By Andrew F. Sullivan

Whenever he was summoned, Alomar Hawser wore his favorite western shirt to the meeting, the one with the golden cactuses on the sleeves and a circle of vultures on the back. The collar had claws at the button clasp, bright yellow snaps against the pale green cotton. He wanted his clients to understand he wasn’t too serious. He didn’t like to pretend like the other contractors in his business did, their black tactical gear attempting to conceal a general inability to function in broader society. Most had washed out of policing programs or discovered they couldn’t be trusted with a firearm. Instead, they found work hunting down what the rich wanted most—delicacies unavailable by traditional means, even with the extended reach of e-commerce.

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Andrew F. Sullivan

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