didn't get out of here.

One advantage they had over the creatures was that the zombies were slow. Longarm darted around the one coming toward him, easily avoiding a clumsy swipe of the man's ham-like hand. He grabbed Claudette's arm and said, "Come on!"

They broke into a run, dashing from the courtyard into another alley that opened off it. Once again Longarm and Claudette raced along blindly, convinced that anything they might run into in the darkness wouldn't be as bad as what was behind them. For a moment, Longarm could hear the shuffling sounds of pursuit, but then the noises faded away as he and Claudette emerged onto another street. He had no idea where they were. They were among people again, though, and he was grateful for that. This street was nowhere near as packed as St. Charles Avenue had been, but there were enough revelers on the sidewalks for them to be able to blend into the crowd. Longarm slid his gun back into its holster before anyone could notice it, then led Claudette in a fast walk along the sidewalk. They weaved in and out of the celebrating pedestrians.

Quite a few people on this street were wearing costumes too, but none of them paid any attention to Longarm and Claudette. Longarm hoped that the pirate, the Indian, the clown, the devil, and the frontiersman had been the only assassins after him tonight. But who had sent them, and why had those zombies popped up like that? Had they been trailing him too? And what the hell had happened to Paul and Annie Clement? Longarm figured he had better get back to the Brass Pelican and find out if Millard had heard anything. If Royale had kidnapped the Clements, it had to be because of their connection with Millard, so it was natural to assume that he would get in touch with Millard to present his ransom demands.

Longarm's jaw tightened. He hoped like blazes that the next time around, Billy Vail would assign him to a case that was a mite simpler--like finding one particular blade of grass in the whole damned Great Plains!

After a few minutes, Longarm got his bearings and turned toward the waterfront. Claudette's hand tightened on his arm. "Custis," she said, "what are we to do?"

"I have to find out if Millard knows anything about what happened to Annie and Paul," said Longarm. "It's a pretty complicated business, Claudette, but Millard has an enemy who might try to get at him through his friends."

Claudette nodded. "This enemy, he is a voodoo priest, no?"

"Now, I just don't know about that," Longarm answered honestly.

"Only a priest or priestess of voudun could send those zombies after you."

Longarm shot a glance at her. "You know about things like that?"

"Gran'pere, his gran'mama was from Haiti. The slavers, they bring her there from Africa, long, long ago. Voudun was a religion there, and she was a high priestess, you see. She know all them rituals and how the religion got turned into voodoo... black magic. As a boy, Gran'pere hear the stories she tell, and he believe, you bet. I remember once, he been feudin' with this other fella who live round the bayou, and Gran'pere come to N'Awleans, buy himself a gris-gris--what you call a black magic charm--from Marie Laveau. He leave it on the fella's doorstep, and that fella, he get sick and like to die."

"But he didn't die?" asked Longarm, interested in this bizarre tale.

Claudette shook her head. "No. But he would have, you bet, if he had not come up here and bought a gris-gris of his own from the Voodoo Queen, what they call Marie Laveau."

"So he bought something to ward off the black magic your granddaddy sicced on him."

Claudette nodded.

"And he bought it from the same person who sold the original charm to Gran'pere," said Longarm.

"That is right."

Despite the harrowing night he had had, Longarm had to chuckle. "So this Marie Laveau gets 'em coming and going. Sounds like a pretty smart businesswoman."

Claudette stared at him, aghast at his lack of respect. "She is the Voodoo Queen!"

"Then maybe she's the lady I need to talk to if I want to find out who's been sending those zombies after me."

Claudette's eyes widened. "You have seen the zombies before tonight?"

"One of 'em tried to wring my neck a few nights ago," Longarm told her.

She shuddered and said, "You are a lucky man, you. Zombies come after a man, he wind up dead most all the time."

"I don't intend to let any zombie drag me back into the grave with him," declared Longarm. "I hate to ask it, but since you know something about this stuff, would you be willing to help me find this Marie Laveau?"

Again, Claudette shuddered. "It is not hard to find her. She lives in a little house on St. Anne Street. A fella who was grateful to her because she help his son give her the house. It belong to her for the rest of her days."

"You know where it is?"

She nodded. "I know."

"Will you show me?"

Stubbornly, Claudette shook her head. "I will not do this thing."

"But-"

She interrupted his protest. "I will go there and speak to Marie Laveau for you, Custis. I be safe there, but maybe you wouldn't be, no. Better for me to go by myself first."

"Damn it, that's not what I want. I don't want anything to happen to you."

She stopped and smiled up at him. Down the block, several men were serenading some women who leaned over the wrought-iron railing of a balcony on the second floor of one of the buildings. As the drunken, out-of-tune strains of "If Ever I Cease to Love" filled the night, Claudette put her hand on the back of Longarm's neck and pulled his head down to hers. Her mouth found his.

"I do this for you, Custis," she whispered as she broke the kiss. "Don't worry, you. The Voodoo Queen got no reason to put a spell on me."

"Well, all right," Longarm said grudgingly. "But be mighty careful."

"I will come to your hotel when I find out anything."

Longarm nodded and told her the room number. "Aren't you coming back to the Brass Pelican now?"

She shook her head. "No. Tell Mr. Millard how very sorry I am, but I have a more important job now, you bet. I help you find out who are your enemies, no?"

She had unofficially deputized herself, thought Longarm, and he had allowed such a thing to happen. When this case was over, he might have to be a little creative in the report he wrote for Billy Vail.

But then, a lot of things had already happened that Billy wasn't likely to believe!

Longarm kissed her again and repeated, "Be careful."

With a smile and a wave, Claudette left him there, a few blocks from Gallatin Street. He sighed as he watched her disappear into the crowd. There were still plenty of revelers abroad on this night of nights. Longarm turned and made his way through them, heading for the Brass Pelican. He still had to find out if Millard had heard anything about Paul and Annie Clement.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Millard greeted him with that growled question as Longarm came up to the bar in the Brass Pelican a few minutes later. Before Longarm could answer, Millard went on. "Paul Clement said you got in some kind of a fight at the Mardi Gras parade."

"Clement's been here?" asked Longarm sharply.

"Of course. He and his sister came back here earlier. They said you and that girl Claudette ran off together, that there was a fight and some shooting."

"Paul and Annie were all right?"

Millard frowned. "They were shaken up a little, but yeah, they were all right. What's going on here, Parker? You're acting mighty strange."

Longarm felt a surge of relief. So Annie and Clement had just gotten separated from him in the crowd and hadn't been kidnapped by Royale after all. He looked around the room. "Are they here now?"

Millard shook his head. "No, they left a little while ago. Annie was upset by everything that had happened. She was worried about you, Parker. Now, damn it, I want some answers.

"Royale," said Longarm. "He had some men dressed up in Mardi Gras costumes, and they followed us through the crowd and tried to kill me at the parade."

"Son of a bitch!" Millard's hands curled into fists. "Every time I start to hope maybe that bastard's given up, he tries something else. Were you hurt? What about Claudette?"

"We got away from Royale's men after I winged one of 'em." That was almost the truth, thought Longarm. He was just leaving out any mention of zombies. No need to spook Millard--or make the man think he was crazy. "I don't know if Claudette's coming back here to the club or not. She was pretty shaken up by the whole thing too. She's spent most of her life in the bayou country. She may have decided she doesn't much like New Orleans after all."

"Blast it!" exclaimed Millard. "She was a mighty pretty little thing. I was looking forward to getting to know her better."

I'll just bet you were, old son, thought Longarm. He knew exactly how Millard intended to get to know Claudette better. Maybe she was safer going to see that so-called Voodoo Queen after all.

"At least everything's been peaceful here," continued Millard. He swept a hand around to indicate the crowd of gamblers and drinkers, many of them attired in costumes. "This is going to be one of the most profitable nights of the year."

"If Royale doesn't butt in again," Longarm pointed out.

Millard glowered and nodded in agreement.

Longarm spent the rest of the night in the Brass Pelican, and as Millard had predicted, it was a lucrative evening for the club. The place was still doing a booming business as the new day dawned.

"Go home," Millard said to a yawning Longarm. "We've made it through the night, and I don't think Royale's going to try anything now."

Longarm nodded. He was anxious to return to the St. Charles and see if Claudette had shown up there following her visit to Marie Laveau. Bareheaded, since he hadn't had a chance to retrieve the planter's hat that had been shot off in the ambush attempt, he left the club and walked through streets littered almost ankle-deep with the debris of the previous night's celebration. Quite a few people were still on the sidewalks, most of them staggering along drunkenly in costumes disheveled by hours of partying. In the light of dawn, everything that had seemed so colorful and exotic the night before now appeared faintly seedy and disreputable.

Longarm stopped at the desk of the St. Charles and asked the sleepy-eyed clerk on duty, "Has a young woman been here looking for me?"

The man shook his head. "No, sir, not that I recall. Let me check your box for messages." He looked around, then shook his head again. "Afraid not, sir."

Longarm felt a sharp pang of disappointment and worry. He had thought that Claudette might be waiting for him in the lobby or even up in his room, if she had been able to persuade the clerk or one of the bellmen to let her in. He said, "If a lady--young, attractive, dark hair, talks with a Cajun accent--shows up, send her right up to my room, will you?"

Even as sleepy as he was, the clerk managed to smirk a little as he said, "Yes sir, Mr. Parker. Right away."

Longarm ignored the man's knowing grin and headed for the stairs. He was too tired and concerned about Claudette to care about anything else.

He had thrust the key into the lock and was about to turn it when he froze suddenly. Out of habit, he had glanced down before opening the door, and he saw that the end of the match he had closed between the door and the jamb when he left the room the night before was now gone. It was an old trick, one that he used frequently when he was staying in a strange place, and it had saved his life more than once. He always put the match just an inch or two above the floor, so that anybody opening the door wouldn't notice it when it fell.

But he noticed when it was gone, as it was now, and its absence warned him that somebody had been in his room while he was gone. Might even still be there, he thought.

He had paused only an instant in opening the door, such a short time that his hesitation had probably gone unnoticed by anyone lurking inside. He twisted the key the rest of the way as he drew his gun, then in one smooth movement he drove his shoulder into the door so that it slammed open as he went into the room in a rolling dive. He came up in a crouch, the Colt held tightly in his hand, ready to fire.

Claudette sat up sharply in bed, gasping in surprise and holding the sheet in front of her bare breasts.

"Custis!" she exclaimed. "What-"

Longarm came to his feet and kicked the door shut. "Are you alone?" he asked.

Claudette let the sheet drop, revealing the firm globes of her breasts. She patted the pillow next to her. "Do you see anyone else in here?" she asked.

