Mask Of A Hunter

The low lighting of the place imbued everyone inside with a soft edge—even the bikers swilling beer. Muted conversations buzzed around her. The barn-plank walls sported black-framed photos of women in various stages of undress, bikers and their motorcycles. Pool balls clinked on a table at the back end of the room. The two men playing there were too scrawny to be Ace. Along the wall, booths with high wooden backs gave a certain privacy to patrons. She didn’t spot Ace there either—with or without a bimbo wrapped around him.