“You know, ‘Bind, Torture, Kill.’ Serial killer from Kansas.” Itch says.

Hunter says, “Dennis Rader.”

Nugget says, “Guy did that shit for years. Traced one of his letters back to a computer where he attended church, busted his ass.”

“Damn.” Sid says, taking his hat off, running a hand through his wiry locks. “Imagine that. Been sitting with that same guy all those years every Sunday. Fucking creepy. I remember hearing about that in the news. Didn’t keep up with any of it. But whoever killed Dodd’s sister had folks worked up for a while, thinking there’s a killer amongst us. But most believe it was someone just passing through. Others believe it was Goat.”

Itch coughs. “Wait a minute. She fucked a goat?”

“No, no. There’s a guy in town who peddles pills, meth, and heroin. They call him Goat. Has a farm full of ’em. Some said she was into him for quite a bit on credit. He and her daddy was good friends. He grew impatient knowing she’d never pay him. She was tricking her hide to buy drugs, and then sometimes to get drugs from Goat. But that hat Dodd wears was hers. Her name was Shannon. He’s worn that hat since she was found. Never takes it off.”

“Fucking horrible,” Hunter says, “Definitely gonna need another Maker’s once this one’s gone.”

“Crazy damn world we live in,” Sid says. Sips his whiskey. “Used to see all them mama-sans overseas doing that, selling themselves to us soldiers. Crazy times.”

“Got that right,” Nugget says.

“How about a toast?” Sid asks. Bouncing his heel up and down on the floor. There’s a nervous energy about him.

Hunter says, “I’m game.”

Everyone grabs their glass, and they rattle them together above the table. Hunter tells Sid, “To old times and camping.”

“Amen to that,” Sid says, and the glasses clink.

Each man takes a sip, and Sid asks, “What’ve you been up to out in the Carolinas?”

“Fixing and building bikes. Had my own shop for a while, working out of my garage. Then had a guy approach me about a new shop he’s opening. Worked for him about five years. But it was wearing on me. He was no-account. Started taking me and the other gearheads working there for granted. Then I walked in on him abusing his hound dog. So I handed him some knuckles and boot leather. Took the dog, got home and got the news about Dad, and here I am.”

Sid slaps the table, rattles everyone’s glass. “Be damn, you don’t take no shit, Hunter. Turned out to be a real cowboy!”

“Things had been headed toward me leaving for a while, maybe six months or better. Guy had turned into a real prick. I’d already done the same work from my home and made good money doing it.”