Longarm had to admit that he didn't. She was undoubtedly by herself in the bed--a situation he intended to remedy as soon as possible. Just looking at her pebbled nipples made some of his weariness go away.

He holstered his gun. "Sorry about busting in here like that," he said. "I didn't think you were here. I asked about you down in the lobby, and the clerk said no one had shown up looking for me."

"I came in the back way and persuaded one of the bellmen to let me into your room," she explained. "No one in the lobby saw me."

Longarm didn't ask how she had convinced the bellman to cooperate with her. Probably the less he knew about that, the better. He shucked his gunbelt and coat and vest, then began taking off his shirt and tie. "Did you find Marie Laveau?" he asked.

"I saw her. I spoke to her, me." Claudette sounded as if she found that difficult to believe even now. "But she would tell me nothing, Custis. She remember my gran'pere, though, and his gran'mama before him."

Longarm frowned as he sat down in a chair and pulled off his boots. "Just how old is this Voodoo Queen anyway?"

"No one knows," said Claudette with a shake of her head. "She is old, very old."

"Did she send those zombies after me?"

"She would not admit it if she did, her. But I think maybe SO."

Longarm sighed. "Looks like I'm going to have to go see her myself, maybe buy myself a magic charm to ward off walking dead men."

And if he did, he couldn't wait to see Billy Vail's face when he put in an expense voucher for it!

Claudette threw the sheet aside, revealing her body in all its glorious nudity. "Come to me, Custis, and hold me, you. I want to forget all about voodoo and zombies and men with guns for a while."

Longarm certainly shared that sentiment. As naked now as she was, he slid into the bed and put his arms around her, drawing her to him. Their mouths met in a heated kiss. Longarm parted her lips with his tongue and used it to explore her mouth, tasting the hot, wet sweetness of her. She reached down between them and closed her fingers around his shaft, which was already erect and throbbing with need. All of his tiredness and confusion and frustration had vanished. He was able to put it aside and live entirely in the here and now for a time, concerned only with sharing his passion with Claudette.

Neither of them was in any mood to wait. When he reached between her legs and probed her core with his fingers, he found her drenched and ready for him. She rolled onto her back, spreading her thighs wide, and he moved over her and positioned himself to drive into her with a single urgent thrust. She gasped as his huge, rail-hard manhood filled her.

Her moisture coated his shaft as he moved it in and out of her. Her hips began to buck against him. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around him, locking her ankles together above his surging hips. Her arms twined around his neck and pulled his head down to hers, and once again their mouths molded together. He could feel her breasts flattened against his chest, the hard nipples prodding insistently against his bare skin.

The rhythm of their dance was timeless, universal. Longarm lost himself in her, driving his manhood deeper and deeper, reaching the inner core of her so that she gasped and cried out in ecstasy. Just as he could stand it no longer, she began to spasm around him, and thankfully he plunged deep within her one last time and held his shaft there as his own climax shook him. She shuddered and thrashed as his seed fountained into her, filling her to overflowing.

Longarm groaned as he collapsed onto her, barely able to support some of his weight with his elbows so that she could still breathe. Both of them were shiny with sweat. His pulse was hammering wildly in his head, like some mad carpenter building a gallows in Hell.

He frowned as that thought went through his head. Why in blazes had such a grim image sprung to mind at a time like this?

Then he heard something... a faint scraping... No, it was more like ...

Slithering.

Longarm's head jerked up. Draped over the headboard of the bed was the biggest damn snake he had ever seen and Longarm was practically eyeball to eyeball with it, so close that he could see its tongue flickering in and out of its mouth so fast that it was almost a blur.

Frozen there like that, he barely noticed when the door burst open behind him and the men with guns in their hands came into the room.

CHAPTER 13

Claudette looked up, saw the snake's head suspended in the air about twelve inches above her face, and quite understandably screamed like a banshee. Longarm's hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off the scream. He didn't want to spook the snake.

He had never heard of a snake this size being venomous; more than likely this was one of the creatures he had read about that killed its prey by looping its long, thick body around them and squeezing them to death. He had no idea how such a monster had gotten to New Orleans. They weren't native to this part of the country, or anywhere else in the United States, for that matter. He figured the men with the guns had something to do with it being in his hotel room, though.

"Do not move, M'sieu Parker," said one of the men. "We are sorry to interrupt you like this, but Marie Laveau wishes to see you."

The man's voice had the soft accent of the West Indies, and when Longarm risked a glance over his shoulder, he saw that the three unexpected visitors were black men wearing light-colored shirts and trousers and rope-soled sandals on their feet. Unlike the zombies, they were medium height and slender, but they were no less dangerous. They held their guns as if they knew quite well how to use them.

"I ain't going anywhere," grated Longarm, "until somebody does something about this damn snake."

"Pierre," said the man who had spoken before, and one of the other men tucked his pistol into his waistband and came forward. He reached out, grasped the snake's muscular body behind the head, and pulled it off the headboard. Some of the snake's body dropped onto the bed and slid across the pillow only inches from Claudette's head, and her eyes widened as another scream of instinctive horror tried to well up her throat. Longarm kept his hand over her mouth, blocking the sound. He didn't figure the gunmen would appreciate it if Claudette drew too much attention to them, and Longarm didn't want to give them any excuse to start shooting.

The snake draped itself around the torso of the man who was holding it. The man grinned and stroked the scaly flesh as if the snake was a pet cat.

"I am afraid we cannot do you the courtesy of turning around while you get dressed," said the spokesman. "We know that you are a resourceful man, M'sieu Parker. That is why the serpent was to visit you tonight."

"Let me guess," said Longarm. "You boys hid the snake in here earlier figuring it would crawl out and kill me after I went to bed. But then Marie Laveau decided she didn't want me dead after all, so she sent you back over here."

The spokesman inclined his head, acknowledging that Longarm's theory was correct. "Resourceful--and smart. After talking to the young lady, Madame Laveau decided she wishes to speak directly to you."

Longarm looked at Claudette, who seemed to have calmed down a little. At least she wasn't breathing quite as hard underneath him. He took his hand away from her mouth and said, "I reckon you saved my life by going to see the Voodoo Queen."

"That... that snake must have been under the bed the whole time!" she exclaimed with a shudder of revulsion.

"More than likely," agreed Longarm.

The leader of the gun-toting trio said, "Please get dressed now. Madame Laveau is waiting."

Longarm rolled off the bed and stood up. The gunmen watched him like hawks as he pulled on his underwear, trousers, and shirt. He had no chance to lunge toward the gunbelt lying on the bedside table. At least they had the decency to avert their eyes a little as Claudette got up and pulled on the gown she had worn at the Brass Pelican.

When Longarm had pulled on his socks and boots and Claudette had slid her feet into a pair of soft slippers, the leader of the gunmen said, "That is enough. We will go now."

"You plan on marching us out through the lobby at gunpoint with one of you carrying that snake?" Longarm asked dryly.

"We will go down the rear stairs. No one will hinder us. The bellmen who are on duty will see to that. They would not want to cause any inconvenience for Marie Laveau."

Longarm wasn't surprised by the answer. It was clear that Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen, wielded a great deal of power in New Orleans, even though she stayed in the shadows and pulled other people's strings like a master puppeteer. In a city filled with folks who believed in voodoo, the high priestess was someone to be feared and respected.

A few minutes later, Longarm and Claudette had been taken out through one of the hotel's rear doors into a service courtyard where a covered carriage waited. Black curtains were pulled over the carriage's windows. One of the gunmen opened the vehicle's door and gestured with his pistol for Longarm and Claudette to climb in. There was nothing else they could do.

Besides, Longarm wasn't really anxious to escape. After everything that had happened, he wanted to talk to Marie Laveau as much as she wanted to talk to him.

It was still not long after dawn as the carriage rolled through the streets of the French Quarter. Claudette huddled next to Longarm, clutching his arm nervously. Across from them sat two of the gunmen. The third man had placed the snake in a large wicker basket and climbed up on the seat of the carriage to ride next to the driver.

Longarm edged aside the black curtain on the window next to him. One of the Voodoo Queen's men lifted his gun, but Longarm held the palm of his other hand out toward the man, indicating that he wasn't going to try anything funny. He just wanted to see how the People on the street were reacting to the black carriage, and as he had expected, many of them turned their eyes away as soon as they glimpsed the grim-looking vehicle passing them.

"I reckon folks know this coach belongs to Marie Laveau," he commented to the two gunmen. "Most of 'em are pretending they don't even see it."

"Most people in New Orleans have a great deal of respect for Madame Laveau," said the gunman who had done all the talking so far. "You would be wise to do the same, M'sieu Parker."

Longarm nodded and let the curtain fall back into place. Voodoo powers aside, he had plenty of respect for anybody who could command men who handled guns and snakes so well.

The ride was not a long one. St. Anne Street ran from Jackson Square near the riverfront to Beauregard Square several blocks away. The carriage drew to a stop in front of a small, undistinguished cottage less than a block from Beauregard Square. As Longarm and Claudette climbed down, still under the guns of their captors, Claudette nodded toward the square, where most of the grass had been beaten away by the feet of generations, leaving hard-packed dirt behind. "Gran'pere's gran'mama told him of the dances the slaves held there," Claudette said in a low voice. "They call it Congo Square then. Gran'pere see the dance one time when he just a little boy. Say he never forget the drummin' and the chantin' and the singin'. That square a voodoo place, you bet."

Longarm glanced at the open area, which looked innocuous enough in the early morning light, and still felt a chill as he thought about some of the things that might have happened there over all the lost decades.

"Move on," the leader of the gunmen ordered curtly. "No need for you to talk about such things."

They were touchy about their religion, thought Longarm, although according to what Claudette had told him, voodoo was really more of a bastard child of the original beliefs brought over to the West Indies by captured African slaves. He took Claudette's arm and led her up a narrow walk to the front door of the house. The two men followed them closely.

The door opened before Longarm and Claudette reached it. A pretty mulatto girl stood there, and she stepped back silently to let the visitors into the house. As Longarm entered the shadowy dwelling, a pungent, spicy smell came to him, not really unpleasant but quite distinctive. The girl who had let them in shut the door behind the two gunmen, who put their weapons away. Their attitude conveyed clearly the sense that guns were no longer needed.

They were in the presence of a power much greater than gunpowder and lead.

Moving noiselessly on bare feet, the girl led them down a corridor and into a room at the rear of the house. A fireplace with a large mantle stood on one side of the room, and despite the warmth of the morning, a fire was crackling merrily. The room was almost stifling with heat.

