Seeing the three dead men and learning that they’d been stripped of what ammunition they had left suggested that Winslow might be even worse off, in...comparison, to Ferguson. It made me shake my head in disgust.“Fuck! That man is a really sick bastard,” I declared angrily, drawing everyone’s attention to me with the vehement nature of my tone. “He killed them for bullets. The bastard killed three men in their sleep so he could have enough ammunition to move on to the next village to do a little. Since school).But this story is about what I didn't know about Rick (and vice versa) on a Thursday afternoon in 1986. We both had busy schedules - but we always had time on Thursdays to get together at his house and catch up on things. I got there at the usual - door unlocked as usual, and headed upstairs, yes as usual. Now, as normal - I would always find him in his room studying, Not this time!As I headed down the hallway, I could hear the definite moans and pounding of some serious. More

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