The taxidermy and hunting goods store -- it was foreclosed. Recently. The off-skirts of downtown Heropa. Carthage Company. [Chilton clenched and unclenched his left hand while his right sat under his thigh. Obscuring his adrenaline backlash with motion would help, he thought.] It was called Carthage Company. 1981 La Marsa Avenue.

[Chilton isn't thinking of the implications right now, as his fight or flight mechanism gears to a calmer pace -- now that it is done, now that Will was taking care of it. He wasn't considering that this would leave him indebted to Will Graham, that he would owe the man who helped him cover up an accidental murder. He wasn't considering how this left him exposed and vulnerable, how he would have to treat Will as an approximate equal. He didn't consider the blackmail potential. He didn't obsess about Will thinking like him in order to clean up his dirty business.

All of that would flood his cortex the moment Will left for the scene of the crime. But now, in this frozen minute, Chilton was only desperate and grateful.]

I shot over his head, into a wall. That wall, I suppose it was rotted through, it held a mounted elk head. That became... Dislodged. And it plummeted, into Abel Gideon.

[He exhaled, his gaze dripping to the floor.]

It's only two bullets. Two sets of casings. I used a Beretta Pico registered to my name.