the smuggler’s bible


It’s a dusty old town that Rudy finally stumbles into with his hat low over his eyes and his collar turned up to keep the bugs off his neck.

“Hey, stranger,” says an oily man in a garage. “Watch yourself, there’s—”

“Nope.” Rudy waves a tired hand. “Don’t care. I’m not getting into your Yojimbo shit.”

A truck screeches to a halt and a burly man leaps from the cab. “New blood, huh?” he says. “Better join up with us.”

“Don’t bother.” The oily man shrugs. “He’s out.”


“I’m out, man,” Rudy says. “The lone wanderer gig is hokey.”