John F Green

The Killing John F Green

He looked down at his stained, age-spotted and wrinkled hands, covered with scars, reminders of old accidents and wondered how much time had passed and how much he had left. He had always been proud of his hands. They had been dexterous and talented, supple and sensitive. Now they were relics of times gone by. As the nicotine took hold, he remembered his purpose for the day. He had to kill J. D. Bekins. Plus five other compact stories of murder, mayhem and assassinations