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Prologue
He knew better than to show up on a fucking motorcycle—and to park out front. Like waving a fucking flag with a giant rat on the front of it.
I’m no fuckin’ rat, he thought to himself. No way.
The shitty car came to a stop and he killed the ancient engine. The door whined as he opened and shut it. At least he wasn’t right there on main street in town, walking into the police station.
The back door to the crooked, dirty cabin opened. He heard the pump of a shotgun and looked to find the haggard looking detective with bloodshot eyes, suggesting someone had been hitting the bottle for breakfast.
“You alone?” the detective asked.
“Of course I’m alone.”
“Walk around the car and make sure I can see your hands. I’ll pump you with buck shot from your eyes to your asshole if you try anything funny.”
Here he was, walking toward a fate that had the endgame smell of freedom, showing his hands, approaching the detective with caution. The detective walked down the rotted back steps to the cabin. Shotgun pointed with precision. Off in the distance a few crows called out.
“I’m going to search you,” the detective said.
“Go for it,” he said as he turned and looked up.
The air entering his lungs was cool. Comfortable. He saw the crows fly overhead. They called out again. Did they just call me a rat? he thought to himself.
The detective touched, grabbed, and twisted everything possible.
“I know you’re packing,” the detective said.
“Sure as fuck I am,” he said. “Left ankle.”
“Do not reach for it, slimeball.”
“I thought we were beyond name calling.”
The detective grabbed the back collar of his shirt and pulled. “You’ll always be slime to me, asshole. Remember that. Remember who you really are and who I am. The only reason you exist right now is because of me. Do what needs to be done and you’ll leave without a bullet lodged in your fucking brain.”
“Your breath smells like whiskey and cock.”
Not a smart thing to say to the detective…
The detective wound up and used the butt of the shotgun like a hammer.
“Fuck!” he cried out in pain as his ribs felt shattered into fragments.
“Still standing,” the detective said. “You must be one tough asshole.”
“Of course I am,” he said. “Now are going to invite me in for some whiskey so we can talk?”
The detective spun him around and looked him dead in the eyes.
“Are you ready to help me take down Sins of Fire Real Anarchy West?”
And that, my friends, sinners, outlaws, readers is where this journey begins.
Are you ready?
Chapter One
Pew Pew
