Jerry thought maybe listing an ad for a vampire killer had been a bad idea. The guy wasn’t tall, but he was big, the scary kind of guy who could have been a biker: beard, old army coat, head shaved. His knuckles were a map of pain in the past, his and others’.

“Name’s Lester.” Lester lit up a cigar. "You were hoping for tall, leggy, lots of leather and cleavage? You and me both.

“You’re having second thoughts about now, if you’re smart. Thing is, you can’t back out. I’m not the only one who saw your ad, so you better get whatever monster you’re gunning for before he comes for you.” Lester tossed the cigarette and stomped on it.

Jerry couldn’t back out. He was bigger than Lester, and had a better build, the result of a lifetime of honest work. His hair still had some black in it. “I have a gun. All I need is a few tips so I can get the freak that killed my son’s family.”

“First tip.” Lester popped nicotine gum and took a few chews. “Guns aren’t worth squat. You any good with a sword?”