The Reformed Vampire Support Group

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for.
    ‘Like disguising your bullets as something else,’ Horace suggested. ‘You’d never be able to post them to Australia, otherwise. Would you?’
    ‘Maybe if you pretended they were jewellery.’ Dave was scribbling down a telephone number. ‘Which they’re mostly sold as, by the look of things. There can’t be many people who buy them as ammo. Not at fifteen dollars a pop.’
    ‘In which case, our loony should stand out like a sore thumb,’ said Horace. ‘He’ll be ordering his bullets by the cartload.’
    At this point Mum called my name, so I missed Dave’s telephone conversation with the vice-president of Ranger’s Inc. Instead I went downstairs to say goodbye to Father Ramon. Then I shooed Mum off to bed and arranged things in the basement. I filled it with kitchen chairs, card tables and electronic equipment. I drew up a shower schedule and distributed cans of insecticide, in case the roaches became a problem. I even dug up a couple of old board games, a set of dumbbells, and some movie magazines.
    By the time I’d finished, I could hardly stand up. But I felt quite proud of myself, because I’d exhibited a degree of energy and enthusiasm that you don’t often see in a vampire.
    But Dave had done even better. With just one phone call, he had managed to secure a printout of the Ranger’s Inc. customer list – for five thousand American dollars.
    ‘
Five thousand
?’ Horace cried, aghast.
    ‘That’s less than a thousand for each of us,’ said Dave. ‘I thought it was a pretty good deal.’
    ‘But is the list even helpful?’ I queried, and he looked slightly hurt, as if I’d been questioning his competence.
    ‘See what you think,’ he mumbled. ‘If you ask me, it’s paydirt.’
    Upon examining the printout, I had to agree. Ranger’s Inc. hadn’t been doing much business in Australia during the past two years. Dave had underlined just five local orders. A Queenslander named Nefley Irving had purchased twelve silver bullets. Finian Pendergast, from Western Australia, had bought six. Two of the other customers had requested only one bullet each. And Barry McKinnon, of Wolgaroo Corner (‘via Cobar, New South Wales’) had ordered a hundred.
    ‘
A hundred bullets?
’ Horace exclaimed, when Dave had drawn our attention to this fact. ‘What’s he using, a machine gun?’
    ‘That’s got to be him,’ I said. ‘Don’t you think? Sanford?’
    But Sanford was frowning, and stroking his moustache. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘Cobar? That’s an awfully long way away. That’s near the South Australian border. It’s not just a day trip – not for anyone coming to Sydney.’
    ‘Then we’ve got a problem,’ said Dave. When the rest of us stared at him, he explained that Barry McKinnon’s phone number wasn’t listed. ‘Either it’s silent, or he doesn’t have a landline,’ Dave reasoned. ‘Which makes things pretty difficult.’
    ‘What about the other customers?’ asked Gladys. ‘Did you try them?’
    ‘Yeah.’ According to Dave, Nefley Irving’s number was disconnected, and Finian’s number had been answered by a machine. ‘I didn’t leave a message,’ Dave concluded, in his slow, quiet way, ‘because I didn’t know what to tell him.’ He scanned the basement, looking for help. ‘Does anyone know what we’re going to say to this guy?’
    No one did. We hadn’t got that far. After all, what
can
you say to a vampire slayer?
    How on earth do you persuade him to change his views?
    ‘I suppose we’d better speak to Father Ramon before we make any final decisions,’ Sanford said at last, with a sigh. ‘We have to consider how to approach our suspects, now that we’ve narrowed down the possibilities.’
    ‘We’ll narrow them down a lot more if we make contact with Fangseeker,’ Dave mused. ‘The trick will be to find out where he’s from. If he mentions Cobar, we’re in luck.’ Scratching his scrubby jaw, Dave turned to Horace. ‘Why don’t you go

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