The Butcher: Blood Debt [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONEBlack night crept across the city and the city whim-pered, for the night boré the foulness of treachery, hate and greed, of violence and of death.The Butcher was in town.From the lavish penthouse suite of his favorité mink, crime Syndicate overlord Tony Firoli snarled into the phone and the orders passed swiftly down the chain of command to eager, hot-eyed triggermen poised to kill.Again the city whimpered. In despair.The aura of primitive savagery clung to the big granite-faced man, predatory survival instincts showed in the stalking panther alertness of each step he took along the sidewalk. From the dark doorway a drowsy wino suddenly gawked in nameless fear, bleated in terror and scrambled madly down the Street. Half a block up ahead a glaring neon sign blinked above the canopied side entrance of Big Mamma June Dorse/s Ore House.The big man stepped into the wino's doorway and surveyed the Street with bieak eyes, the move invol-untary, instinctive, as much a part of him as breathing.