But the woman who sat in a large, straight-backed wooden chair near the fireplace was so old that she probably needed the flames to ward off the chill of the years. Longarm stopped, knowing that he was looking at Marie Laveau.

She was small, almost tiny, and made to look even more so by the size of the chair in which she sat. She wore a long gray dress and had a white lace shawl gathered around her bony shoulders. Long white hair fell around her delicate head. Her skin was so pale she could have easily passed for white, and her bloodless pallor made her eyes seem that much darker. She had an air of frailty about her, but those eyes made all the difference in the world, thought Longarm. They shone with power and intelligence.

The girl who had brought them here went to stand just behind Marie Laveau's chair. Now that he could see both of them at the same time, Longarm noted a faint resemblance. The girl was probably Marie Laveau's great-granddaughter, he thought. Then, remembering what Claudette had told him about how far back the memory of the Voodoo Queen went, he revised that estimate and threw in a few more generations.

Marie Laveau spoke, her voice as thin and reedy as the wind. "You are the man called Custis Parker."

It wasn't a question, but Longarm nodded anyway. "Yes, ma'am, I reckon I am."

"But that is a lie," said Marie Laveau. "You are not the man you are pretending to be."

Longarm tried to conceal his surprise. How could this old woman know who he really was?

Unless she had read the truth in a pile of chicken entrails or something like that, a part of his brain yammered at him. He pushed those thoughts far back in his head and asked coolly, "Who do you think I am, ma'am?"

Marie Laveau shook her head. "I do not know... but I will. This one ..." She raised her arm and pointed a claw-like finger at Claudette. "This one came to me on your behalf. I knew her gran'pere, and his gran'mama before him. I know the truth about her. And when she spoke to me of you, I knew that you had not told her the truth."

Claudette looked at Longarm in confusion. He was a mite mixed up himself. Maybe the best way to cut through all this would be to ask some direct questions.

"Did you send some men after me, ma'am? Men who some folks might call zombies?"

Longarm heard a hiss of indrawn breath from the men behind him. Obviously, he was daring a lot by being so blunt with the Voodoo Queen.

Marie Laveau did not seem angered by the question. Instead, she nodded slowly and said, "I sent a man to find you. He had a restless spirit and asked this favor of me. His brother had been killed, and he wished revenge on the men he held responsible."

"Luther..." murmured Longarm, remembering the doorman at the Brass Pelican. His guess that the first zombie might have been Luther's brother had just been confirmed. But he was still puzzled. "Why would anybody blame me for Luther's death? I had just gotten to New Orleans when it happened."

"You went to work for him... for the evil one!"

"You mean Jasper Millard?"

Marie Laveau made a sharp gesture with a hand that was nothing but bone and skin like crepe paper. "Do not speak his name in this house. He has brought much pain and suffering to my people." She looked over Longarm's shoulder at the men who had brought him and Claudette here.

The one who had spoken before stepped forward and said in a low voice, "There are many West Indians here in New Orleans. Some are the descendants of slaves, while others came here since the end of the war. But all know the power of Marie Laveau, and it is to her they have come to tell of men and women who vanish mysteriously in the night."

Longarm looked over at the man. "Vanish?" he repeated. "You mean from some sort of magic spell?"

"I mean they are kidnapped and forced into slavery by evil men!"

Longarm drew a deep breath. "Well, if that don't beat all," he said slowly. "So that's what this is all about."

Claudette still looked confused. Hoping to clear up a few things for her--and get them straight in his own mind at the same time--he turned back to Marie Laveau and went on. "The fella you call the evil one, he's kidnapping folks here in New Orleans and shipping 'em back to the Caribbean where their ancestors came from in the first place, isn't he? Slavery's still legal in some of those little island nations--like Saint Laurent." Marie Laveau nodded solemnly.

"That's why Millard's men loaded that cargo on those ships of his in the middle of the night and didn't let the regular dockworkers near them," continued Longarm. "It was human cargo."

"Human cargo bound for the sugar plantation of the man who works with the evil one," said Marie Laveau.

"Paul Clement," Longarm said through gritted teeth. Clement was just as crooked as Millard, was in fact his business partner.

Longarm hoped that Annie wasn't in the scheme up to her pretty neck as well.

"Why come after me?" he asked. "Just because I work for... well, you know who I work for."

"You were to be brought here to me," explained the Voodoo Queen. "You would have been placed under my control and sent back to the evil one, so that we would know his plans."

"You were going to make a spy out of me. I'd've wound up a zombie."

What passed for a smile tugged briefly at the old woman's mouth. "It is a different spell, requiring different charms. But your ultimate fate would have been the same, once we were through with you. When our efforts did not go as planned, it was decided that you could best serve our purposes by dying, thereby robbing the evil one of a strong right hand."

"So you sent those fellas to put a giant snake in my room."

"Many creatures obey my commands," said Marie Laveau, "not merely those that are human."

"What made you change your mind?"

"This one," said Marie Laveau, pointing once again at Claudette. "As I told you, once I had spoken with her, I knew there was more to you than there appeared to be, M'sieu Parker. Now that you are here, I am more convinced than ever. You are not an evil man. Why have you allied yourself with one?"

Longarm took another deep breath. So much of the puzzle that he had found in New Orleans had been cleared up here in this unassuming little house by an old woman who looked like she would fall over if somebody breathed hard on her. Under the circumstances, he supposed it was time to tell the truth.

"I'm a United States deputy marshal," he said bluntly. "My real name is Custis Long. I came to New Orleans to find out who was responsible for murdering another federal lawman who was trying to break up some smuggling rings."

Claudette stared at him, wide-eyed with surprise. Marie Laveau merely nodded, as if his words came as no shock to her at all.

"The man in the bayou," she said. "I heard of the fetish made to look like him which was placed outside the door of the chief marshal's office. It angered me greatly to think that someone would bring voudun into their petty criminal activities."

"You and your folks didn't have anything to do with that?" asked Longarm.

"Your law has nothing to do with us, we have nothing to do with it," said Marie Laveau. "We wish only that the evil one be stopped."

"Do you know someone named Royale?"

Once again that faint semblance of a smile appeared on Marie Laveau's gaunt face. "I know the name," she said.

"Is Royale smuggling slaves back to the West Indies too?"

"The one you call Royale does nothing to harm my people. That is all I care about."

Longarm wasn't sure why he believed the old woman, but he did. The friction between Royale and Millard was an added complication for him, but it had nothing to do with the voodoo angle. Which meant, he supposed, that the finger of guilt was pointing straight back at Millard again--and Paul Clement. Even though Millard professed to hate voodoo and want nothing to do with it, that didn't mean Clement felt the same way. Clement could have been the one responsible for placing the voodoo doll outside the chief marshal's office, in an attempt to muddy the waters and throw a false trail into any investigation of Douglas Ramsey's murder. The theory made sense, Longarm realized as he turned it over in his mind. The whole voodoo business had certainly had him guessing and coming up with some wild ideas, when once again, as usual, the motive all came down to money. He wondered how many other sugar plantations in the West Indies were being supplied with slave labor by Millard and Clement, and how high the price was.

But no matter how much those other plantation owners were paying, the price in human misery was even higher.

Marie Laveau steepled her bony fingers in front of her and asked, "What are you going to do about this matter?"

"I'm going to bust up that slavery ring good and proper," declared Longarm. "I'm convinced now that Mill-that the evil one and his partner are responsible for the murder of that other lawman. I'm going to call in some reinforcements and throw the whole lot of 'em behind bars."

"You can do this?" asked Marie Laveau.

Longarm thought about how that special prosecutor would react when he heard the password "Pikes Peak" and then Longarm laid this whole mess on his desk. He had a hunch Captain Denton and the other honest policemen in New Orleans would soon be paying a visit to the Brass Pelican and also to the Clement mansion on Chartres Street. Once again, he hoped that Annie's involvement in the affair had been slight or even nonexistent.

"I can do it," he promised Marie Laveau.

The Voodoo Queen nodded, evidently satisfied with his answer. "Then go. Put a stop to the evil one's crimes. But if you do not... then I will deal with him."

Jasper Millard didn't know it, thought Longarm, but he ought to be hoping right about now that the law caught up with him first.

Longarm clasped Claudette's hand as they were ushered out of the house and back into the carriage. "We will take you back to the hotel," said the leader of the gunmen, none of whom drew guns again now that they and Longarm seemed to be on the same side.

"Much obliged," said Longarm. He glanced over his shoulder one last time at the cottage. "That's a mighty scary old woman in there. No offense."

The man smiled thinly. "Only a fool would make an enemy of Marie Laveau."

"I reckon you've got that right, old son," Longarm said as he helped Claudette into the carriage.

Once Longarm and Claudette were rolling back through the streets toward the St. Charles Hotel--alone this time since the other men rode atop the carriage--Longarm lifted Claudette's hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. "Thank you," he murmured. "If the Voodoo Queen hadn't been so impressed with you, I'd still be in the dark about what was behind everything."

"I was so frightened, me," she said. "But I knew I would be all right as long as you were with me, Custis. If I had known you are a lawman!"

"Sorry. I was keeping that under my hat until I got everything sorted out."

"You were nearly killed, you bet, because folks think that you were really workin' for Mr. Millard. Guess it's good I didn't stay at the Brass Pelican after all, me."

Longarm nodded. "Yeah, I'd say so. You can stay in my hotel room if you like, until I get everything cleared up. Then I'll take you back down to the bayou country, if that's what you want."

Claudette leaned back against the seat of the carriage and gave Longarm a wanton smile. "That would be most nice, but I'm thinkin'." She grew more serious as she went on. "You be careful, you. Don't forget those men who try to kill you at the Mardi Gras parade last night."

"Those were Royale's men," said Longarm. "They won't be a threat to me once I've arrested Millard and Clement and it's obvious I don't work for Millard anymore."

"You know that? You sure that this Royale send them after you?"

"Who else could have done it?"

"Somebody else who don't trust you, maybe?"

Longarm frowned. She was right, of course. He had just assumed that Royale had sent the would-be killers after him.

But maybe Millard had grown too suspicious after finding Longarm in his office and decided that it would be easier all around to get rid of his new employee--permanently.

"I reckon that'll all get sorted out too," said Longarm. "But I'll be careful, you can count on that."

"You had better, or I come after you. I guarantee."

They left the carriage in the courtyard behind the St. Charles and went in the way they had left, through the back door. There were no guns pointed at them this time, of course, and Longarm was thankful for that. Marie Laveau's men drove off with the carriage, and if he never saw them again, that would be perfectly all right with Longarm. He had had enough of snakes and zombies and voodoo. All that was left now was rounding up some good, old-fashioned crooks and killers.

