BillyJack stood next to his doublewide, feet shoulder width apart, one hand on his hip, the other taking aim, as a long hot arc of bright yellow urine streaked through the air, and ended on his neighbour’s doorstep.

The eight beers he’d consumed already today lent a forcefulness to his petty act of vengeance, and he felt good. Damn good. So good, in fact, that he thought he’d have another beer or two before lunch. Then maybe go see Darlene, take her for a burger up at the Grill’n’Fill.

Lost in the bliss of an emptying bladder, BillyJack didn’t notice the door to Earl’s trailer open. He didn’t know anything had changed until he finished pissing, opened his eyes, and was staring down the barrel of Earl’s thirty-odd-six.