A little used bookstore on Larimer was open despite the hour. It smelled dusty inside. A little bearded gent wearing specs and a skullcap came out from the back to ask what he could do for the only customer in sight. Longarm said, "I see you mostly sell regular books, and I don't blame you. But I'm looking for a Wild West magazine about a real albeit unlikely gent named Black Jack Slade." The old book dealer looked pained. "Books about how to build a steam engine or rescue a maiden from a dragon are not good enough for you? We got books of fact and fiction. We got books old and new. We got books by Sir Walter Scott and books by authors nobody ever heard of and probably shouldn't. But a book about a blackjack? I don't think so." Longarm said he was sorry for being such a pest and turned to go. But the old man stopped him. "Wait. You say you want a penny dreadful? Them we got. Come, I'll show you. We got a couple of boxes of such trash as part of a house-cleaning sale a few days ago. I was saving them for the rag picker, but who knows?" Longarm followed the old man back through the musty racks, then through a curtained doorway into pitch blackness.
What do You think about Longarm On The Overland Trail?