Claudette sat down on the bed as Longarm buckled on his gunbelt. The mattress bounced a little underneath her, and the sound made Longarm think wistfully of what they had shared earlier. There was no time for a return engagement now.

But once Millard and Paul Clement were either behind bars or dead--depending on how they took to being arrested--then there would be plenty of time for Claudette.

He shrugged into his coat, bent over, and kissed her forehead. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised.

"Be careful," she said again. Her expression was taut with anxiety.

Longarm nodded, gave her a reassuring smile, and left the room. It had been a long time since he had slept or eaten anything, but he wasn't particularly tired or hungry. The anticipation of justice about to be served was its own fuel, he supposed, at least in his case. He walked quickly through the lobby and stepped out through the ornate front entrance onto the short flight of stairs that led down to the street.

A woman had just gotten out of a cab that was pulled up in front of the hotel, and as she hurriedly turned and started up the stairs, she stopped short. So did Longarm.

Annie Clement was staring up at him, and she looked scared to death.

CHAPTER 14

"Custis!" Annie exclaimed in a ragged voice. Then she rushed up the stairs toward him.

He caught hold of her arms and looked at her. She was wearing the same gown she had been wearing the night before at the Brass Pelican and the Mardi Gras parade. A small bruise discolored her left cheekbone, and her jaw had been scraped on that side as well. Someone had hit her.

Longarm led her along the steps well away from the doorman before he asked grimly, "What happened?"

"P-Paul," she gasped out. "He... he lost his temper with me... because I saw what he did last night."

"What do you mean?"

"At the Mardi Gras parade... I saw him point to you, and then a minute later, those men tried to kill you! I... I could not believe it. Paul grabbed my arm and took me away from there. I struggled against him, but it was no use." She leaned her head against Longarm's chest as a shudder went through her. "He... he took me back to the mansion, and when I demanded to know why those men tried to hurt you, he... he hit me."

"You didn't go back to the Brass Pelican after the ruckus at the parade?"

She shook her head. "No, we went straight to the house.

So Millard had lied to him, thought Longarm. That was yet another indication that Millard and Clement were the ones who had tried to have him killed. And it indicated as well how ruthless they were about not having their slave-smuggling scheme exposed. They had been willing to murder Longarm just on the off chance that he wasn't who he appeared to be.

"Did Paul tell you anything about why he wanted me dead?" he asked tautly.

Again Annie shook her head. "Only that it had to do with a business arrangement he has with Jasper Millard, and that I shouldn't ask any more questions."

"You don't know anything about that so-called business arrangement?"

"No. I swear, Custis, I don't. I... I thought they were just friends."

Longarm's expression was bleak as he asked, "What happened after Paul hit you?"

"He..." Annie swallowed hard. "He threw me on the bed in my room and... and took me."

Longarm's teeth grated together. "Your own brother?" he asked, horrified and furious.

She looked down and wouldn't meet his eyes. "He has been doing it for years."

Paul Clement was going to be damned lucky if he just wound up behind bars, thought Longarm. He wanted very much at that moment to put a bullet through the head of the sick, murderous son of a bitch and be done with it.

But as long as he was working for Uncle Sam he wasn't judge, jury, or executioner. He drew a tight rein on his emotions and said, "And after that?"

"He locked me in my room, as he often does. I finally managed to get out a window and reach a branch of the magnolia tree on that side of the house, so that I could climb down. I knew I had to find you, so I could warn you that Paul was trying to have you killed."

"I'm obliged, but I already figured that out," he told her. "Your brother and Millard are partners in a smuggling ring, but it's not so much what they're bringing into the country that's got 'em worried about me. It's what they're shipping out."

"What?" asked Annie, a quaver of dread and apprehension in her voice.

Before Longarm could tell her, he heard rapid footsteps and the sound of a gun being cocked somewhere behind him.

He shoved Annie to the side as he whipped around, hoping that the push would send her out of the line of fire. A man in a tweed suit was standing behind one of the pillars that supported the hotel's second-floor balcony, using the pillar for cover as he aimed a Smith & Wesson revolver at Longarm. The weapon geysered flame and lead as an ugly whip-crack of sound split the early morning air. Longarm's gun was in his hand by now, and he heard the whine of the slug past his ear as he triggered his Colt.

Instinct and luck guided his shot. His bullet smashed the shoulder of the bushwhacker, knocking the man backward. The Smith & Wesson went flying.

That gunman wasn't the only threat, however, as Longarm saw right away. More men with drawn guns were darting from pillar to pillar, closing in on him and beginning to fire. At the same time, another cab drew up at the curb and several men leaped out of it, also with guns drawn. Clement must have discovered that Annie had escaped from the mansion and figured she would come looking for Longarm, and now he and Millard were desperate to get rid of both of them at the same time.

The doorman had ducked into the hotel for cover as shots rang out, but he was blowing his whistle frantically, the shrill sound keening through the air. That would summon the police, thought Longarm--but by the time help arrived, he and Annie would be dead, both of them shot full of holes.

Unless he did the unexpected.

Annie had slumped to the granite steps when Longarm shoved her, and so far she seemed to be unhit by the flying slugs. Longarm reached her side in a single bound and grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet. He couldn't leave her behind. He snapped his last two shots at the men who had just emerged from the cab. The vehicle's driver, realizing how much danger he had innocently gotten mixed up in, was already whipping his horses into a run. As the gunmen ducked aside from Longarm's shots, the big lawman leaped down the steps toward the cab, hauling Annie with him.

He threw her bodily at the door of the cab, which was still flapping open as the driver pulled away from the curb. With a startled cry, Annie grabbed the door and pulled herself inside. Longarm leaped right behind her, but the door was already out of reach. The best he could do was catch onto the back of the cab with one hand while the other still held his Colt.

His arm felt as if it was nearly jerked out of its socket, but he managed to hang on. As he pulled his feet up, his body was thrown against the rear of the cab. The impact knocked the breath from his body, but still he held on. He jammed the empty Colt back in its holster, taking only a couple of tries to do so, then began clambering up the body of the cab.

Behind him, more shots blasted. Bullets thudded into the cab only inches from him. Longarm hoped the driver had the sense to swing around a corner as soon as they reached the end of the block. That would put them out of reach of the gunmen.

"Custis!"

The shout made him look up. Annie was hanging over the rear seat of the open-topped cab, extending a hand toward him. "Get down!" he called to her, but she shook her head stubbornly.

"Let me help you!" she cried over the rattle of the cab's wheels.

Figuring that it would be better not to waste time arguing, Longarm grasped her hand. At the same moment, he managed to finally get a foothold on the cab's body, and in a matter of seconds he pulled himself up and sprawled over the back of the seat, knocking Annie to the floor of the cab. Her face was white with fear, but she laughed hollowly at the awkwardness of it. Longarm was lying half on top of her. "This would be more enjoyable under other circumstances, Custis!" she said.

That was sure enough true. Longarm started to push himself up, then had to grab the side of the cab to catch his balance as the vehicle swayed at high speed around a corner. That was just what Longarm had hoped the driver would do. He raised his head for a last glance down the street in front of the hotel.

"Damn it!"

That glimpse had been enough to tell him that the men who were out for his scalp were piling into another cab, one they had stopped on the street at gunpoint. Longarm saw them jerking the cab's previous occupants and the driver out of the vehicle. One of the killers was going to handle the reins himself, more than likely. Then Longarm couldn't see any more, because the corner of the hotel cut off his view.

The gunmen weren't going to give up as easily as he had hoped. Longarm reached up and tapped the driver on the shoulder. The man cast a glance that was wide-eyed with fear at his unexpected passengers.

"Keep going as fast as you can!" shouted Longarm. "Head for the city hall! I'm a lawman!"

The driver bobbed his head and whipped the horses that much harder. Longarm was thrown against the rear seat as the cab lurched forward.

A bullet spanged off the metalwork beside him. "Look out, Custis!" screamed Annie.

Longarm swiveled his head and looked behind them. The other cab had taken the corner even tighter, and was now racing after them. He saw muzzle flashes from the guns of the men who worked for Clement and Millard. Since Annie was already sitting on the floorboard, he told her, "Stay down there!"

Looking forward again, he saw that the cab was approaching the riverfront. If the driver took a left when he reached the docks, that would bring them back to Decatur Street in a few blocks, and then they would reach the city hall within minutes. Longarm wanted to get Annie into the safety of the building and find that special prosecutor's office. There would be plenty of work for the man once Longarm laid out the story.

In the meantime, as he crouched on the floor of the cab next to Annie, he shucked the spent shells from his Colt and thumbed in fresh ones. Maybe he could slow down the pursuit, although he would have to be careful not to hit any pedestrians or other innocent bystanders along the street. Longarm raised himself up and lined the Colt's sights on the cab that was chasing them.

Before he could fire, a bullet sang past his ear, and he heard a grunt of pain. Annie screamed. Longarm jerked around, afraid that she had been hit. Instead, he saw that the driver of the cab was half-standing, clawing at his back where the bullet had caught him. With a groan, he toppled backward, landing upside down on the floorboards next to Annie. He was either unconscious or dead.

Longarm didn't have time to find out which, because the team pulling the cab was still running flat out--straight toward the Mississippi River.

Biting back a curse, Longarm clambered over the driver's body and scrambled over the front seat toward the driver's box. He looked desperately for the reins and saw them dangling over the front of the box. He made a frantic grab for them, but they slid out of his reach, falling under the hooves of the racing horses.

If someone didn't stop those animals or turn them aside, Longarm realized, they were going to run right into the river in about thirty seconds. He threw a glance back at the pursuers. They were still there, only they had closed the gap a little. Bullets were still thudding into the cab.

There was only one thing to do, Longarm told himself as the runaway cab crossed the street that ran alongside the river. The hooves of the horses thundered on the planks of a short dock as Longarm balanced himself and then leaped forward, intending to land on the back of one of the leaders so that he could at least use the harness to pull the team to a stop before the cab plunged into the river.

He was in midair before he realized that the attempt had come just a little too late.

Then they were at the end of the dock and the horses and the cab were falling out from underneath him and he was falling too, and Annie was screaming and the waters of the mighty Mississippi came up and slammed into him, wrapping around him and pulling him down into the deepest darkness he had ever known in his life.

He was cold when he woke up, so cold that he thought he would never again be warm. The chattering of his teeth told him that he was still alive. A dead man couldn't feel like this--or so Longarm assumed. But then the thought struck him that maybe he was dead. Maybe what he was experiencing was the coldness of the grave.

And the fact that he was aware of the sensation meant that he was being brought back to a mere shambling semblance of life. He was being turned into a zombie!

