Free Longarm and the Horse Thief's Daughter by Tabor Evans

showed itself too much.
    Longarm smiled, innocent as a newborn baby. “That’s right, you don’t. Mr. McGuire, please.”
    â€œYou don’t have an appointment,” Ugly said.
    â€œNo, I don’t. Mr. McGuire, please.” Longarm’s .45 came out and found its way to a point just beneath Ugly’s nose. “Now!” He reached down and lifted the snub-nosed revolver out of the shoulder holster.
    Longarm stepped back, and the bodyguard, a little pale now, stood and went to a door at the back of the room. He opened it and leaned inside. “There is, um, there is a man here to see you, Boss. He, uh, he didn’t give a name.”
    â€œI don’t want to see nobody, Jimmy. Tell the fucker to go away.”
    Longarm stepped inside behind Jimmy and shut the door in the big man’s face. “This fucker don’t feel like going away, Tim,” he said. His smile returned, and he nodded to the fellows who were standing in front of their boss’s desk. “Nice t’ see you boys again. Now get out o’ here while I talk to Mr. McGuire.”
    The two shakedown goons looked at their boss, who nodded. They immediately filed out, leaving Longarm alone with McGuire.
    Big Tim McGuire had the look of a street fighter who had made his way up in the world. His suit was handsomely tailored. His cravat was perfectly tied, and a diamond stickpin the size of a quail egg—or a very good imitation of one—nested on the knot. His feet were propped up on his desk, displaying yellow spats and patent leather shoes. He wore the trappings of a gentleman, but his very often pulped nose and the puffiness around his eyes said he was a brawler at heart and always had been.
    McGuire dropped his feet to the floor and swiveled his chair around to face Longarm. “Who the hell are you?”
    â€œI’m the fellow who is gonna blow your sorry ass to kingdom come if you fuck with my friend anymore,” Longarm told him.
    â€œYour friend? Who the hell would that be?”
    â€œThe lady that runs Belina’s Café over on Fourth. Your inept bullyboys were just over there trying to shake her down. I expect that’s what they were in here to tell you. That I run them out o’ the place. Next time I wouldn’t go so easy on them. And if there is a next time, it’d go hard on you too. I’d find you, Tim. Find you and put a .45-caliber sizzler up your left nostril. Blow your empty brains right out o’ your head. Am I making myself clear?”
    â€œI got protection, you know,” McGuire said.
    â€œNot from me, you don’t,” Longarm told him, stroking the butt of his Colt while he did so. “An’ not from my boys if anything was to happen to me.”
    â€œYour, uh, boys?”
    â€œFederal deputies. They wouldn’t be scared off by any o’ your paid-off locals. They’d put you away, either by hanging or life inside. Their choice, not yours.”
    â€œWhy the hell would a federal deputy give a shit about you, mister?”
    Longarm grinned. And flipped his wallet open, showing his badge. “Now d’you understand?”
    McGuire swallowed and leaned forward. “Belina’s, you said?”
    Longarm nodded. “The lady is a friend. It’d distress me if I was to ever hear she was bothered again. So drop her off your list, and I’ll drop you off mine. It seems a fair trade-off to me. How does it strike you?”
    â€œI, uh, sure, Marshal. I’ll be leaving her alone from now on.”
    â€œThen we have no quarrel between us, Tim.” Longarm touched the brim of his hat and nodded. “Have yourself a nice day.”
    He turned toward the door to leave. Heard McGuire’s chair springs squeak. Spun around in time to see Big Tim McGuire reach into a desk drawer and bring out a Webley .455 revolver.
    McGuire might have been good with his fists. But he was not nearly as quick with a gun as