I looked around for something to use as a weapon. As in the camper, my options were limited, although the cat food, hurled in sufficient quantities, looked like it could do some damage.

The door opened.

"Hey, Charlie, how's it going?" asked a voice I was pretty sure belonged to Troll. As he walked to the front counter I saw it was indeed Troll, he of the scarred legs.

"It's going fine. How've you been?" asked the old man. "I haven't seen you around here since you shoplifted this morning."

Troll sighed. "It's going like complete shit, Charlie. We lost Ghoul."

"Better get out there and find him."

"We didn't lose him lose him, dumb-ass. He's dead."

"Are you kidding?"

I considered moving down to the other end of the aisle so I could make a break for it, but if I was lucky, Troll and Charlie wouldn't waste too much time talking and I'd get my chance to contact the police.

Troll shook his head. "Completely serious. He could be a pain sometimes, but I really liked that kid, and it's never good to lose a member of your team, y'know?"

"It certainly isn't."

Troll withdrew his hunting knife from its leather sheath. "And to top it all off, every one of 'em got away. I mean, even the frickin' dog. I'll tell you something, Charlie, I think this team is falling apart."

Troll scraped the knife against his leg. It appeared to be an absent-minded action, but I couldn't be sure.

"Well, you'll get them," said Charlie. "You always do. That's what the traps are for, right?"

"No, the traps are to give me something fun to do in between hunting sessions so I don't get bored out of my mind sitting around this dump. The specimens aren't even supposed to make it out of the car until we're ready. But yeah, they're probably dead. Hopefully chopped in half. I think maybe we need new management, if you know what I mean."

"Yep, I know what you mean."

"Have you seen anybody in here since you reported the family?"

"Not a soul."

"If you do, let us know ASAP."

"Will do."

Troll slid the blade of the knife against the back of his leg. The cut wasn't deep, but a trickle of blood ran down his skin. He let out a soft moan of pleasure.

"What was that for?" asked Charlie.

"What?"

"That sound you made."

"It was nothing."

"Aw, jeez, Troll, are you cutting yourself again? Don't do that in my place. I'm not saying this is a respectable establishment, but I don't want that masochistic crap going on here. Cut yourself someplace else."

"Lighten up. I'm not gonna get any blood on your precious floor."

"I can mop the floor. I just don't want your nasty self-mutilation bullshit happening in my place of business. Knock it off."

Troll defiantly held up his left arm and slowly slid the blade across it. He chuckled as Charlie grimaced.

"Get the hell out of my store," Charlie said, waving him away. "Come back when you learn to stop acting like a messed-up freak of nature."

"Got a Band-Aid?"

"Go on, get out of here, you whack-job. Go mourn your buddy."

I pulled back quickly as Troll looked over his shoulder in my direction. "Can I kill your guest first?"

"Aw, no, no, no!" Charlie protested. "Don't mess up my place!"

I stood up. My instinct was to run, but I'd be much better off if I stood and fought this particular whack-job, especially since Helen and the kids were probably headed this way. If I could get rid of Troll now, we'd be much more likely to ride off into the sunset for our happy ending.

I walked backwards as Troll joined me in the narrow aisle, grinning and holding the knife out in front of him. "Hey there. How've you been?"

"No, Troll, no! I mean it!" Charlie shouted. "No splatter on the merchandise! No splatter on the merchandise! That's the deal!"

"You really should adhere to your agreement," I suggested. "Getting banned from a store like this is a blot on your permanent record that will haunt you for the rest of your life."

"Oooooh, funny guy," said Troll.

"Really? I thought that joke was kind of lame. You must be easily amused."

"Oooooh, funny dead guy." Troll switched the knife from his right hand to his left. "Want me to carve some smiley faces on your chest?"

"No, but speaking of carving, what's the deal with cutting yourself? I mean, did you, I dunno, have a sexy French maid who cut you as punishment when you were a kid and it became some kind of fetish?"

Troll shrugged. "It's just my thing."

"It's a dumb thing. Really, it is. You look stupid when you're doing it. Chicks love scars, but not when they're self-imposed. I mean, I'm all for freedom of expression and all that, but what you're doing just isn't cool."

"Are you finished trying to distract me?"

"Almost."

Troll flicked the tip of his knife against his chin, drawing blood. "Maybe you should give this a try. You might like it."

"Nah. I've always been a bludgeoning man, myself. So, do you use antiseptic in bulk, or is infection part of the whole allure?"

"Do you ever stop talking?"

"Not generally, no. How about this? You look like a pretty tough guy. Why not put down the knife and make this into a fair fight?"

"Why the hell would I want to do that?"

"To be honest, I have no idea. I'm just reaching at this point."

He rushed at me. I instinctively grabbed for the closest object available, a bag of sour cream and onion potato chips, and used it to deflect his knife. The blade tore through the bag, releasing a shower of chips.

I punched him in the face as hard as I could. Troll flew back against the shelf, knocking several canned goods to the floor. He put a hand to his face where I'd punched him, smiled, and breathed heavily, almost panting.

Panting in a sexual way.

I truly hoped he didn't enjoy the punch.

He lunged at me with the knife again, and I stepped out of the way, crunching some chips underneath my foot. I punched him again, slamming my fist into his shoulder, and he let out a groan of pleasure.

"Not in here!" Charlie shouted, stepping into the aisle. "Some of us have to make a living!"

Troll rubbed his shoulder, pursed his lips, and said (and I quote): "Ooooooooh."

I lowered my fists. "Okay, no offense, but this is seriously messed up."

Troll grinned. "C'mon, give it to me again, big boy."

I grabbed a large can of tomato soup from the shelf and swung it at him just as he swung his knife at me. Tin can met stainless steel blade, and both lost. The can fell out of my hand and the knife fell out of his.

I punched him in the face with my other hand, knocking him back a step. He didn't throw back his head and scream "Yes! Oh, yes!" but his expression implied he was thinking it.

"You're paying for the damage, Troll! I'm gonna take inventory of every cent!"

"Shut up!" Troll shouted at him. "You're ruining this!"

This was so very wrong. How could I be expected to fight under these conditions?

Troll threw a punch of his own. It hit me in the chest, a glancing blow that was not even remotely pleasurable. Instead of punching back, I slammed my hands into his shoulders and gave him a hard push, shoving him to the floor. He landed on cans and potato chips, and this time his reaction was more of pain than pleasure, which was a relief.

I snatched up the knife.

Troll sat up and used the tip of his tongue to lick some of the blood trickling down the side of his mouth.

I held up the knife in what I hoped was a terribly intimidating way. "If you want to live, contact your buddies and tell them to call off the hunt."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Because I just told you to. I don't think having this knife go through your eyeball will quite give you that happy-happy feeling."

"Couldn't tell you. I've never tried it." Troll got up, brushing potato chip fragments off his pants. "Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't you put that knife down so we can have a fair fight?"