Magic Bites
were held up by Page 11

    orange suspenders. He wore old steel-toed paratrooper boots and leather gloves with their fingers cut off at the first knuckle. On his head sat a felt hat, an old-fashioned fedora, soiled and stained beyond belief.
    Thick mousy hair dripped in limp strands from under the hat.
    He saw me and tipped his hat, holding its rim between his index and middle finger the way some people hold cigarettes, and I got a glimpse of his face: hard lines, three-day stubble, and pale eyes, quick and cold. There was nothing especially threatening in the way he looked at me, but something behind those eyes made me want to raise my hands in the air and back away slowly until it was safe to run for my life.
    "Maaaa'am," he drawled.
    He scared the shit out of me. I smiled at him. "Good morning." My greeting sounded a lot like "niiice doggy." I'd have to squeeze past him to get to the door.
    The receptionist came to my rescue. "You can go in now, dear," she called.
    The man stepped aside, bowing slightly, and I walked by him. The side of my jacket brushed against his trench coat, probably picking up enough bacteria to knock out a small army, but I did not pull away.
    "Nice to meet you," he murmured as I passed him.
    "Nice to meet you, too," I said and escaped into the protector's office.
    I found myself in a large room, at least twice the size of the offices I'd seen so far. Heavy burgundy draperies covered the windows, letting in just enough light to create a comfortable gloom. A massive desk of polished cherry-wood dominated the room, supporting a cardboard box, a heavy mesquite wood paperweight with a Texas Ranger badge on top, and a pair of brown cowboy boots. The legs in the boots belonged to a thick-shouldered man, who leaned back in an oversized black leather chair listening to the phone at his ear. The knight-protector.
    At some point he must have been very strong but now his muscle was sheathed in what my father had called "hard fat." He was still a large, strong man and he could probably move fast if he needed to, despite the unsightly bulge around his middle. He wore jeans and a navy blue shirt with a fringe. I did not know they even made those anymore. The clothes in which the West was won—or sung into submission—were meant for whiplash-lean men. They made the protector look like Gene Autry gone on a long Twinkie binge.
    The knight looked at me. He had a wide face with a massive square jaw and probing blue eyes under heavy eyebrows. His nose was misshapen from being broken too many times. The hat hid the hair, or more likely, the absence of it, but I was willing to bet that what was left of the growth on his head had to be gray and short.
    The protector motioned me to one of the smaller red chairs set before the desk. I sat, getting a look into the cardboard box on his desk. It contained a half-eaten jelly doughnut.
    The knight resumed listening to the phone conversation, so I looked around his office. A large bookcase, also of dark cherrywood, stood at the opposite wall. Above it I saw a large wooden map of Texas decorated with strips of barbed wire. Golden script etched under each piece announced the name of the manufacturer and the year.
    The protector finished his conversation by hanging up the phone without saying a word. "You've got Page 12

    some paper to show me, now's the time."
    I handed him my merc ID and half-a-dozen recommendations. He flipped through them.
    "Water and Sewer, huh?"
    "Yes."
    "Gotta be tough or dumb to go down into the sewers these days. So, which one are you?"
    "I'm not dumb, but if I tell you I'm tough, you'll peg me for a bravo, so I'm going to smile cryptically." I gave him my best cryptic smile. He did not fall down to his feet, kiss my shoes, and promise me the world. I must be getting rusty .
    The protector squinted at the signature. "Mike Tellez. I've worked with him before. You do regular work for him?"
    "More or less."
    "What was it this time?"
    "He had a problem with

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