North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws

The wooden cabin was enclosed by a wire fence, its main door locked. A very low doggy door allowed the dogs to come and go.

"Impressive!" Harry exclaimed, his eyes wide with admiration as he looked at Bokke. "Buddy, you actually made these dogs as obedient as people!"

A proud smile touched Bokke's heavily bearded face. "Dogs are one thing," he said. "I'm confident I could train even wolves to be incredibly docile."

As he spoke, he opened the house door. "Come in. It's a bit messy inside; I hope you don't mind."

Inside, apart from some simple furniture, were bags of dog food and stacks of cans. The open-plan dining area even featured two small meat grinders.

This place resembles a warehouse more than a home.

It's evident.

Bokke truly loved dogs; even the water glasses he offered Dean and Harry were shaped like dogs' heads, looking quite cute.

He set down the water glasses and settled comfortably onto the sofa. "Detectives," he said, "I hope you're not here because one of the dogs I've trained bit someone."

Dean shook his head with a smile. "No, we just heard that you have quite some expertise in dog training, Mr. Bokke. We were passing by today for a case and decided to drop in."

"A case?" Bokke looked startled for a moment, then realization dawned. "Is it about someone in the housing complex up ahead? I heard from some residents that a woman there apparently committed suicide."

"Yes. The poor lady encountered some unbearable hardships and chose to leave this world."

Dean sighed with a hint of regret, then took out a business card. "Actually, Mr. Bokke, the reason we're troubling you today is that my grandfather's farm needs some good-quality sheepdogs. Do you have any recommendations?"

"Sheepdogs?" Bokke glanced at the business card, a smile playing on his lips. "Simple enough. You can pick out the puppies first. I'll train them for about three months, then they can go to the ranch to get settled in. As for the price, you'll need to discuss that with my studio."

"No problem!" Dean stood up. "Then we won't disturb you any longer."

As he spoke, he turned to leave, then, as if remembering something, looked back. "By the way, Mr. Bokke, before we go, could we take a look at that temporary dog training cabin you have outside?"

Bokke's expression stiffened slightly. "Well, you could," he said, a hint of reluctance in his voice, "but as you've noticed, it's closed off right now. I've lost the key, and for a soundproof cabin like that, picking the lock..."

"I can pick locks!" Dean interrupted with a smile. "That kind of lock is simple. A piece of wire is all it takes!"

Harry already sensed the shift in atmosphere, his hand unconsciously drifting toward his waist.

Bokke noticed his movement. His pupils contracted slightly, but he nodded with a forced smile. "Alright. I hope you don't jam the lock. I'll go get some lubricant, just in case."

With that, he walked calmly to a nearby cabinet and reached for a black bottle.

Seeing this, Harry relaxed slightly, thinking perhaps he'd been too jumpy. He lowered his hand from his waist.

The next moment, Bokke's hand, instead of grabbing the bottle, swept beneath the cabinet. He spun around abruptly, aiming what he held at Dean and Harry.

It was a Glock 17!

"FK!" Harry roared, launching himself sideways in an attempt to tackle Dean.

The next moment.

BANG! A gunshot ripped through the house.

The smell of gunpowder filled the air.

Harry's mind went blank. He slammed into Dean, the impact like hitting a concrete wall. He stumbled and fell, rolling once before his senses snapped back. As he drew his own gun, he frantically patted himself down, terrified of finding an extra bullet hole.

"Steady," Dean said, his right hand already clear of the smoking holster at his hip.

Almost simultaneously.

THUD.

Bokke's large frame crashed to the floor.