18And it wasn't over yet. After this most recent threatening call from the Llama, I decided to carry my .38 with me at all times. Never could tell when he might try to take me out, and it seemed pretty certain that he was going to try. Armed, I locked the office door and exited the building. The sleet had lightened to a fine drizzle, which was pricking at the umbrellas of workers on their way home after another boring day on the job. My day had at least not been boring, although I gladly would have traded my tryst with the Assburn and his baboons and the call from El Greaser for a nice extended yawn. Meanwhile I wondered if the Llama was somewhere among the passersby just waiting to slip a little lead or a shiv into me. As I walked I kept my hand on my piece, which I was carrying in my coa
