Going to a mountain house. There’s a family there in hiding. They’re paranoid someone’s out to kill them. I’ve been asked to guard them. The parents, George and Harriet, are under the impression I enjoy using handguns. Never touched one in my life. As a matter of fact, I detest weapons. My purpose at the mountain house is to assure they understand my visit will be brief. I’ll prepare an Indian buffet then take the long boat back to my urban shack. Flip on the tube, roll myself a smoke and then pass on the bearskin carpet.