Coyote Estates (Novel) - Ch.1 First 6 Paragraphs

CHAPTER 01
The Hunters



The thrill of the hunt is invigorating at eight-thirty in the morning. It is at this hour that the cool humidity brought upon by the morning dew buildup, clears the nasal passageways, and awakens the mind and body to ultra-sensory perception. All of nature is at the peak of its mental awareness, predators and prey alike.
Amidst the snowcapped hills of the Nevada desert, two men and a dog sat hidden within a field of cat-tails and empty beer bottles sprouting along the rim of a lake. The two men were drunk. The dog had a hangover. The hand gesture was given to signal the dwarf English setter to retrieve. She set off in a rather unenthusiastic and wobbly trot, still reeling from the loud shots.  
Wolfgang Malone, the one that fired the two shotgun blasts in such rapid succession, commenced a frivolous balancing act; gradually managing to stand up from his crouching position to survey his most recent kill. The first name was the result of his mother’s rich upbringing and the musical appreciation that it brought on. The surname came from his father’s Irish ancestry. He was a blue-eyed brunette in his early thirties. Currently he had on a five-hundred dollar olive-green sports jacket. The natural color along with the several large-sized buttoned pockets ideal for storing shotgun shells made it Wolfgang’s primary hunting jacket of choice. An ascot that went with the jacket was slugged around his neck for extra warmth. He also wore a good thick pair of camouflaged gloves. He also wore a good thick pair of camouflaged gloves.
“Must’ve clipped him from forty yards or more,” Wolfgang said, pronouncing the o’s as a’s and emphasizing the r’s in his thick Irish brough.
He had relied on sheer muscle memory to aim just the right amount of inches ahead of the moving target. Lamentably that wasn’t enough in his drunken stupor, and the aim of his first shot had been thrown off course by the reflection of the sunrise bouncing off the several glass bottles that littered the area, and illuminated straight into the eye of the goldeneye duck. Wolfgang’s love of scotch only magnified the effect. However his mind had quickly acted on the unforeseen annoyance and followed through successfully with the second shell.    
“Sunova bitch nearly blinded me. Some sorta reflection or somethin’.”