the smuggler’s bible


Gül sells his horse to a fella with greasy little eyes and his name on the swinging board above the butcher’s shop.

“Just for hauling, of course,” the man says. He grins in the alley as his stoop-backed son leads the creature away.

“Lie to somebody who gives a shit.”

“If you’re not leaving town, you should try to play nice with the people who live here, mister.”

Gül spits into a snowbank. “Where’s the church?”

“Up the hill, but you’d probably better wait til morning.”

“Hell, maybe I oughta,” Gül says, adjusting his gunbelt. “It’s what you idiots deserve.”