Philip Taeorinn wasn’t much of a drinker. He drank occasionally, although that was more to forget than because he enjoyed the taste. But as he stood there, coated in his own sweat with the scorching rays of the southern sun beating down on him, a nice cold drink really wouldn’t  have gone amiss. 

“You’ll get used to it,” Deminora had assured him when they’d first set foot in Laredo. He hadn’t. 

The sleeves of his work shirt were rolled up around his arms, and his jacket was tied around his waist, but there was only so many layers Philip could take off, and none of it seemed to be doing a damn thing to beat back the damnable heat. 

“Remind me what you’re hoping to find here.” The ex-Pinkerton grumbled as his employer and him made their way through the open streets, each step of his boot-clad feet kicking up clumps of grainy soil. 

“Some buried treasure would do nicely,” Deminora Corett replied in her thick southern drawl, her full hips swaying back and forth as she pressed onwards through the town “but I’ll settle for a small pot of gold.” 

“I didn’t think money was an issue.” Philip grunted. 

“It’s not,” she snapped “and that’s precisely how I’d like to keep it.” 

The young Corett girl had the air of a southern lady about her, even though she was dressed down in the Texan heat. The way she carried herself, with graceful footfalls and an elegant posture, held an aura of finely groomed grace, which stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the hard-jawed figures who prowled the streets and back alleys. 

Turning off into the main square, the pair was presented with the sight of a couple townsfolk carrying a rather withered looking boy between them. 

“Probably best just to leave it, miss.” Philip grunted 

“You’d be surprised what windows of opportunity these types of encounters can open up, Mr Taeorinn.” She shot back almost instantly, her eyes fixed squarely on the group. 

“They can also end up in us both gettin’ killed, Miss.” 

Deminora considered that for a moment, a look of a clam calculation bewitching her features.

“Say that young gentleman’s parents are of decent wealth, or political standing,” she reasoned “then they’ll have us to thank for returning their child to them, and it reasons that they’d be wanting to show their gratitude.” 

“And if they’re just gutter trash?” Philip frowned. 

“Then at least then the cunts will owe us a debt.” 

With that Deminora went scampering off through the crowd, wadding straight up to fair skinned woman who seemed to be tending to the boy. 

“What seems to happenin’ here, Miss?” she asked in her sweetest manner “Anythin’ we can do to help?”