the smuggler’s bible


The wind is picking up and whistling through gaps in the house’s shingles when Dorian arrives just before sunset. He grabs his gun and crowbar, then heads to the front door.

“It’ll break for the woods if it can,” he says, watching the others fan out over the grounds to cover the exits. He checks his watch on the stairs and decides it’s time to get the show rolling.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, you know,” the old judge whispers through the keyhole.

“I’m sorry, your honor,” Dorian says. “But this isn’t up to either of us anymore.”