Can we trust this guy? It was a good question, and again I felt that honesty was the only way I was going to get out of this. xnx Harold on the other side of the fence scuffed the ground with his toe and said, “We’ve had to do it before, but it’s no fun.” Looking at me, he said, “If you really want to do dirty stuff in the woods, show us. Was the “pass” like a mountain pass, a gap in the ridges of land covered with forest that ran away from the bike trail on both sides, a pass that led to something magical? It was a little theatre in the woods. Behind the gun was the grizzled face of a man about my age, sixtyish, tall, well built and well dressed in outdoor clothing, but serious in demeanour.




















