The turnoff for Mooney's trailer was a frequently-ignored path that most thought was a driveway to a well-hidden home. They weren't far wrong. The going was fairly easy for the first quarter-mile or so, then the trail began climbing. Recent rains had washed out parts of the graded road and he knew that would've spelled doom for a Vic. The Jeep bounced down the trail and jounced over roots, rocks and ruts.

"I can see why you called this 'time consuming,'" Bruenner remarked as they hit a level patch a few hours later. "Want me to drive for a bit?"

"No offense, but you don't know this road," Lance replied. "It's a tricky bugger."

She harrumphed at his British-ism. "Hear anything back on that APB?"

"Just a bunch of false leads, mostly," he replied brusquely. "Chief has other units checking them out right now."

Bruenner nodded and turned to watch the shady forest crawl by. "Sure is pretty out here."

Lance grunted noncommittally as he down-shifted before the Jeep began descending into a small valley.

"Be a good place to go camping."

"Yeah, probably," he answered, trying to keep his mind on the road.

The Jeep trundled down the steep incline and splashed its way across a small creek before starting up the next rise. It was close to an hour later before he started seeing signs of habitation. A rusted-out '44 Ford sat amongst some trees not far from the trail. Mattress springs and other odds and ends could be seen lying in the undergrowth as well.

"Do you smell something?" Bruenner asked suddenly.

The scent of burning wood and what he knew to be corn mash was faint and growing stronger as the Jeep climbed again. "Yeah, we're getting close. Mooney's trailer is just up this rise."

"He knows you're coming, right?"

Lance grunted. "Not likely. Too far to run a phone line and there isn't a cell phone tower for miles. Perfect place for a still."

"Wait a second," she protested. "Still? People do that around here? That's illegal."

"Yeah, but Mooney's harmless," he replied. "As long as he's not selling the stuff, I tend to look the other way."

"But—"

"Look, Mooney and I go back aways," Lance grumbled. "So, just drop it."

A few minutes later, he spotted a single-wide trailer set in the far end of a meadow. Sure enough, there was a pretty decent-sized still percolating to it's tinny heart's content. Lance rubbed the back of his neck.

"Best let me to the talking," he said, killing the engine and climbing out. Bruenner followed suit.

Instead of going up to the door and knocking, Lance stood by the side of the Jeep, thankful for the chance to stretch his legs. Bruenner joined him.

"So, what are you waiting for?" she whispered.

"Mooney's a bit touchy about trespassers," he replied simply. "Give him a minute and he'll come out on his own."

Sure enough, a few moments later, the front door of the trailer swung open and out stepped a man of a bygone era. He was grizzled and weathered with a full head of shocking white hair and a matching, if albeit scruffy, beard. One cheek bulged from a wad of tobacco. He was dressed in a plaid hunting jacket that was probably one wash away from falling apart altogether, a white undershirt whose myriad of stains vaguely resembled a Rorschach ink-blot test, and jeans that had probably been purchased sometime during Vietnam. Cradled in his arms was a sawed-off shotgun meant to be more intimidating than anything.