Harold opened the door that day to find a dark-skinned man in a well-cut suit smiling at him. At first he thought of reaching for his shotgun, but then he remembered that Lucille had made him sell it years ago on account of an incident involving a traveling preacher and an argument having to do with hunting dogs.
The snake had coiled itself halfway around my ankle by the time I spotted it.
Later that day, it was the dream he would remember. In the dead hours between midnight and dawn, it crept up on him like a child playing hide-and-seek.
It was one of the most hideous and brutal murders in the history of Chicago, a city already notorious for the brutality of its crimes.
Jerome Cardy knew he was going to die the moment he saw the other car in his rearview mirror.