“Listen to me carefully,” I said. “If even one of you is jerking me off and trying to hide something, I’ll kill all three of you. Take a moment and then make the right decision.”

The asshole who looked like he was going to try something flushed and removed a knife from a concealed sheath in his boot.

“Nice,” I said, and shot him through the face. The bullet exited through a big and messy hole and struck a tree across the road. The shot was loud but hollow, as gunfire outside usually is. The echo bounced off the trees and vanished into the sky. Even if someone heard it, there was little chance they’d be able to accurately determine where it came from.

The other two men cried out and started to move, tried to catch him, almost ran, and all of it at once, meaning they accomplished nothing.

“Why . . . why . . . why . . . ?” stammered one of the others. “The fuck you shoot him for? Donny did what you said.”

“Not the first time I asked,” I said. “Let’s all take that as a teachable moment.”

They stood rock still and gaped at me, caught between the gun and the dog, with all of their options leaking out of Donny’s head.

“Now, here’s what is going to happen next, kids,” I said. “You’re going to take your belts off and let your pants drop around your ankles. No, don’t look at me like that. This isn’t that kind of weird. Belts off. Good. Pants down. Now, take your belts and wrap them around your pants, knot them up tight and cinch the buckles. Make a good job of it or I’ll have Baskerville bite something off you don’t want to lose.”

The dog gave a deep-chested whuff.

I watched as they followed my orders, creating a useful version of leg irons. Sure, they could get out of it, but not quickly. The younger of the two wore stained blue boxers; the other guy had the nastiest, clingiest pair of tighty-whities I’d ever had the misfortune to see.

“Guess we’re all happy neither of you decided to go commando today,” I said. They looked down at the ground, too scared and embarrassed—and confused—to say shit. I crossed my legs and sat down ten feet from them. Baskerville sat so close to the older guy that hot slobber fell on the man’s thigh. I told them to sit, and they did. “Let’s play truth or dare. Rules are simple. I ask questions and you give me absolutely true answers. Full and complete answers. And don’t you dare fuck with me.” Flies were beginning to buzz around Donny’s head, which added eloquent emphasis. They both nodded.

“First,” I said. “Names.”

“Barry,” said the younger guy. “Barry Niles. People call me Diver.”

“Why? You skydive or skin-dive?”

He colored. “It’s, um . . . ”