Lester had a wad of small bills tucked into his jacket pocket. Now all he needed was the damn gun.
But the dealer looked him in the eye and grinned.
Then came the wrecking ball. Literally.
It tore through the side of the abandoned house, demolishing half the living room and missing him by only inches.
Lester dove behind the tattered sofa, his shoulder slamming against the plaster-covered floor. He grunted, caught his breath. Peering over the dusty couch cushions, he saw the two-ton hunk of rusted steel returning. Fast.
All this for an unregistered gun.
Hardly seemed worth it.
