The outside of the house was non-descript, but from what I could see of the inside through the screendoor the decor was partially Victorian, with a tad bit seventies avacodo shag, sprinkled with the slightest hint of early-American redneck.  It said, "Hi, I'm Elvis and I am the King." A voice broke through my thoughts like a foghorn through the clouds.

"Hey sweetcheeks, you gonna come in or stand on my ****'n porch all afternoon?"

I opened the screendoor and hopped inside quickly. I almost wished I hadn't.  I gagged from the smell. Cigarette smoke and cleaning fluid permeated the place.  It clung to all three high-back sofas, the love seat, the two ottomans, all eight red drapes, and especially the mounted heads of every animal it was legal to shoot in this and several other states.  Shooter sat behind a large work table cleaning a rifle. 

"You ever shot before?" Shooter spit out from one side of the mouth while a cigarette hung from the other.

"No, sir."

"Sir!?!  You see these ****, bitch?" She pulled up her teeshirt to show me.

"Oh, ****.  Sorry."  I noticed them now, but mostly I noticed the tattoo of a Nazi helmeted skull between them.  From their size and gravity-pulled locale they could have easily been on the fat redneck I expected.  Besides that, she was buzz-cut, had a confederate flag tattoo on her wrist and a motorcycle with a skull on her arm.  Two tears were etched on the side of her eyes.

"Sorry woulda got you gutted, stuffed and mounted in my block, baby.  But you're lucky.  I've calmed down a lot."

She laughed loud and hard and then looked me up and down. "You party with girls?" 

I was about to answer that I'd been to a lot of party's with just my girlfriends, even though it was sinking in that she didn't mean that, when she laughed.

"Just kidding, honey. I only do men.  Sometimes two at a time, but just men, thank you." 

Her expression changed to one of concern.

"Do you know why we told you to hit the guy in the store?"

"It was a bet.  They said..."

"Naw, baby.  They was just fool'n.  It was the perfect opportunity for you to vent some of that anger in you."

"So, I wasn't being followed?"

"Oh, no, you were being followed,"  she said matter-of-factly.  "It was just a perfect moment.  Didn't you feel some relief?"

"Yes."  I had to admit.  The first hit gave me a great rush of energy and a unique calm at the same time.  "I felt vindicated for all the **** that's been..."  Tears welled up inside, but I fought them.  "I needed to know that I was not...a victim anymore."

"You wanted control back?"

"Yes!"  I shouted.

"You wanted to kick some ****?"

"Yes!"

"Do you want the same kick-**** control when you face Hughes?"

"Yes!"

"Do you want to completely destroy him?"

"Yes!"

"Or do you just want to shoot him?"

I paused dumbfounded.  I came to her house to get a gun and to be taught how to use it.  I was going to go back into the city and blow his brains out.  I was gonna...

"Control,"  she said softly.  "Kick-**** control and utter destruction.  Right?  Am I right?"

"Yes."  I mumbled.

"We're gonna get him, honey.  Oh, we're gonna get him, but it's gonna be a group effort.  You hired us to do a job and we do it well.  I'm gonna teach you how to shoot anyway.  That's part of my job."

I had begun to understand the other part.