“Listening? You won’t hear a thing this early.” Hargrave had come up behind him as he stood on the little sand ridge above the trailer in the hollow, looking west. Nick turned to him. Outfit by Banana Republic, sunglasses of fifties retro look, straw Australian hat. Were Aussie-style cowboy hats the particular province of assholes, like big new BMW sedans?
“Not really. Just looking and wondering if we know what we’re after.” It was hard to put a finger on what was so maddening about Hargrave. He was handsome and intelligent and articulate and patently sincere. But…
“Are you faggots gonna knock off the love feast up there and give us a fuckin’ hand?”
Trigg. The poacher stood below with his hands on his hips, grinning He had a tractor cap, a long thin red beard, glasses, and a broken toot
