Once upon a time, or so begin the fairy tales, there was a bluestocking spinster and a gin-sodden cowpoke. Sourly, suspiciously, the two sat eyeing one another across a smoke-hazed, liquor-stinking barroom. Each pondered the mad quirk of foolishness that had brought them to that seedy cantina on Calle de Noche Triste in Juarez, Mexico. . . .
รขโฌลHow รขโฌโขbout a little night of love, querida?รขโฌย รขโฌลBeat it mister!รขโฌย Her brown eyes flashed at him, and she looked away, muttering, รขโฌลIรขโฌโขm waiting for someone.รขโฌย รขโฌลSo?รขโฌย He winked lecherously. รขโฌลThis carcass doesnรขโฌโขt take long to pleasure, sweetheart. Five minutes in the back room oughta do it.รขโฌย He could see he had rattled her, although she was striving to cover it. Her mouth curled contemptuously. รขโฌลIรขโฌโขve bitten a few rotten coins, mister,รขโฌย she hissed, รขโฌลand donรขโฌโขt need to hook up with the likes of you."
So began the acquaintance of the indomitable Roxana Van Buren and the unconquerable Sam Brady.
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