“And I would appreciate it if you told your bosses to stop trying to poach my men,” Brad said.

The man stopped, looked back. “The First People’s Bank has done no such thing. We merely offer opportunity to people, and those who are dissatisfied with their current circumstances often take advantage of that opportunity.” Smiling, he nodded and walked out the door.

“Prick,” Brad muttered.

“They could never hire me away.” Carol shivered. “That place scares me.”

“Yet after everything that’s gone on, Bill G. defects?”

“Maybe,” Carol reminded him. “We don’t know for sure yet.”

“We know.”

The phone at Carol’s desk rang, and she picked it up. “Montgomery Sheriff’s Department, Sheriff Neth’s office.” There was a pause. “Just a minute.” She put the caller on hold. “It’s Nash Weems,” she told Brad. “He wants to talk to you. He sounds angry.”

Brad sighed. “Who isn’t these days? I’ll take it in my office.” He walked back to his desk and picked up the phone. “Nash?”

“What the hell, Brad?”

Conversations with the gun shop owner almost always started out this way. “What can I do for you, Nash?”

“You can tell me how the town approved three more gun shops—three!—all of a sudden, without any notice, when it took me months to get an approval, and I had to do everything but sign over my firstborn. Remember, I had that one location but the town said it was too close to the high school, so I had to move halfway across town? Guess what? One of these new guys is right there in my old spot by the high school. I mean, what the hell?”

“I have nothing to do with business licenses. You know that. I don’t even work for the town. I’m county.”

“But you work with the town, and I assume they keep you up on what’s going on, right?”

“I know nothing about this, Nash. Your call is the first I’ve heard about it. But it is a free country. I understand that you’re not happy with the competition, but—”

“They’re selling military assault weapons.”

That brought him up short. Certainly there were people in town who owned assault rifles and military grade weapons. But, if so, they’d purchased them elsewhere. Nash might have a bigger selection than Wal-Mart or the average sporting goods store, but he still stocked primarily handguns and hunting rifles, ordinary guns for ordinary people. Brad did not like the idea that more serious weaponry might now be easily available in Montgomery.

“Can I also assume,” Nash said, “that you’re not aware of the new bullet factory out by the airport?”

“No,” Brad said. “I’m not.”