But then they don’t need to be, not with Big Bad Bart in on the game. Propped up in a corner of the van, snoring his fat head off, he’s packing an Enfield AS7 drum-fed assault shotgun—a big, brutal motherfragger of a weapon that looks no bigger than a popgun in his hands. The Mossberg CMDT combat gun—which the Star FRT used to pulp little Piers and remodel my van a couple of nights back—is more lethal, but not by much. If Bart takes a shot at me, I’ll be too busy getting torn to shreds to notice the difference. So the name of that tune is not to let him into a position where he can take that shot.