As much as he enjoyed the shopping aspect of his secret passion, there was no doubt he would make a purchase. It was the thrill of the hunt, with the girl being the trophy, but instead of a gun he used his bank account. Besides, he thought with a smile, an overflowing bank account was much more dangerous than a loaded firearm. Ordinarily, people who committed money to major purchases often felt a sense of guilt, or even fear, over what they had done. But Evans had no such emotion. The purchase was the climax, the shopping the foreplay. He imagined it was like an alcoholic who claimed to love the atmosphere of his favorite smoky bar. Who raved about the camaraderie, the banter with the bartender. But he was really there for the booze, for the high it brought, and he could talk all he wanted about the social aspects of the bar, but he went there for one reason only; to get stoned. And for Bernard Evans, getting stoned was murder.
