CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

To Live and Die for Dixie

  A small tendril of smoke curled up from the end of the suppressor, which I had once more pointed down at the floor. The machined steel part had done its first job well. There had been almost no sound. Possibly, a short stiff handclap, but nothing more. With the exception of Hat…

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

To Live and Die for Dixie

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