Buck glared at the little man, who was part Japanese, but the little man smiled innocently and turned back to his bushes. It was a clear day. The sun was shining and he wanted no trouble. Buck turned his glare on me. I didn’t want any trouble either so I shrugged and accepted my car keys back.

Buck led the way into the cool corridors of the building, but the walk was short. We stopped at a door markedWARREN HOFF, ASSISTANT VICE PRESIDENT FOR PUBLICITY. Buck pushed the door open in front of me and a small, dark, pretty girl with glasses from the May Company basement looked up at me.

“Peters,” said Buck cowboy.

The girl flicked her intercom and repeated “Peters” into it. There was the faint touch of a Mexican accent in the word. She would never get rid of that accent, but she looked determined.

“Go right in, Mr. Peters,” she said. The accent was certain.

“See you, Amigo,” said Buck. I waved to him as he slowly sank through the door and into the sunrise.

Hoff was advancing to meet me when I walked through his door. He was taller than I was and reasonably well built, but the build was hereditary. He didn’t work at it because he didn’t need his body in his work as I needed mine. He was a few years younger than I was and a dozen pounds heavier, but I could tell that I could take him. In my business, your mind works that way. It’s not the most sociable way to think, but every now and then it saved a few breaks and bruises, and I can use the edge. I’ve had more than my share and your share of traumatized bodily functions.