Longarm and the Colorado gundown

_{It seemed fairly incredible after all that’d happened already during the evening, but it wasn’t yet midnight when Longarm got Lawyer Able settled in at a lady friend’s house—she’d pointed out that there was no reason for her to pay a hotel’s rates when she did have friends she could stay with a for a few days—and was free to once again look for lodging in Snowshoe.}

_{“Nothing’s changed,” the same supercilious son of a bitch of a hotel clerk said when Longarm reached for the guest register. “We still don’t have any room at the inn. Marshal.” The man gave Longarm a repeat look at a smug smirk too, just like the first time.}

_{“Something’s changed,” Longarm said softly. He turned the book around and flipped it open, paging through in search of the next line open for an entry.}

_{“We have no room for you here,” the clerk said curtly.}

_{Longarm stopped what he was doing. His face had become as still as a death mask, and his eyes bored cold and bleak into the desk man’s.}

_{“I don’t... you can’t force ... I, I mean ...,” the clerk sputtered.}

_{Longarm reached slowly forward, his hand moving with calm deliberation. The clerk watched it as if mesmerized, the way a chick will with utter fascination watch the deadly approach of a snake. The clerk gulped for breath but did not think to pull away.}

_{Longarm touched the knot of the clerk's tie. Gently. Very gently. He tugged it a fraction of an inch to one side, straightening it so that the knot was symmetrically centered between the wings of the man’s collar. Just as slowly as he had reached out, Longarm withdrew his hand. And looked the clerk square in the eyes. “The thing that’s changed,” he said in a voice pitched so low that the clerk had to strain to hear it, “is that tonight you will give me a room.”}

_{The man swallowed. Hard. His breathing had become rapid and shallow, and he looked and acted like a man who had just completed a long-distance run. Or a man who had just walked the edge of an abyss and lived to think back on how good life and living can be. He licked his lips nervously and shuddered. “Yes,” he whispered. “Sir.” “Thank you,” Longarm said without lowering his stare. “Would you ... if you ... that is, uh, sign ... just sign ... please?” He hastily fumbled along the counter to round up a pen and ink bottle, and pushed them in front of Longarm. “Please. Sir.”}

_{Longarm nodded solemnly, and finally dropped his glance so he could see the register to sign it.}