Never hit a lady, my grandmother’s voice keeps echoing in my head.

The dame can’t seem to decide if she’s going to sneer at me or give me a come hither look. She’s waving the derringer like a parade flag. I sip, gag, cough, and somewhat recover.

Never hit a lady.

If she doesn’t want to be followed that means I’m a dead man. I don’t like that idea—not why I got into this crazy business. I don’t believe in curses, generally speaking, but this gem is seeming rather problematic.

Never hit a lady.

“Any last words, my mysterious freund?”

I set the glass down carefully, “Only that I think your neckless is absolutely gorgeous. Amethyst?”

She looks down, and my grandfather’s voice chimes in, If someone starts waving a gun around, all bets are off.

She looks down, “Actually it’s tourma…” I lung and start punching. Half my shots miss or deflect off, but a good few connect to her stomach while my other hand wrestles away the pistol.

On the bright side, I knew this was a bad idea right away.