There was a bottle of cold beer in his right hand and a half a pack of cigarettes lying on the table in front of him. That is why he loved places like this, it didn't matter what the pompous city council said, and the people that came to a dump like this didn't give a shit if you smoked ten packs of cigarettes a night. This was the kind of place that when you walked in the front door they frisk you, and if you didn't have a gun they gave you one. And tonight this was the spot he had chosen for what needed to be done. The man was dressed the part from head to toe, he was wearing scuffed up biker boots, faded jeans with at least a half dozen holes in varies places, a torn black t-shirt with “Kill Em' All and Let God Sort Em' Out” across his chest in blood red, and an old baseball cap with the Delta Force patch on it. However, all of it was just for show. The man had never been in the military, the fact was he had never done and honest day’s work in his entire life, and he damn sure didn't believe there was a God to sort things out.
