Most people prefer the comfortable, padded illusions of the daylight. They scurry about their short, frantic little lives, terrified of what lies just beyond the high fences of the lot. But you possess a curiosity for the deeper, more exquisite textures of the dark. The Book of Proverbs warned us: “Enter not into the path of the wicked, and go not in the way of evil men. Avoid it, pass not by it, turn from it, and pass away. For they sleep not, except they have done mischief.”

Frank thought Lana was in pieces inside the locked trunk of that 1949 Hudson Commodore. He was wrong. In this town, the dead don’t stay that way for long. When the slide pulls back empty on his .45 Colt, Frank realizes that the bartender’s real trade is not in drinks, but the debt of a human soul.

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