Longarm and the Colorado gundown

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Longarm clamped his lips shut to contain the belch that was surging out of his stomach. He was able to keep from embarrassing himself, but he wasn’t able to stop himself from burping. The liver flavor was just fine this second time around, but the onions tasted a trifle stale.

He was just back from lunch, and normally would’ve let it rip if he needed to belch in the U.S. Marshal’s office. In fact, he might’ve tried to amplify things just to see if he could get a rise out of Marshal Vail’s dignified—a polite way of saying stuffy—clerk Henry.

Not this time, though.

There was a young lady standing bent over Henry’s desk signing something there. Longarm sure as hell didn’t want to disturb her. In fact, if she wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon bent over like that, well, Longarm would be so damned polite that he’d just stand right where he was and not interrupt for nothing.

The view from back there was what you might call fine. Just fine.

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