The trees were golden brown, glistening ever so softly with remnants of an early morning frost, and the crops were heavy, saddled with a restless weight that matched the heaviness under which Arthur “Murph” Murphy’s mind labored. It had only been a few of weeks since the loss—a bitter defeat at t...
There was Scotty, a stocky, muscle-bound, impatient man in his late thirties who looked like an amateur boxer; Quinton, a polished gentleman with a waxed mustache and an expensive suit, and two other men wearing baseball caps and of dire expressions. “This freak show is killing me,” the first of ...