Chapter 4
Piff Montana wasn’t too different from the average Joe on the street if you could somehow look beyond the face that’s so repulsive it reminds you of a caricature of evil. A face with black eyes drilling into yours. A face that enjoyed serving up his fellow man with the wonders of death.
On this particular morning as he walked along the city’s streets looking into windows, gazing into the faces of those around him, he carried a certain darkness about him. His shoulders were drawn together against the damp morning mist, against the humidity in the air, and he coughed occasionally because the gas fumes from cars that lined the street made it difficult to breathe.
He stood a little taller than average, but not too tall. His fingers were punched down into a pair of dark, ragged glo
