It was well known in town that Danton could throw an evil fit, and right now beer was disappearing down him like floodwater down a storm drain. The last goon to cross him ended up dangling from the ten-pointer mounted above the jukebox at Lenny’s, and story went that the old man had wrestled that self-same buck to the ground and stabbed it through the eye, after it had the temerity to try and tree him and his jammed shotgun down in Black Bogs. But that was a while back, when he was younger, and he still had his scruples.



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