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Providence asit was happily enjoying the uninterrupted backstory, patiently awaiting the protagonist's arrival in two pages' ti ourselves included within the story was not so we cared to do, and since the Minotaur avoided the primary storyline for fear of discovery ere likely to stumble across him only in places like this But if, for any reason, the story did come anywhere near, I would be warned – I had a Narrative Proximity Device in my pocket that would sound an alarm if the thread came too close We could hide ourselves until it passed by

A horse trotted past as we stepped up on to the creaky decking that ran along the front of the saloon I stopped Bradshae got to the swing-doors just as the town drunk was thrown out into the road The bartender walked out after hi his hands on a linen cloth

'And don't co at us both suspiciously

I showed the barkeeper ilant lookout The whole Western genre had far too ood; there had been some confusion over the nuurated Working in Westerns could sohts an hour

'Jurisfiction,' I told hi for the Minotaur'

The barkeeper stared at me coldly

'Think you's in the wrong genre, partner,' he said

All characters or Generics within a book are graded A to D, one through ten A-grades are the Gatsbys and Jane Eyres, D-grades the grunts who make up street scenes and crowded rooms The barkeeper had lines so he was probably a C-2 Sh to have much character latitude

'Hehim a photo 'Tall, body of a man, head of a bull, likes to eat people?'

'Can't help you,' he said, shaking his head slowly as he peered at the photo

'How about any outbreaks of Slapstick?' asked Bradshaw 'Boxing glove popping out of a box, sixteen-ton weights dropping on people, that sort of thing?'

The barkeeper laughed 'Ain’t seen no weights droppin’ on nobody, but I heard tell the sheriff got hit in the face with a frying pan last Toosday'

Bradshaw and I exchanged glances

'Where do we find the sheriff?' I asked

We followed the barkeeper's directions and walked along the wooden decking past a barber shop and two grizzled prospectors ere talking aniibberish I stopped Bradshae got to an alleyway There was a gunfight in progress Or at least, there would have been a gunfight had not some dispute arisen over the tiunht-coloured clothes, two in dark, with low-slung gunbelts decorated with rows of shiny cartridges – were arguing over their gunfight time slots as two identical ladyfolk looked on anxiously The town uments they would both lose their slot times and would have to coreed to toss a coin The winners of the toss scampered into the main street as everyone dutifully ran for cover They squared up to one another, hands hovering over their Colt

455 at twenty paces There was a flurry of action, two loud detonations and one of the gunri dra him as he reholstered his revolver with a flourish