THE THOUSAND DOLLAR HUNT: Colt Ryder is Back in Action! by J.T. Brannan

he said in answer. ‘Believe it or not, I hadn’t had any interest in it before then. It hadn’t been part of my home life before I signed up, and then as a young officer there was so much going on that it simply never occurred to me to try.’
    Badrock looked across to the heads, evidently lost in the past. ‘It was a friend of mine, another colonel working out of the Pentagon, that took me on my first hunting trip, it was up to Alaska.’ He shook his head in wonder. ‘I loved it immediately, that first time got me hooked. You know what happened?’
    He didn’t wait for an answer, simply ploughed on with his tale. ‘We’d bagged a couple of moose the first day, huge animals. I loved the peace, the solitude, the feeling of man against beast in the wilderness. Then later that day, sitting around the campfire – and this was my first time out, remember – a giant Kodiak bear burst out of the trees just next to us, knocked my buddy ten feet to the side with one swipe of his massive paws. Then he turned to me,’ he said almost wistfully, ‘and for a moment – just for a moment – I thought I was going to die, and it was a feeling I’d not had in years, one which made me feel truly alive , you know? And then before I knew what was happening, a gun had appeared in my hands and I’d fired off six rounds. It was a .44 Magnum revolver, carried just in case of this sort of thing, and those massive slugs hit the beast right in its center mass, stopped the bastard in its tracks.’
    Badrock picked up some more of the duck, placed it in his mouth and chewed on it thoughtfully. ‘My friend had six broken ribs and a punctured lung,’ he said at last, ‘but it was worth it. Introduced me to a whole new world, and I’ve been hooked ever since.’
    ‘And how does that tie in with the park here?’ I asked innocently. ‘Environmentally aware nature reserve, where does the fix come from now?’
    Badrock regarded me coolly across the table. ‘That was impressive, what you did back there in Groban’s office,’ he said at last, ignoring my question. ‘I guess you must be something of a hunter yourself, no? You’re hunting for answers.’
    ‘Do you have any?’ I asked with a raised eyebrow.
    ‘Yes,’ Badrock said, holding my gaze. ‘It might not be the answer you want, but it is the truth nevertheless.’ His meal finished, he poured himself some more port and stood, walking over to the massive picture window that overlooked a large swath of his property from the ranch house’s elevated position on a steep bluff.
    He looked out of the window at his kingdom for a time, before turning back to me. ‘Benjamin “T.J.” Hooker is dead,’ he said.
    I was taken aback by Badrock’s words, his honesty disturbing. What did it mean? Was he telling me this because I was next?
    ‘Groban met him at the ABQ BioPark, just as Ortiz said, offered him a job. You’ve probably seen for yourself, our staff here is a strange mix. We do employ some experts – and I mean real experts – for the more involved aspects of our work here. But let’s face it, how much am I going to pay people to pick up elephant dung? And so I bring in certain groups of people that don’t mind working for lower wages than the average – you know, men and women from across the border, or else people like Hooker, homeless and grateful for anything they can get.’
    He must have seen the look on my face, because he waved a hand dismissively in my direction. ‘Come on man,’ he said, ‘you know that’s how it works. Some of the work here is menial at best, and there just aren’t that many people willing to do it. So I’ve got to look elsewhere, right? And let’s face it, I’m doing them a favor. Who else is employing people like Hooker?’ He shook his head. ‘Nobody,’ he said in answer to his own question. ‘And they get well treated here, we either bus them in for free or else they can stay here in good quality accommodation blocks, they get