Pam held herself against the cold. The driving rain stung her face, and the wind knifed mercilessly through her cheap windbreaker. The sign to her left read “Tony’s Place.” This dump – any dump – would do. She pushed open the door.

Inside, all six tables were full, four to a table. There was only one empty space at the bar. She paused to take in the lettering on the second “Tony’s Place” sign. This one looked like a three-year-old’s first attempt at scrawling the alphabet. Over the bar was an odd inscription: Something for nothing is never worth what you pay for it.

Pam snorted. What was that supposed to mean? She no longer cared whether the light at the end of the tunnel was sunshine or a train.

Two men – one short, one burly – stood in the thicket and looked down at the deer. The shorter man had shot the animal and was now admiring its ten-point rack. It was a distraction he needed. The burly man, a bodyguard, made sure the deer was dead and then knelt down and began cutting the head off.

"Might as well gut it, too, Russell," Rudolph Scarpattie said. "I know the man who owns this land will appreciate it. Besides, you’ve already got blood all over your new shirt. A little more won’t hurt, will it?"

"You sure this fella's a meat eater?" Russell, the bodyguard, asked, slitting the animal down the middle. "It wouldn’t do to give a couple hundred pounds of venison to a vegetarian."

They both laughed.

"No, he won't eat the meat, but his dogs will."