Pulling open his cracked leather portmanteau, Simms slipped his two big revolvers inside. Sitting back in his chair, he examined the much smaller, pocket model Colt and moved the cylinder around, one notch at a time. With deliberate care, he raised it and took a bead along the short, stubby barrel. He grunted and looked across to where Henson was sifting through a pile of official-looking papers.
“The boss said you have the details,” drawled Simms, already bored with the office, the paperwork, the fastidiousness of his colleagues. He dropped the revolver into his coat pocket. Being a hot day, he"d slung his coat across the back of his chair, and now ran his fingers underneath his collar, the perspiration building. “Damn, have you no air in this place?”
“I thought you"d be used to it, liv
