My brother Sam and I have been chasing a demon trail down to Austin, Texas. It’s a big city which means it’ll be tougher to narrow things down while we’re here. Neither of us like rednecks, either. But what Sam doesn’t know — or at least pretends not to know — is that I am more than ready to pose as a cowboy.

“People from Texas don’t dress like that, Dean.” Sam criticizes me as I get into the car wearing what James Arness or Clint Eastwood would have worn. Complete with a cowboy hat, too. I ignore his criticism as I drive us to the old honky-tonk, which is home to most of the recent victims. An undercover ruse, if you will. Of course I am more than excited to be participating in this one.

As soon as we get to the bar, I order a pint of beer. I guess that was my first mistake, because Sam orders whiskey on the rocks and he never orders whiskey unless he needs to fit in. Fuck that guy.

I’ve gotten a few in me when I follow a particularly attractive stranger up to the jukebox — not necessarily on purpose, but let’s just say I had a double-agenda. I lean against the light-up plastic frame and grin down at them.

“Excuse me,” I fake drawl. “You look like you love me.”