She was wearing something black and satiny, cut in the newest Dallas-approved style, with long, tantalizing diagonal slashes across the breast and hips. Her hair was strikingly two-toned, black and blonde. Her teeth were a blinding white, and had been filed to canine sharpness.
"My name's Livia," the girl said pleasantly. "Livia Cord. I hope you don't mind what I did."
"And what was that?" Tom's other eye popped open, almost audibly.
"Bailing you out of jail. Seems you got into a fracas with a mounted cop. I think you tried to punch his horse."
"Nuts. I was trying to hit him."
"Well, you didn't." She chuckled, and poured herself a drink. "You've had quite a day, Mr. Blacker."
"You said it." There was a taste in his mouth like cigar ashes. He tried to stand up, but the weight on his head kept him where he was. "You wouldn't have an oxygen pill around?"
"Sure." She left with a toss of her skirt and a revelation of silky calves. When she returned with the tablet and water, he took it gratefully. After a few minutes, he felt better enough to ask:
"Why?"
"What's that?"