It’s shortly after lunchtime in a Sicilian hill town when the predators begin to gather in the otherwise empty streets.
The common lizard that hurries in and out of the cracks in the pock-marked wall of the cathedral need have no fear however, even though many of the hunters will be focusing their intention here. For now though the man with no name rests before the action begins. Van Cleef strolls nonchalantly.
A smaller group breaks off, largely unnoticed by the majority and makes for richer pickings. I am one of them, and find myself with serious company. Some hunt in packs, whilst others operate alone but with more fearsome weaponry than I might muster. Hired guns among them.
Some adopt a sniper’s eyrie, effective but inflexible for moving prey; others shoot from the hip.
It was a very different celebration, but one whose nature I won’t reveal.