Brad was good-looking.

“What kind of guns do you like?” He asked Tanya.

“Big ones,” she giggled.

Gregson looked at her. She was hypnotizing Brad with her hips.

Tanya walked the way women do when they want a man’s attention.

The range was full of men, who were tired of paper targets.

“I’ll buy you a beer,” Brad said.

“Make it two—it’s on me.”

Gregson was left alone. “What will it be, handsome?” He looked-up, hopefully.

She had one tooth, grinning at him.

“High alcohol content.”

“That’ll be moonshine. You better act quickly, before your lady-friend gets with Brad.”

“She’s just my secretary.”

“Just your secretary!? What are you, a eunuch?”

Gregson ignored her, and looked at the hunters. They were hicks. Nobody stood out. The owner was sophisticated, but these guys looked like they bathed in beer, and never clipped their toenails. It had to be an outsider. The victims were hunted during the full moon. It could be ritualistic, or a red herring, to throw him off the scent. More than likely though, it was for reasons of visibility, Gregson thought.

Tanya was giving Brad every excuse. Their conversation moved beyond words. He had his hand on her hip, like he was fielding a deer, before he dressed it—in this case, he was preparing to undress it.

Tanya was looking at Gregson through the corners of her eyes, blinking, in Morse Code. It was the signal, for help.

“Excuse me, sir! But you have your hands on my girl,” Gregson said.

“Your girl!? What’s a fat man like you going to do about it?”

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