The killing game was getting hairy, Gregson thought, and close shaves always left him cut.

He went behind the bushes and did his business.

The enema was a clear plastic pill, with a transmitter inside. He squeezed it, and then put it into his ear.


“This is Murphy.”

“Do you have the coordinates?” Gregson asked.

“You’re on an island off the coast of South America. We’ll send a rescue team, as long as I can clear it with the admiral.”


“That’s the other thing—apparently, the orchestrator of these hunting safaris is an international arms dealer. Rumor has it, he deals in nuclear weapons, left-over from the cold war.”

“And let me guess… the navy wants to wipe this rock clean with a cruise missile.”

“I’m trying to talk the admiral out of it. What’s the score?”

“There’s a lady lawyer and a lumberjack still in play.”


“What was that?” Murphy asked.

“The game. I got to go.”

“Stay alive, Gregson.”

The PI walked between two palm trees and witnessed an explosive crater, with two arms and two legs sticking out of it. The body parts were dressed in a gray suit.

Gregson looked-up at the hill and saw Brad with his missile launcher. Then he looked at his chest. There was an enormous red dot, glowing there.

“Oops,” Gregson said. Then the helicopter flew over, and shot Brad in the head.

“I just saved your life!” Dubois said. “Meet me on the beach, if you ever want to hold your girlfriend in one piece!”

Gregson made his way to the shore, where the blue waves were sparkling. The helo chopped the air and landed softly on the sand.

“I want to take you hand-to-hand!” Dubois screamed.

Gregson threw his .45 into the ocean and put his hand inside his sock. It smelled.

He pulled the K-Bar out. The Frenchman showed him his fighting knife. Then they closed the distance.

Gregson peeked at Tanya. She was staring wild-eyed, while Sandy held the silver .38 to her head.

Dubois ran at Gregson and struck first.

“You cut my shirt,” Gregson said.

“And your shoulder,” Dubois said.

Gregson felt warm blood dripping down his arm.

Dubois lunged again, and Gregson countered, with a spin-kick. The Frenchman landed on his back, and the PI jumped on him, shoving his K-Bar through his heart.

“Why don’t you have any mercy?” Dubois asked. His eyes rolled-up into his head, and he expired.

“Gregson, are you there? Gregson, come back.”

“This is Gregson.”

“Get out of there! The missile is going to make impact!”

“I thought you said that you could talk the admiral out of it!?”

“You know how bureaucracies are.”

“I know,” Gregson said.

The PI wrenched his knife from the Frenchman’s chest, and walked towards the chopper.

Sandy was still holding her silver .38 to Tanya’s head, but it was shaking.

“You can let me fly us out of here, or killer her?” Gregson said.

“I’ll be arrested!” Sandy screamed.

“I’ll let you go,” Gregson said.

Sandy threw her gun into the ocean and the PI ignited the chopper.

They were hovering over the sunset, when the island incinerated like Hiroshima.

“If a bureaucracy can’t agree to disagree, they press the button,” Gregson said.

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Tanya sighed.

“It’s not supposed to. Okay, out you go,” Gregson pointed to Sandy.

“What?” She asked.

“I said I’d let you go.”

Tanya pushed Sandy into the ocean, and Gregson tossed a rubber raft after her.

“That was a dirty trick,” Tanya said.

“I’ll tell you what’s dirty—having this shit enema in my ear. Only the government would think this shit up!” Gregson threw it into the ocean.

“Besides, pussycats have nine lives, even if, they hate water.”

The End


5 thoughts on “Epilogue

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