The cry burst from his lips before he could stop it, and he heard an ugly chuckle from somewhere nearby. "Waking up, Parker--or whatever your name really is?"

The question came from Jasper Millard.

Someone else was close by. Longarm felt icy fingers clutching at his hand. The fingers of a corpse? No, they weren't that cold, he decided, and they had the strength and vitality of life as well.

"Custis! Please wake up, Custis. I thought you were dead."

Longarm's eyes fluttered open. "A-Annie?" he croaked out.

Her face swam into his line of sight, filling his vision as she leaned closely above him. Her hair was wild and damp, and there was a fresh bruise on her face. But she still looked beautiful to Longarm, because she was alive and that meant he was alive too.

The real question was how long that would hold true for each of them.

His vision had cleared enough for him to be able to look up past her and see a wooden roof high overhead. As she babbled her gratitude that he was still among the living, her voice echoed hollowly, and Longarm realized now that Millard's words had had a definite echo too. They were in a large room somewhere--not the Brass Pelican, Longarm decided. Someplace else.

"I think we should just go ahead and shoot him right here and now. He's bound to be a lawman."

That was Millard's voice again, booming out its threat. Someone answered him in a smoother, more sophisticated tone. "No, it will be much more effective to feed him to the alligators. Perhaps part of his body will be found too, and send a message to the authorities." Paul Clement, thought Longarm. That son of a bitch.

"Yeah, like we sent a message with that other badge-toting snooper? It was bad enough that all of his corpse didn't get eaten, but then you had to go and leave that voodoo doll on his boss's doorstep. I don't like messing with that voodoo shit, and besides, it just stirred up the law that much more."

"I believed it would confuse the issue enough to throw off any investigation into Ramsey's death," Clement replied coldly. "I did what I thought was best, Jasper--and you should remember whose idea our arrangement was in the first place."

"Yeah, yeah," replied Millard in a surly tone. "You're a damn genius, all right."

"I've made us a great deal of money so far. The other plantation owners on Saint Laurent and the neighboring islands are quite happy to meet our price for the workforce we provide."

Their squabbling had confirmed all of Longarm's speculations and answered all the questions that had brought him to New Orleans. The knowledge wasn't going to do him a hell of a lot of good, though, unless he could somehow get away from his captors and find some help.

While Millard and Clement were talking, Annie had been stroking Longarm's face and huddling against him in fear. He was aware now that he was soaking wet and lying on a hard floor. Probably no more than half an hour had passed since the runaway cab had plunged into the river; based on that fact, the high ceiling, the shadows that filled the big room, and the likely proximity to the riverfront, he figured they were in a warehouse. Millard probably owned at least one such building, so that he could store the goods he smuggled into New Orleans until he had a chance to dispose of them.

A warehouse would be a good place to hold prisoners who were destined to be shipped out to the West Indies and a life of slavery on the sugar plantations too. Longarm wondered if there were any such captives here now, or if he and Annie were the only prisoners.

There was only one way to find out. His hands weren't tied, he realized, so he got them under him and pushed himself into a sitting position.

"Don't try anything, Marshal," warned Clement. "You are a United States marshal, I take it."

"Custis Long," admitted Longarm. "I'd show you my badge and bona fides, but I left 'em back in Denver."

"Ah, they sent in a man all the way from Colorado, just so that no one here would recognize you. Quite a plan." Clement's tone was mocking.

"Yeah, and it worked too," said Longarm dryly. "All you bastards are under arrest."

Clement laughed, but Millard just glowered at Longarm. The two partners in crime were standing about a dozen feet away. They were flanked by four gunmen, no doubt some of the assassins who had been sent after Longarm and Annie at the hotel. The men had their weapons drawn and ready, so even though Longarm's hands and feet were not tied, there was no way he could make a move against Clement and Millard.

The warehouse was perhaps half full of crates of various shapes and sizes. There was probably all kinds of contraband hidden here, thought Longarm. He wondered if there was anything around he could use for a weapon. Faint light filtered in through small, filthy windows that were set high in the walls just under the ceiling. A couple of kerosene lanterns that had been placed on crates also provided illumination.

To stall for time, and to satisfy his own curiosity, Longarm asked, "Why did your men pull us out of the river instead of letting us drown? From the looks of things, you wanted us both dead anyway, so you could've let the Mississippi take care of it for you."

"I was nearby, keeping an eye on things," replied Clement, "and when I saw that cab go into the water, I put in an appearance and ordered the men to rescue you and Annie. Then we brought you here because I have an even more appropriate fate in mind for you both."

"Yeah, I heard," grunted Longarm. "You plan on feeding me to the gators. Is that what you're going to do to Your own sister?" Beside him, Annie grew even paler, and her hands tightened on his arm.

"Of course not," said Clement with a shake of his head. "Jasper here got worried when he found you snooping in his office, so he decided that the best thing to do would be to get rid of you, even though you might have been telling the truth about wanting one of those Cuban cigars. I concurred. We can't afford to take any chances of our operation being discovered by the law. Then poor Annie realized that we were trying to have you killed after that donnybrook at the Mardi Gras parade, and she became quite upset. I had to take stern measures to calm her down."

"You raped me!" Annie hissed at him. "The same way you've been raping me for years, ever since I was fourteen years old! How could you? I'm your sister, you... you..." Hatred and horror made words fail her.

Smiling, Clement slid one of the Cuban cigars from his vest pocket and sniffed it appreciatively. "Hardly," he said. "You were never told about it, my dear, but our parents merely adopted you when you were only an infant. You're not a blood relation at all, so I saw no reason not to avail myself of your charms." His fingers tightened on the cigar as venom began to drip from his words. "As a matter of fact, you're an octoroon, darling Annie. You have nigger blood flowing in your veins." Clement controlled himself with a visible effort, stuck the cigar in his mouth, and said around it, "So I've decided to send you to one of the other islands so that you can work in the fields with the other niggers."

"You... you..." Again, Annie could not find the words to convey her loathing of the man she had considered her brother.

"Son of a bitch?" suggested Longarm. "Low-down rabid skunk? No, I reckon that'd be an insult to the skunk."

Clement shook his head and said, "Go ahead and have your fun, Marshal. You're going to be dead very soon anyway."

"Yeah," put in Millard. "And you were a piss-poor right-hand man. Sure, you helped out a little those times Royale tried to get at me, but I could've just as easily been killed."

"What about Royale?" asked Longarm, again trying to postpone his impending death. "What's his part in all of this?"

"Just what I already told you," said Millard. "He runs another smuggling ring, and he wants to put me out of business."

"Does he run slaves to the West Indies too?"

Millard shook his head and snorted in contempt. "Not that I've ever heard. He may be a murdering, cold-blooded bastard, but he's too good to get his hands dirty with something like slave-running."

That just about wrapped it up, thought Longarm. Royale's activities and the involvement of the Voodoo Queen had been mere distractions in this case, despite the dangers they had represented. Almost from the moment of his arrival in New Orleans, he had been right in amongst the very men he was after. Clement's part in the smuggling scheme, and in Douglas Ramsey's murder, had been unexpected, but Jasper Millard was indeed a villain, just as Longarm had suspected from the beginning.

Clement drew a small pistol from his pocket. "Now, Marshal Long," he said, "I believe you have an appointment with some scaly friends of ours."

Annie pushed herself in front of Longarm. "No!" she cried out. "You can't do this, Paul." Her tone softened. "If... if I ever meant anything to you, I'm asking you to spare us-"

Clement leveled and cocked his weapon. Beside him, Millard also drew a gun, and the other four men raised theirs. "Oh, you meant something to me, all right," he said to Annie, "but not nearly as much as the money does. And I'll simply shoot you too unless you get out of the way."

Longarm saw that he was going to have to shove Annie aside, out of the line of fire, and then come up off the floor in a desperate lunge at Clement and Millard. He'd be shot full of holes before he got halfway there, he knew, but at least making such a play might save Annie's life.

Though what sort of life it would be, condemned to slavery, was another matter entirely.

Longarm's muscles were tensed and he was ready to move, but he didn't have to.

Because behind Clement and Millard, the huge wooden double doors that led into the warehouse suddenly blew up with no warning.

CHAPTER 15

The explosion shattered the doors, sending a hail of flame, noise, and splinters into the warehouse. Clement and Millard were thrown forward as if a giant hand had slapped them on the back. Their gunmen were staggered too. A couple of them cried out as large splinters of wood from the doors sliced their hands and faces.

Longarm grabbed Annie and threw both of them flat on the floor, shielding her with his body. The force of the explosion and the debris that it flung out passed over them, leaving them unharmed. Longarm barked, "Stay down!" in Annie's ear, then levered himself up off the planks of the floor. He put all the momentum of his movements behind the punch he threw at Paul Clement.

His fist smashed into Clement's jaw so hard that Longarm felt a satisfying shiver all the way up his arm to the elbow. Clement's head slewed around and his knees came unhinged. Longarm made a grab for the pistol as Clement fell, but it slipped out of Clement's hand and bounced away across the floor. Longarm saw Millard's mouth working and read the bald man's lips. Kill them! Kill them! But he heard only muffled sounds because he was half-deafened by the explosion. He realized that Annie might not have heard his order to stay down, and when he turned his head to check on her safety, something crashed into him. As he fell, the hands of the man who had just tackled him closed around his throat, cutting off his air.

That sensation brought back memories of almost being killed by the first so-called zombie who had come after him, Luther's brother, whom Longarm had been forced to kill. This man was no zombie, just a hired ruffian, and Longarm was able to loosen his grip by bringing a knee up into his groin. He felt that, all right. Longarm brought his cupped hands up and slapped them over the man's ears. He howled in pain and let go, and Longarm was able to heave him off to the side.

Longarm rolled over and came up on hands and knees, and as he did so, he saw a wagon burst out of the smoke hanging in the opening that had been blown in the wall. The horses pulling it were wild-eyed from the smoke and the noise of the blast. Or maybe they were just Hell-horses, Longarm thought crazily, because the men who clambered down from the wagon sure enough looked like denizens of Hades.

They were huge, and Longarm had to ask himself if their eyes were actually glowing or if it was just a trick of the light. Their slow, awkward movements were familiar to Longarm, as was the way they jerked but did not fall from the bullets fired by the gunmen. Clearly, the explosion and this attack were presents from the Voodoo Queen.

Longarm could wonder how Marie Laveau had known of the danger he and Annie were in later, after things had settled down. For the moment, he was still concerned with keeping the two of them alive, and the best way to do that was to remove the threat of Clement and Millard.

