You gotta love 'em & you gotta hate 'em. Our readers pretty much don't want blase'-cliche' or perfect.
Here are two hitmen from Deetroit I learned to love.
Fisher answered the first knock. Two men stood there as different as night and day. The one doing the rapping stood at least six foot one, and about two hundred and fifty pounds of hard fat. He held a permanent sneer and a cold stogie on his lips. He chewed at the layers of brown tobacco and looked… Continue