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  • Writer's pictureJeb Brack


From the shadows stepped two thugs. The faint light glinted off the knife and brass knuckles they brandished as they demanded the records Studs carried. Studs racked his brain; he knew these two from someplace, and he knew they wouldn't be satisfied until they killed someone. His eye fell on a shovel, propped against a headstone by Sam, the grave digger.

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