Free Longarm and the Deadly Restitution (9781101618776) by Tabor Evans

know,” Longarm said. “But we can’t worry about that right now. I have a woman to tell that she’s just become a widow.”
    â€œMrs. Flannery.”
    â€œYes,” Longarm said. “And it’s a job that I dread more than anything in this world.”
    â€œIf you want,” Hector offered, “I’ll go tell Delia that her husband is dead.”
    â€œDo you know Mrs. Flannery?”
    â€œYeah. I know her a little.”
    Longarm was more than tempted to let his deputy do the sad job of informing the new widow what had happened to her husband inside the bank, but that would have been shirking his duty, and he had never in his life ducked something just because it was hard to do.
    â€œThanks, Joe, but I’ll tell her.”
    â€œShe’s going to take it real hard. She and Mike were really a fine match. They loved each other so much.”
    â€œYeah,” Longarm said, his mind still whirling from all the death and all the terrible things he’d just witnessed. “I’m sure she did. Deputy Mike Flannery was an outstanding officer and a good man to stand with in a fight.”
    â€œI really admired him,” Hector said, voice thick with emotion. “Mike was always so dedicated to duty. Just like you, Custis.”
    Longarm had no response. With the sounds of gunfire still booming inside his head, along with the image of blood splatters on the wall and pools of it on the bank’s polished hardwood floor, he walked away feeling half-sick and awful.
    â€œIt was me that shot the lookout,” Hector called down the street. “He was getting up with a gun in his fist and . . .”
    Longarm didn’t hear the rest of that story. At the moment, he was consumed by questions and an overwhelming sense of failure.
    Why did Billy Vail and I ever think that we should send a newly hired deputy and one without much more than a year of experience into that bank with Bully O’Brien and his Shamrock Gang of cold-blooded killers?
he asked himself. And why hadn’t they let the gang take the money and come outside just like we planned?

Chapter 9
    Longarm knew where Mike Flannery had lived with his wife, and now, with the day going long and two strong shots of whiskey under his belt, he stood outside of their white picket fence with his hand frozen on the gate’s latch.
    He had often heard from the men in his office that Mike and Delia Flannery had been deeply in love and that the woman was breathtakingly beautiful. But none of that really mattered anymore.
    Longarm could not bring himself to open the gate.
    Delia stepped out onto her little front porch, and for a moment they both seemed frozen in time. Then, without him saying a word, her hands flew to her face and she let out a deep, sorrowful moan, screaming, “Oh, no!”
    Standing beside her latched gate, hearing that sound and watching her break up wounded Longarm more deeply than any knife blade or bullet ever could.
    He unlatched the gate, but she had already whirled and run back inside to shut her front door. Longarm walked up to the porch and sat down on the steps. He’d stay there for an hour or two just in case she decided she needed a shoulder to cry on or a sympathetic ear ready to listen. Longarm knew that Delia would soon be asking questions . . . and they were mostly ones he could not yet answer.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Two hours later and just about the time that the sun was setting in the west, Delia came out with two cups of coffee and quietly sat down beside him. Her eyes were red, her face drawn, and her expression had about it the look of devastation.
    â€œI only have two questions for you right now,” she managed to say. “Did my husband die bravely and while trying to carry out his duties?”
    â€œYes. He saved Henry Plummer’s life by pushing him to one side and taking a bullet.”
    She nodded and wiped at tears. “And