When Talbert and Gregson walked into the lounge, it was like traveling back in time—they were killing time in 6th period study hall again—like they never left.

“You can go back to your vacation,” Talbert said. “We’re done here.”

“But what about the murderer?” Chad asked.

“We don’t know there was a murder. Heck—we don’t even have a body,” Talbert said.

“I know what I saw,” Chad demanded. “And it wasn’t a guy who got hit by a golf ball. I’m going to my room, to bolt the door. I suggest you all, do the same.”

“He was always tight,” Jackie said. “His wife didn’t fix that. Not enough sex. Too bad he never gave me a chance.”

Candy pushed Jackie’s shoulder. “I didn’t know you liked nerds.”

“They’re my favorite candy.”

“I thought I was your favorite candy,” Candy said.

“Girls—do they ever grow up?” Gregson asked.

“No, but they grow old,” Talbert said.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Act normal, Gregson—for you, that might mean, entertaining a few females, and working on your suntan.”

“I’ll do what the detective orders,” Gregson said. “I feel like a drive.” He walked outside, under the Mexican sun and got into his Lotus Esprit convertible.

“We like your style Gregson,” Jackie said.

“Are you going for a drive, too?”

“Silas told us that hunting would grow hair on our chests. We decided to make it a scientific experiment. Candy unbuttoned her blouse and Jackie did the same. They got into their red Volkswagen Beetle.

Silas walked out of the hotel with two double-barrel shotguns slung over each shoulder.

“Jacob and Drew want to come, but the ladies will get my full attention,” he said.

“What about Joel and Stephen?” Gregson asked.

“They’re changing their underwear as we speak, and locking themselves in their rooms. I think they’ve had enough action for one day.”

“Drew and Jacob don’t get along.”

“Yeah—they’re taking separate cars. Drew has that elitist thing going on. He’s in his Land Rover, listening to country music. It doesn’t make him a cowboy—you need a cowboy hat for that.” Silas pulled it from behind his back, and put it on. “Have you ladies ever ridden a horse?”

“Sure—we have!”

“How about a cowboy?”

They giggled. “Get in the back, cowboy.”

“I’ll follow you,” Gregson said.

The road was chucked-full of rocks and sand. Gregson wondered how the rental car company made money. They probably billed for scratches and dings. Pretty soon, they formed a convoy, racing across the desert. Gregson neglected to ask what they were going to shoot. He hoped it was birds or reptiles, and not humans.

Drew past on the left, giving Gregson the finger, while Jacob picked-up the rear in his Honda Civic, stolen 12 times. There wasn’t a radio, or a cup holder, or a cigarette lighter, or the original car seats. Somebody had bolted a vinal chair in front of the steering wheel. It was the perfect anti-theft device.

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