Read Longarm 245: Longarm and the Vanishing Virgin for Free Online

shadows at the far end of the bridge.
    â€œHold it right there, mister.”
    Longarm stopped in his tracks as the voice barked the order at him. He didn’t stop because he was frightened, since he wasn’t. He came to a halt because he wanted to find out what this shadowy hombre was up to. He supposed he was just naturally curious.
    The familiar ratcheting of a gun being cocked came to his ears. Then the voice said, “Keep your hands where I can see ’em.”
    Longarm raised his arms and held his hands out to the sides. “This a holdup, fella?” he asked. “If it is, you’ve picked the wrong time of the month. Payday ain’t for a couple of weeks yet, and I’m already down to the bottom of the barrel.”
    That was true enough. He had been thinking of paying a visit to the Denver Public Library, not only because of the friendly gal who worked there, but also because sitting around and reading was a cheap way to pass the time.
    The shadowy figure came closer, stepping out onto the bridge itself. “Don’t give me that,” the man snarled. He poked something toward Longarm. “Hand over the loot, or I’ll blow a hole clean through you, mister.”
    Longarm sighed. The would-be robber was about ten feet from him, which was close enough for what Longarm had in mind. “Look, I’ll give you my watch, all right?”
    â€œJust make it fast!”
    Longarm reached for the chain that looped across his midsection from one vest pocket to the other. At one end of the chain was a heavy gold pocket watch shaped like a turnip. But at the other end, its weight counterbalancing that of the watch and acting as a fob, was a two-shot .44 derringer that had saved Longarm’s life on numerous occasions. He wasn’t sure how much danger his life was actually in at the moment, but the holdup artist did have a gun. Longarm wasn’t of a mind to take too many chances under those circumstances.
    But he wasn’t going to just gun the man down without warning either. He pulled on the watch chain with his left hand, and as the derringer came out of his vest pocket it slipped nice and natural into his right. He thrust it out, his thumb looping over the hammer and earing it back as he did so. The robber jumped a little and exclaimed, “What the hell!”
    â€œIt’s called a .44-caliber over-and-under two-shot, old son,” drawled Longarm. “And it’ll blow a hole clean through you if you don’t put up that hogleg and skedaddle out of here.”
    â€œWhat ... but ... but I’ve got five bullets in this gun!”
    â€œI don’t need but one,” said Longarm.
    He was prepared to stand there for however long it took for the standoff to be resolved. The robber had to realize that his intended victim had teeth after all and didn’t intend to be held up. The simplest thing would be to fade back into the darkness and be grateful he was still alive.
    The gun being held by the shadowy figure began to droop toward the bridge. “All right, all right,” he muttered. “Hell, a man can’t even make a dishonest living in this town anymore.”
    â€œNow you’re being smart,” Longarm told him.
    The robber stuck his gun back in his coat, turned, and trudged away. Longarm watched him go, and kept the derringer trained on him until the shadows reclaimed him.
    Longarm put away the derringer, but immediately palmed out his Colt and held it alongside his leg as he started off the bridge. There was a chance the holdup man had really taken his advice and gone home, wherever that was, but it was just as likely that the fella was still lying in wait for him. And there wouldn’t be any warning this time, just a shot from ambush.
    Well, there was a little bit of warning, Longarm reflected as he reached the end of the bridge. He heard the soft scrape of a footstep nearby.
    He threw himself to the left as a gun roared. His