[b]GRAND JUNCTION, COLORADO 
MARCH 26TH 08:03 AM[/b]

Bonnie’s directions had been scribbled so hastily and so nervously that they were barely legible, but fortunately for Greg, Tina’s place was easy to find. It was a brisk half hour walk to the homely looking, one bedroom house, not far from the Colorado Mesa University, where The Chinatown Kid’s letter told him Tina was studying film and animation. Top of her class, Jim had written proudly.

Taking a look through the windows, the elder cowboy saw nothing out of the ordinary. Everything seemed clean and tidy – or as clean and tidy as you could expect from a young, single college student. A few pizza boxes were strewn about, there was a ruffled blanket on the couch and a glass full of dried up tea leaves sat next to it. On the living room table dishes stood unattended and laundry littered chairs. 

Greg turned and scanned the neighbourhood. Children were skateboarding off a ramp up the street, a woman was walking by with her dog and a man two houses over was lazily picking up his newspaper. Suburban paradise.

The urban cowboy knew what that meant, even if it had taken him a long time to get used to it. He walked around to the other side of the house, where there was a small garden and patio. By the backdoor there were a couple of empty wine bottles, one filled with about a dozen cigarette stubs. Standing against the wall was a locked up mountain bike. That seemed to cancel out Bonnie’s boyfriend’s theory.

Greg tried the door. Unlocked. Just like his wife had told him a thousand times after they had retired to Florida. “Leave it. This isn’t New York, this is a good neighbourhood.” The way she’d say ‘good neighbourhood’ always made him laugh. “What’s wrong with New York?” he’d ask and she’d shoot him a look. 

He missed her.

Inside, Greg searched for signs of a struggle – and signs of something [i]worse[/i] – but there was nothing to find except dust and dirty dishes. Then, the cowboy noticed something, lying in a chair under a mess of clothes. He pulled out a small, cardboard canvas covered in canvas. Drawn on it were little panels, a storyboard of sorts for an animation she must have been working on. In the sketches, Greg could make out two masked figures, brandishing guns. In the top right, it read: ‘The Vigilante and the Chinatown Kid’.

Greg smiled, proud, flattered. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

If the cowboy had been paying more attention, he’d he have noticed the man clad coming up behind him. He’d have noticed the cord held in the man’s hand, slowly reaching up and now violently across Greg’s neck.

“Hhuurgh!”

If he had noticed, it might not have been too late.