He’d met Tim six months ago, a recently discharged veteran of the Middle East wars, dumped by his fiancée while he was overseas and trying to find his way through life again. They’d made a good team so far—Tim was not afraid of work and was apparently content to live simply, at least for now. And, in spite of a game leg where some shrapnel had cut him up pretty bad, Tim could hold his own and earn every cent of his pay. Most of it came in cash. Jerry preferred to do things that way, and it made life simpler.
“If you want to put the hustle on her, feel free,” he said. “I’m out of the market. If I can pick up a one-night gal at that little cantina down in La Golondrina this weekend, that’s good enough for me. There’s enough left over from what Miz Donaldson fronted us for supplies to do a little partying come Saturday night.”
* * * *