From the corner of his eye, Longarm saw one of the men from the wagon grab hold of a gunman. The hired killer shrieked and emptied his pistol into the man's chest, but the effect of the shots was too late to save him. The death blow was already falling. The man's balled fist came hammering down on the gunman's head, crushing his skull like an eggshell. Longarm's hearing was starting to come back, and he could have sworn that he heard the crunch of bone. Slowly, both men toppled over, dead before they hit the floor.

Longarm scooped up the pistol Clement had dropped and swung around toward Millard. A desperate look was on Millard's face as he shouted, "Scott! Willie!" at the two remaining henchmen who were still on their feet. Scott and Willie had problems of their own, however, and couldn't come to his help. Both of them were trying to avoid the lunges of the zombies who were after them.

Millard grimaced and pegged a shot toward Longarm. The bullet whipped past Longarm's head as he returned fire. Millard was already darting aside, and Longarm's shot missed. Millard threw himself toward the piles of crates, intending to use them for cover. Longarm ran after him.

Millard knew the layout of the warehouse a lot better than he did, Longarm realized. Once Millard got in that maze of stacked-up boxes, he would be as difficult to track down as a rat in a hole. Longarm snapped another shot at him, then grated a curse as he saw the slug kick up splinters from the crate behind which Millard had just disappeared.

"Custis!" Annie cried out behind him.

He jerked around to see that she was on her feet, pointing toward the other side of the warehouse. One of the gunmen was dangling limply by the neck from the hands of one of the Voodoo Queen's men, but the other one was still struggling with his almost inhuman opponent as flames danced around their feet. Longarm saw the shattered chimney of a lantern shining in pieces on the floor near them, and knew that in their struggle they must have jostled it off the crate on which it had been sitting. The kerosene that had spilled when the lantern broke had ignited furiously, and now the flames were spreading rapidly across the floor to more of the crates.

Longarm cast a glance over his shoulder toward the spot where Millard had vanished. There was no time to try to root him out now. Instead, Longarm ran across the big room toward Annie. As he reached her, he saw the broken body of the final gunman being cast aside. The zombie shambled a couple of steps as if confused, then stopped and sank to his knees. His shirt was sodden with blood, the spreading stain black in the harsh glare of the flames. He pitched slowly forward onto his face, and then lay still as death claimed him. Longarm realized that he and Annie were the only ones still on their feet.

He grabbed her arm and hustled her over toward the wagon. The horses were trying to rear up in their traces, driven mad by the smoke and the smell of blood. Longarm helped Annie up into the bed of the wagon, then ran back for the one gunman who was still alive, the one who had been trying to choke Longarm to death until he had busted the man's eardrums. Longarm saw trails of blood leaking out of both ears as he stooped to grab the unconscious man under the arms and drag him toward the wagon. Deaf or not, he could still testify against Clement and Millard.

Longarm hoisted the man and threw him into the back of the wagon. Annie cringed away from him. Longarm turned back for Clement and realized angrily that the mastermind behind the slave-running scheme was gone. "What the hell!" Longarm exclaimed aloud. Only moments ago, Clement had been lying right there on the floor where he had fallen after Longarm knocked him out... hadn't he?

Longarm didn't know. In the noise and confusion, almost anything could have happened and he might not have noticed. What mattered now was that he was running out of time. One entire wall of the warehouse was already ablaze, and the flames were spreading toward the jagged opening where the doors had been.

There was no sign of Millard either. Longarm didn't know if he had gotten out of the building by some other way or was still somewhere in those small mountains of crates. Being careful that he didn't get anywhere near the lashing hooves of the horses, Longarm hurried to the front of the team and reached up to grab the harness of one of the leaders. It took all of his strength to haul the animal back down and bring it under some semblance of control. Straining and pulling, he led the team in a circle until they were pointed back toward the opening.

"Hang on!" Longarm shouted to Annie, then he slapped the closest of the leaders on the rump as hard as he could and jumped back out of the way.

With the sight and smell of open air in front of them, the horses lunged forward, pulling the wagon behind them. Longarm saw Annie holding tightly to one of the sideboards as the vehicle rocked and clattered out through the opening. Longarm cast one more look around the inside of the warehouse, making certain that everyone else was dead. There was still no sign of Clement or Millard.

Longarm ran out into the fresh air after the wagon. It was an overcast day, but the sunlight that made it through the clouds still seemed almost painfully bright after the dimness of the warehouse. Longarm saw a crowd of dockworkers converging on the burning warehouse, and somewhere in the distance he heard bells clanging. The fire wagons would be here soon.

He gulped down deep breaths of air, and despite the humid stickiness and the rotten fish odor, nothing had ever smelled quite as good to him. When he looked back at the building, thick gouts of black smoke were billowing up from the warehouse, filling the sky above the Crescent City and the mighty river that ran through it. The roof was blazing now, and with a roar, part of it fell in. All the contraband Clement and Millard had stored there was going to be consumed in the fire.

The thought of Clement and Millard made a bitter taste clog Longarm's mouth. The two ringleaders had gotten away. They were responsible for the murder of a federal lawman, as well as untold suffering on the part of the men and women who had been kidnapped and forced into slavery. Add to that the suffering of the loved ones left behind by those victims of the slavery ring, and the toll was high.

Longarm was not going to rest until Clement and Millard had paid for it.

One of the dockworkers came running up to him and grasped his arm. "Hey, mister, you all right?" asked the man. When Longarm managed to nod, the dockworker went on. "What in hell happened?"

"Hell," murmured Longarm, but it wasn't a curse. "You're closer to right than you know, old son."

Longarm turned away from the man, who had a confused expression on his face, as a woman called urgently, "Custis!" The voice didn't belong to Annie Clement, though. When Longarm turned around, he saw Claudette hurrying through the crowd toward him.

She threw herself into his arms and kissed him. Instinctively, Longarm embraced her, pulling her close against him. After a moment, Claudette moved her head back, breaking the kiss, and asked anxiously, "You are all right, you?"

"I'm fine," he assured her. "A mite wet and bedraggled and beat up, but you can bet I'll live."

"When I saw from the window of the hotel room, me, how those men were shooting at you, I knew I had to help you. So I pulled my clothes on and took myself off through the back of the hotel mighty quick-like, and I went to see Marie Laveau."

"How'd you know where to tell her to find me?" asked Longarm, puzzled.

Claudette shook her head. "Marie Laveau, she got her ways of findin' anybody she want to. An' so do I."

The answer didn't satisfy him, but Longarm let it pass for the moment. The important thing was that he and Annie were still alive, thanks to Claudette. Not only that, but several of the men who had been working for Clement and Millard were dead, and the two schemers themselves were now on the run. Their stranglehold on the West Indians who lived in New Orleans was broken.

With an arm around Claudette, Longarm went over to the wagon, which had come to a halt a safe distance from the burning warehouse. Annie was still sitting in the back of the vehicle, looking half-stunned. Near her, the man Longarm had tossed into the wagon was stirring around as consciousness came back to him. Longarm turned to a couple of the curious bystanders and pointed to the man. "I'm a United States deputy marshal," he told the onlookers. "Grab that fella and hang on to him until the local law gets here. He's under arrest."

The men were only too eager to help, even though Longarm hadn't flashed a badge or any other identification at them. They climbed into the wagon and found some rope, which they promptly used to truss up the prisoner.

Meanwhile, Longarm stepped up onto the driver's box and leaned over the back of the seat to hold out a hand to Annie, who was still huddled against the sideboard. "Come on, Annie," he said. "Let's get you out of there."

She looked up at him, hollow-eyed with shock, but after a moment her gaze cleared a little and she was able to nod. She reached up and clasped Longarm's hand. He lifted her to her feet and helped her down from the wagon.

Claudette stood nearby, watching curiously, and over the clanging of the bells from the fire wagons that were approaching, she said, "Mademoiselle Annie is all right?"

"She will be," said Longarm. "With any luck, she will be."

The fire wagons raced by and came to a stop in front of the warehouse, but it was evident that nothing could save the building now. More than half of it had already been consumed by the inferno. The concern now was to keep the flames from spreading to the surrounding structures, and the firemen joined their efforts with those of the bucket brigade that had already formed to wet down the other buildings. With the river so close by, there would be no shortage of water for the tanks on the fire wagons.

Men were running around and shouting, but even in that confusion, Longarm heard someone bellow, "Parker!" Only one man would still be calling him that out of habit, Longarm thought as he jerked around and looked toward the burning warehouse in time to see something that would remain etched in horror on his brain for a long time to come.

A figure lurched out of the fire-filled opening in the wall, and even though flames flickered all around it, the blazing form managed to keep moving. Longarm recognized the human torch as Jasper Millard, and knew that Millard must have tried to get out of the warehouse by some other means, only to fail and be trapped in the blaze.

Annie and Claudette were flanking Longarm, and both of them gasped and cried out. Millard's shambling gait reminded Longarm of the zombies, but no potion or black magic ritual was animating the man's body. Millard was moving and staying alive through the power of sheer hate, and as he stumbled toward Longarm the firemen and the crowd of dockworkers and onlookers fell back, just as horrified as Longarm and the two women were.

Somehow, Millard managed to keep coming until he was only a dozen feet away from Longarm. The flames surrounding him had died out, leaving behind only a blackened, crackling husk of a man. Millard raised his hands and lurched toward Longarm, the bones of his fingers showing through the burned flesh.

Then Longarm raised the pistol he still held in his hand and said, "I'd tell you to burn in Hell, Millard, but I reckon you're already there."

The whip-crack of the pistol shot shattered the eerie silence that had fallen. Millard's head jerked back as the bullet bored through a brain that had already boiled in its own fluids. One more stumbling step, and Millard collapsed. Longarm almost expected him to fall apart in ashes when he hit the street, but the charred corpse remained intact. Longarm slowly lowered the gun as more flames and smoke rose from the burning warehouse.

"Drop that gun, mister!"

The order came from behind Longarm, roared in a harsh voice. Before he turned, Longarm leaned over and placed the gun on the ground, then straightened and swung around to face a furious Captain Denton of the New Orleans police force. The captain's face was brick-red with anger.

"Damn it, I just saw you murder that man!" burst out Denton.

"I'd call it putting him out of his misery--and ours," said Longarm.

"I don't care what you call it, you're under arrest!" Denton gestured to the blue-uniformed men with him. "Take this man into custody!"

A tired grin plucked at Longarm's mouth. "I'll go peaceablelike, Captain, especially if you'll take me to see the special prosecutor."

Denton frowned in confusion. "What in blazes are you talking about?"

"I've got a story to tell that fella... all about Pikes Peak."

