D. H. BROWN

   I'd faced no real threats to my safety in twelve years. You see, fear is what keeps your soul in the body you're born in. No fear, no caution. No caution, no survival. I'm all about survival. That's why I'm still alive after nearly twenty-five years in the killing fields. I didn't intend to cut that short by being over confident. No, this hunter was young and full of all kinds of piss and vinegar. Old bulls get to be old by never underestimating young bulls. I would be taking no chances when it came time to put him down.
   When the youngster had settled himself at the bar with a long-neck brew and was checking out the other side of the room, I stubbed out my smoke and slipped out of my corner booth behind the pool table. The back door, down the hall from the little boys' room, was always propped open on late autumn nights like this for the folks who like to sneak out back and smoke a little homegrown weed. It's also a shortcut to the parking lot on the west side of the building. I figured it would take him a while to work the room, matching faces and maybe a description, to the crowd. That would let me take a look-see at the cars in the lot. If he wasn't wound too tight, then any partner he might have, would probably feel the same.
   The Creek Tavern sits right on the Strait of Juan de Fuca, a little out from Clallam Bay, west along state Highway 112. At 2330 there wasn't much traffic in either direction. The parking lot was quiet as most people by now were either home or settled into where they would drink. Parking was a single line of cars, mostly nose in, along the front of the building, except to the west where latecomers have to find a place to double-up without blocking anyone. That's where he'd have had to park. Bessy, my old rusted beater of a ‘73 GMC pickup was backed in very close to the rear door.
   Once clear of the indirect light spilling from the doorway, I stopped to get a feel for the night. After a few moments of hearing nothing except the soft swish of the distant surf against the shore to my right, I moved on. Keeping to the edge of the brush and trees growing above the shoreline, I slowly made my way around the parking lot and stopped again. Jimmy had long since quit trying to keep the back lit during business hours as he didn't want prying eyes watching the rear area too closely.
   Waiting for my eyes to acquire some night vision and get used to the occasional car going by, I reconnoitered the vehicles under the trees, letting myself settle deeper into the grooves of my past life. Nothing moved. It used to be watching for the smoke of a stakeout was a sure sign. In these oh-so-correct PC days of fitness, it wasn't something I could rely on. The fall nights were getting decidedly chillier, and a heavy fog was moving in off the Strait, so a heater would be nice for someone waiting. Nothing. A slight onshore breeze brought the kiss of marine mist to my right cheek. All the twenty or so vehicles in sight were showing the glitter of moisture in the reflected light from the bar.
   I slowly moved around the verge of the parking area to the first of the last three cars. I recognized Jimmy's old ‘72 El Dorado Caddie and Tammy's almost new VW bug, both pulled in head first, and I knew the kid was trained enough not to make that mistake. It had to be the new-looking dark blue Ford Explorer closest to the highway, facing east, nose out, a little away from the rest. Just enough to stick out to the trained eye. I waited. From the lights of the intermittent passing cars I could see no one inside.
   Moving slowly, I quietly stepped up to within a few feet of its left rear and waited again. Nothing. Keeping an eye on the front door of Jimmy's, and a watch on my back trail, I moved alongside and peered into the back then the driver's window. Empty. Good. Squatting, I duck walked forward, reached in over the left front tire and checked the inside of the fender well. Sure enough, still warm to the touch.
   Now, all I had to do was separate the baby bull from the herd and see what came of it. I quickly eased back into the bar, and my booth. The kid was leaning forward, trying to engage Jimmy. I could imagine how that was going. He finally gave up and turned toward the east side of the room. Jimmy's eyes flicked in my direction, and went back to the beer he was drawing.
   I'm particular about my friends, and Jimmy's one I'd helped out in the past. He was solid. An old ‘Nam Vet who wasn't particularly enamored with anything government. His mouth didn't flap. No problem there.

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