And the Blood of Dead Gods Will Mark the Score
By Gary Kloster
I had a frat-boy stretched out on the table, a pink slab of drunken meat just itching for ink, when Huck blew back into my life and brought the blood trade with him.
“Dead gods, Woody, this is the shit-hole you crawled into?” The shop was damn small, Huck was damn big, and the perfectly tailored black ass of his suit pants leaned against my desk before I’d even raised the humming needle from frat-boy’s hide.
“I’m busy, Huck. Back off.”
Full transcript appears after the cut.