Head Games (The Hector Lassiter Series) - Plot & Excerpts
He cinched those crazy pants with a hand-tooled, turquoise-studded belt and carried a Stetson in his callused hand. His shock of full white hair was brushed neatly back from a high forehead. After all the years and the picaresque living Emil had packed in since I'd known him, I expected him to look older. We shook hands. The old man had a good grip on him. Not for the first time, I wondered if Emil suffered from a mild strain of dwarfism. He'd always had a horse face and arms too long for his body. Age had exaggerated his asymmetry. Emil's shoulders were now narrow and sloped and his torso seemed even more strangely stunted. What height he had always seemed to reside between his waist and knees. His lower legs were too short and the brown cowhide boots he affected now didn't make 'em look much longer, though I suspected he thought they did --- no other way to justify wearing those things out in L.A. in 1957. He looked like a George Rozen pulp magazine cover in those damned boots whose heels probably gave him an extra inch and yet got him nowhere near proportional.
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