CHAPTER 16

Saint Laurent rose green and beautiful from the waters of the Caribbean, an island some twenty miles long and ten wide, its eastern end dominated by a rugged volcanic peak that had long since become inactive. From the mountain, the land sloped gradually to the west in a series of gentle hills and broad valleys filled with stalks of sugarcane. Along the western shore was a sandy beach dotted with clumps of palm trees. It was a truly lovely place, thought Longarm as he stood at the railing of the ship that had brought him here, his hands gripping it tightly.

Too bad Saint Laurent had such ugliness hiding amidst its beauty.

A week had passed since the fire that had consumed the warehouse used by Paul Clement and Jasper Millard to house the goods they smuggled into the country--and sometimes those they smuggled out. Longarm had spent a goodly portion of that week explaining things first to Captain Denton, then to a series of the captain's superiors, culminating in that special prosecutor whose summons had brought Longarm to New Orleans in the first place. Then there had been the flurry of telegraph messages burning up the wires between the Crescent City and the Mile High City as Longarm attempted to clear everything up for Billy Vail. None of it had been easy, but finally everyone involved had accepted Longarm's explanations, and Vail had ordered him to return to Denver.

Longarm didn't like disobeying a direct order, but he had done it before when it was necessary, and this was one of those times.

Paul Clement's body had not been found in the burned-out warehouse, which meant that he had regained consciousness and slipped out of the building before the fire spread, while Longarm had his hands full with other matters. Clement had raped Annie--and even though she had been adopted, Longarm still considered that incest--and he had been responsible for plenty of other evil doings.

As long as Clement was walking around free and breathing perfectly good air, Longarm wasn't going back to Denver.

Avoiding Billy Vail's orders had necessitated a bribe out of Longarm's own pocket to a telegraph operator in New Orleans. The key-pounder had sent back a wire saying that there was trouble along the line and to please repeat the last message, and Longarm had lit a shuck out of that Western Union office and headed for the hotel, then the docks.

Luck had been with him, and within an hour, he was on a ship sailing for Saint Laurent. The vessel had other ports of call in the West Indies, but Saint Laurent was the only one in which Longarm was interested.

The captain of the ship came up and leaned on the railing beside Longarm. "Are you sure you want us to put you ashore here, Marshal?" asked the man. "There's a good-sized port city just down the coast a few miles."

"This'll do fine, as long as it's not too much trouble for you and your men, Captain," replied Longarm.

"All right," the captain said with a shrug. "I'll have the men lower a boat, and we'll have you safely ashore in a few minutes."

Longarm supposed that making this voyage had been in the back of his mind from the very moment he had discovered that Paul Clement had not perished in the burning warehouse. He had gotten hold of a map of Saint Laurent and sat down with Annie so that she could show him where the Clement sugar plantation was located. Longarm tried to keep the conversation light and innocuous, but he thought he could see awareness in Annie's eyes. She wanted him to go after Paul too.

Claudette had not been quite so understanding. When he had stopped by the St. Charles to throw a few things into his warbag, she had caught hold of his arm and looked up at him worriedly.

"Custis, you are not leaving yet, no," she had insisted.

"Afraid I've got to," Longarm had told her. "There's something left undone."

"You are not responsible for bringing justice to the whole world, you."

"I'm responsible for my part of it."

"But Custis..." And here she had lowered her voice and come into his arms, reaching down to slide her hand over his groin and then cup his shaft, which was growing hard despite his best intentions. "There is so little-little time, and so much we have not done, us."

"Maybe I'll be back to New Orleans someday," Longarm had told her in a husky whisper.

She had turned away from him and flounced across the room. "An' maybe I will not be here, me."

That was how they had left things, and even now, Longarm felt like sighing in regret as he climbed down into the small boat that would take him ashore on Saint Laurent. Claudette was one hell of a woman.

But when you came right down to it, he had ultimately said good-bye to every woman he had ever met. That was part of the price of carrying a badge. Other lawmen might be able to marry and have families, but Longarm had never figured he could manage it. The chances were too good he would leave a widow behind, probably with a passel of kids who would miss their daddy something fierce. The bitter-sweet pain of always saying good-bye was easier to bear.

At least he hadn't had to say good-bye to Marie Laveau. He had only seen the Voodoo Queen that one time, and if he never crossed trails with her again, that would be just fine with him.

The small boat's hull scraped the sand of the beach, and one of the crewmen jumped out to pull it higher out of the water. Longarm stood up carefully, his warbag thrown over his shoulder, and stepped out onto the sand. "Much obliged, gents," he said to the men who had brought him ashore.

The second mate, who commanded this detail, said, "The cap'n told me to tell you, Marshal, that we'll be in port down the coast for a day, if you want to catch up to us once your business is taken care of."

Longarm nodded. "I'll sure try to do that, old son. Reckon you've got room for another passenger besides me?"

"Plenty of room in the brig," said the young sailor with a grin.

Longarm returned the grin and touched a finger to the brim of his hat as the boat was pushed off. The sailors didn't know exactly what had brought him to Saint Laurent, but they had a pretty good idea. They had figured out that he hoped to have a prisoner with him on the return voyage.

Longarm hoped so too. Paul Clement deserved to spend some time behind bars--before he wound up at the end of a hangman's rope.

The closest Longarm had ever been to the tropics was the jungles of southern Mexico. The thick vegetation here along the coastline of Saint Laurent was similar, and so were the prevalent smells of rich earth and decay. He pushed through the clinging plants and walked inland, watching for snakes and other varmints. He almost wished he had a machete, so that he could chop an easier path through the jungle. Even an old-fashioned Bowie knife would have come in handy.

Luckily, though, he didn't have far to go. By late afternoon, he had reached the edge of the fields that were planted with sugarcane. It would be a while before the crop was ready for harvesting, but the stalks were already pretty tall. Longarm was grateful for their concealment as he hunkered down among them and waited for the sun to go down.

He would wait for nightfall before he paid a visit to Paul Clement.

Somewhere far off in the darkness, a jungle cat of some sort let out a howl. Longarm grimaced. Back in his usual stomping grounds, such a sound would have come from a wolf or a coyote or maybe even an Apache on the prowl. Here on this tropical island, he didn't know what sort of big cats might be wandering around.

He glanced up at the sky overhead, black as sable and dotted with pinpricks of brilliant light. He would be glad when he was once more under the light of Western stars.

About fifty yards from where Longarm crouched, the plantation house belonging to Paul Clement loomed in the middle of a clearing that had been hacked out of the jungle. A broad veranda ran all the way around the house, and several tall, broad-shouldered men carrying rifles patrolled it regularly. Longarm had been able to establish that much after spying on the house for only a few minutes. As one of the guards turned a corner, another rounded the far corner, so that each side of the house always had a sentry watching for trouble. Getting in there was going to be a challenge--and he wasn't even sure that Paul Clement was inside, although it seemed likely considering the way the place was guarded.

And there was really nowhere else Clement could have gone. The police in New Orleans had searched the mansion on Chartres Street and found no sign of him. Officers had been left on duty there in case he returned. But Longarm thought it was much more likely--and Annie agreed with him--that Clement had run back home to Saint Laurent. Though his schemes had been ruined, here in this stronghold he could live out the rest of his life without being disturbed.

Or so he thought. Longarm didn't intend to let that happen.

A door leading onto the veranda opened, and a man stepped out to speak in low tones to the guard who was patrolling that side of the house at the moment. Slender, dressed in immaculate white trousers and a blousy white shirt, the man was undoubtedly Paul Clement. Longarm's jaw tightened as he watched Clement talking to the guard. The big man nodded, and Clement went back inside.

A couple of minutes later, two more men came from the direction of the slave quarters. They had a young black woman with them. The dress she wore was short and so tight that her lush body seemed to be on the verge of bursting out of it. She looked scared and reluctant, and Longarm wasn't surprised when she was taken up on the veranda and led into the house. Clement had almost certainly sent for her so that she could warm his bed tonight.

Longarm's fingers strayed to the walnut grips of the Colt he carried in his cross-draw rig. He was no cold-blooded killer, and he wasn't just about to take the law into his own hands... but a man like Clement made him at least ponder the possibility for a few moments before discarding it.

If he could, Longarm was going to take Clement back to New Orleans so that the law could deal with him. But if Clement made that impossible... well, Longarm wasn't going to lose a hell of a lot of sleep over it. Or any sleep, for that matter.

It was going to take a distraction for him to be able to get into the house, Longarm realized. But what was it going to be?

The sudden shouts that came to his ears through the warm night air made his head jerk up. He looked around, toward the slave quarters. An orange glow lit the sky in that direction, and even though Longarm didn't speak much French, he knew that whoever was hollering over there was alerting the plantation to the fact that something was on fire.

Providence, thought Longarm. He looked toward the house and saw that the other three guards had run around the veranda to join the one on this side. All four of the sentries were staring toward the slave quarters.

Clement appeared in the doorway behind them, his shirt open to the waist. He yelled at them in French and waved a hand toward the fire. Three of the four sentries took off in a run, and passed within ten feet of where Longarm was hidden at the edge of the path. None of them saw him.

As he had back in New Orleans, Longarm thought about luck and how he basically distrusted it. But since nobody knew he was here, this couldn't be a trap for him, and besides, he doubted that even somebody as ruthless as Clement would burn down the slave quarters just to bait a trap.

No, this was an opportunity Longarm had to take advantage of, and he intended to do just that.

He began circling the house, working his way through the brush. He didn't know the names of most of these tropical plants, but they were persistent in clinging to him. Not wanting to make much noise, he couldn't hurry, but even so, within a few minutes he reached a spot where the sole remaining sentry couldn't see him. Longarm drew his gun, emerged from the undergrowth in a crouch, and sprinted across the clearing toward the plantation house.

When he reached the veranda, he slowed and stepped up carefully, rather than bounding. Silence was still important, although judging by the shouts in the night, none of the other sentries were paying attention to anything except the fire. Longarm glanced in that direction again and decided it wasn't the slave quarters that were burning after all. The blaze that lit up the night sky was too big for that.

It looked to him like the cane fields were on fire.

If that was the case, then no wonder Clement was so upset that he had sent all but one of his guards away to help battle the blaze. The sugarcane was all he had left to help him recoup his losses from the destruction of the slave-running ring.

Longarm cat-footed along the wall to the nearest door and carefully tried the knob. It was locked, which came as no surprise. Maybe one of the windows...

Each of them that Longarm tried was latched as well. He didn't have time to go around the entire house trying all the doors and windows. He had to get inside more quickly than that.

