Lucky for us Chief Nutter was shooting in the second round, and even more fortunately, he was a small man and had extra equipment, including a lovely 332 Remington that had been cut down an inch, making it a perfect fit for the Terror. While the first-round shooters peppered the air with pellets and the hillside with broken pottery, Vic tried on Nutter Butter’s old shooting vest, which, with a little adjustment, fit like a dream. “I need my shooting gloves.” “Where are they?” She looked at me as if I were the raw recruit who’d just been brought up from stupid. “They’re on the seat of the Tahoe with my Flyers hat. Could you get that for me, too?” “Anything else?” She examined the beautiful over-and-under. “Lessons?” When I got there, Dougherty was studying the SUV as if it had dropped out of the sky. “What are you doing with Irl Engelhardt’s car?”
