“The woman had sharp eyes. The Colt was plain in its worn chamois holster, but even Hammett had missed the Forehand & Wadsworth under Siringo’s shirt. “We’re not here for ideas.” “We’ll see. Are you hungry? We have sandwiches and beer. Becky can’t abide turning away even a plagiarist on an empty stomach.” “Becky?” “Jack’s youngest, by his first wife. She’s here on a visit.” She raised her voice. “Becky?” No answer. “She’s probably upstairs, reading.” “One of her father’s books?” asked Hammett. “...One of Dickens’. David Copperfield, I believe. She’s on the second volume. She started the first in January. She makes it a point to read Dickens every winter. A determined child, Mr. Hammett. And no longer a child, as I must keep reminding myself. Sandwiches, gentlemen? Beer? Something stronger? Jack left us well-stocked.” “Thank you,” Siringo said. “I could eat a horse, and as you can see, Hammett plumb disappears when he turns sideways.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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