He went to the edge of the veranda. There was a railing around it, and it took only a moment to step up on that railing and reach up to the edge of the roof that overhung it. Longarm had to holster the gun so that he could use both hands, but he was able to swing up onto the roof of the veranda without much trouble. Maybe one of the windows on the second floor wouldn't be fastened.

He saw right away in the moonlight that none were. In fact, one of them stood wide open so that the night breezes could flutter the thin white curtains that hung inside it. Longarm slid the Colt from its holster once more as he moved to the window. The room inside was dark, and no sound came from it. Longarm swung a leg over the sill and dropped through the window.

He landed on something soft--something that let out a muffled cry and then started flailing away at him furiously.

Longarm figured out what had happened and lifted an arm to ward off the blows. "Stop it!" he hissed. "I'm here to help you! Settle down, damn it!"

The whispered words got no response, so he had no choice but to grab the figure struggling with him. She was young and lithe and naked, and he didn't have to be a genius to figure out that she was the same young woman who had been taken reluctantly into the house to serve as a plaything for Paul Clement. He managed to get hold of both her wrists with one hand and found himself sitting astride her on a fourposter bed. "Hush!" he said quickly as he heard her draw a deep breath in preparation for a scream. "I'm the law, and I've come for Clement!"

That wasn't strictly true. He was a hell of a long way from anywhere where he had jurisdiction. But he meant to bring Paul Clement to justice anyway. That fact must have penetrated the young woman's brain, because she stopped struggling. After panting for a moment, she said, "M'sieu Clement... is an evil man."

"Don't I know it," said Longarm.

"You are here to... to kill him?"

"I don't rightly know. It depends on what he does. But I can promise you this, ma'am... he won't ever bother you again."

"If you can... kill him!" The vehemence in her voice made Longarm's blood turn a little icy.

The next instant, he heard a footstep outside the door of the room, and he was already rolling off the young woman as the door opened and Clement stepped through. "It's nothing to worry about, darling," said Clement. "Everything is under control, and I have that champagne I promised you, to put you more in the mood-"

The light from the hallway fell through the open door and revealed Longarm standing beside the bed, the Colt in his hand leveled and cocked as he said wryly, "That's mighty kind of you, sweetheart, but there ain't enough champagne in the world to put me in mind of messing around with a skunk like you."

Clement didn't waste any breath exclaiming in surprise. He just flung the heavy glass bottle in his hand at Longarm's head and threw himself to the side as the lawman's gun roared.

Longarm tried to get out of the way of the champagne bottle, but fortune had guided Clement's throw. The bottle clipped Longarm on the side of the head, knocking his hat off and making bright red rockets explode behind his eyes. He was pretty sure his shot had missed. As he stumbled back a step toward the window, he saw the young woman go flying through the open door, and heard the slap of her bare feet as she fled down the corridor outside the bedroom. Knowing that she was clear, Longarm triggered the Colt twice more, firing blindly.

Clement crashed into him from the side, his hand clawing at the wrist of Longarm's gun hand. Both men went down, and Longarm's hand cracked against something hard, probably the edge of the bedside table. His fingers went numb, and the Colt slid out of them. Clement made a grab for the gun, but Longarm managed to twist around and kick it, sending the weapon skittering out of reach across the floor.

He had to end this fight in a hurry, Longarm knew. Those shots would bring the guard from downstairs, and he might summon more of Clement's men to come with him. Longarm planned to knock Clement out, recover his gun so that he could deal with the sentries, and haul Clement into the jungle with him. Then it would be just a matter of eluding the inevitable pursuit, reaching the port city with Clement as his prisoner, and taking him on board the ship that would ultimately carry them back to New Orleans.

That was all.

Longarm's right hand was still numb, so he used his left to punch Clement in the face as they rolled back and forth on the floor, grappling desperately with each other. Enough light came into the room from the hall for Longarm to be able to see what he was doing. Unfortunately, Clement was fighting like a madman, and even though Longarm was larger and heavier, the plantation owner held the advantage for the moment. Clement slammed his knee into Longarm's groin, and as agony shot through Longarm, making him double over, Clement managed to loop an arm around his throat from behind.

Clement's arm was like a bar of iron across Longarm's neck. Every time he turned around in this case, Longarm thought wildly, some son of a bitch was trying to strangle him. First it had been that blasted zombie, then one of Clement's men, and now Clement himself. Longarm was sick and tired of it.

He drove an elbow back into Clement's midsection. That loosened Clement's hold, and Longarm was able to grasp his arm and pull it away. As he twisted around, he gulped down a breath of air to ease the terrible tightness in his chest and then clubbed both hands together and swung them at Clement's head. The blow sent Clement skidding away across the floor.

Longarm heard the rattle of gunfire close by, maybe as close as downstairs. He wasn't sure who was shooting at who, but for the time being, that didn't matter. He wanted to press his advantage over Clement, so he scrambled to his feet to lunge after the plantation owner.

Something rolled under Longarm's foot and dumped him hard on his back, knocking the breath out of him. That damn champagne bottle, he realized as he lay there half-stunned. It hadn't broken when it struck his head and then fell to the floor, and now it had tripped him up.

Worse than that, it rolled to a stop right beside Clement, who snatched it up and threw himself toward Longarm, holding the neck of the bottle with both hands as he raised it over his head.

That bottle was heavy enough to crush his skull when Clement brought it crashing down, Longarm knew. He gasped for air and gathered his muscles to try to get out of the way of the death blow.

He didn't have to make that probably futile effort because someone stepped into the room from the hallway, lifted a pistol, and squeezed off a shot. The bullet struck the bottle, shattering it and sending a shower of champagne and glass shards over both Longarm and Clement. Clement was left crouching over Longarm, the jagged bottle neck still clutched in his hands.

"Drop it, Clement," said Claudette, smoke curling up from the barrel of the revolver she held in her fist.

Longarm didn't know what was the most surprising: the sheer fact that Claudette was here, the lack of a Cajun accent in her voice as she spoke, the dark shirt and trousers she wore, so unlike anything he had seen her in before, or the accuracy with which her shot had broken the champagne bottle. All he could do was gape at her.

"Who...?" gasped Clement.

"Call me Royale," said Claudette with a faint smile playing around her sensuous mouth.

With a scream of deranged hatred, Clement flipped the bottle neck around and plunged the jagged edge of the glass at Longarm's throat with the speed of a striking snake.

Claudette was faster. The gun in her hand boomed again, and Clement was thrown forward as the slug slammed into the back of his head, bored through his skull, and mushroomed out his forehead in a grisly shower of bone and brains. The bottle neck fell harmlessly to the floor as Clement pitched forward lifelessly. He flopped across Longarm's face, and Longarm hastily shoved the corpse aside in revulsion.

Claudette slid the gun into the black holster that was belted around her hips and came quickly across the room. "Are you all right, Custis?" she asked, still missing the Cajun accent.

"I'm fine," he said as he sat up and glanced at Clement's body with a grimace. "I never expected to see you here."

She knelt beside him. "I'm sorry I... had to deceive you."

"Outright lie to me, you mean." He chuckled grimly and shook his head. "Still, you just saved my life, so I reckon I can't get too riled up with you."

She helped him to his feet, and they walked out of the room without looking back at Clement's corpse. "Does that mean you're not going to arrest me?" she asked.

"When you've probably got a dozen or more men downstairs in the mood for trouble?"

"Closer to two dozen," she murmured. "I didn't know how well guarded Clement would be. I'm just sorry I didn't get here in time to save you the trouble of trying to get to him."

"You sailed out of New Orleans the same day I did, didn't you?" said Longarm.

"I have ships available to me," she said.

Longarm snorted. "I'll just bet you do. Smuggling ships."

"I never ran slaves, like Clement and Millard," she said tightly.

"No, but your men came damn close to killing me a few times. They did kill some of Millard's men."

She shrugged. "In war, men die. And it was war between Millard and me. I didn't know then that Clement was part of it. And I would have been willing to let things go on the way they had been if Millard's men hadn't ambushed a group of my couriers a few days before you arrived in New Orleans, Custis. They got the drop on my men, disarmed them... then shot them all in the back."

"Millard never mentioned that little detail when he said you were out to ruin him," Longarm said as they started down a broad, winding staircase to the first floor.

"Of course not. I never set out to hurt anybody, Custis. You have to believe that."

Longarm wasn't sure if he did or not, but at this point, it didn't really matter. He asked, "Why did you save me from your own men, down there in the shinneries?"

"I knew you were working with Millard. I thought I could use you to get close to him and find out his plans." Her hand reached over and stole into his. "But I didn't count on coming to feel about you the way I do now, Custis."

Longarm stopped and looked at her, and she leaned forward to kiss him. After a moment, his arms went around her, drawing her tightly to him. Then he broke the kiss and looked at her sadly. Her gaze dropped, and they started once more down the stairs, their hands no longer touching.

"You started the fire in the cane fields to draw Clement's guards away," Longarm said after a few seconds of silence between them. "Then you came here for Clement."

"I would have taken him prisoner and turned him over to you if I could have," she said quietly. "I really would have. He didn't give me any choice."

"No," said Longarm, "I reckon he didn't."

They crossed a luxuriously furnished drawing room and went out through a foyer onto the veranda. Several men in derby hats stood outside the house, holding rifles. The body of the guard Clement had left on duty lay slumped on the ground nearby.

"Everything all right, ma'am?" asked one of the derby-hatted men.

"Yes," said Claudette. "Gather the workers we've freed tonight and take them back to the ship, Barry. We have room for them, don't we?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. We'll take them back to New Orleans, or anywhere else they want to go."

The man nodded, and he and his companions moved off into the darkness.

"There's just one more thing I want to know," said Longarm.

"What's that?" asked Claudette.

"Why the masquerade as a bayou gal? Whose shack was that you took me to?"

"It was no masquerade," Claudette said softly. "That bayou girl was who I was, once upon a time... a long time ago. The shack belonged to my gran'pere, and everything I told you about him and his gran'mama and Marie Laveau was true."

"Too bad you had to reveal who you really are to your men."

"They already knew, no matter what Millard may have told you about the mysterious Royale. They're just loyal to me, that's all." She paused, then asked, "What happens now, Custis?"

Longarm looked into the distance, at the flames that were now dying out in the destroyed cane fields. "I've got no authority here," he said tonelessly. "In Saint Laurent, I'm just as much of an outlaw as you are. So I reckon you go your way and I go mine."

"Yes." She lifted a hand and touched his cheek lightly. "But it is a pity that is the way it must be. If you and I were only on the same side ..."

Still looking at the cane fields, Longarm said, "It's a pretty thing to think about, ain't it?"

The End