Although that number will change. I’m just putting this up now, and finishing the daily posts. Then I want to get a few hundred more words in.
“Ah, Mr. Vargas. Or should it be ‘Shamus?’ I’m never sure what to do, in informal situations.”
I turned around: sure enough, it was Rodriguez. He didn’t look very informal: white shirt over black trousers, with a colorful, sleeveless waistcoat draped over his shoulders. I suppose he wore shoes, but I never actually stopped to look.
“Either’s fine, Senor,” I told him. “I’m on vacation this week.”
“Shamuses take vacations?” he replied. “I thought nobody ever left you alone for long enough to let you get away from it all.”
Which was absolutely true, dammit. “Let’s just say somebody insisted. Anyway, I’m not dressed for the job, so you can call me anything polite you like.”
“I should have realized, of course. You’re not wearing your Shamus clothes.” Rodriguez gave me a smile that seemed genuine. “Would you believe that I envy you your ability to wear that suit?”
“Really?” I snorted. “Most people see it, they think it’s an invitation to throw a fist in my face. Or tell me their troubles. Sometimes it’s both.”
“Really, Mr. Vargas. Really. I have a taste for the past, you see. History has always fascinated me, particularly the Time Before. That suit of yours evokes the era of the fabled Old Americans! I imagine you must feel honored to wear it every day.” He switched his smile to a grin. “Even if you also enjoy having a night off from time to time, to just be a regular man.”