By Marcus Galloway
Nick Graves is a Mourner. His career is to rearrange funerals and manage gatherings for wakes in addition to hangings, supplementing his meager source of revenue by means of making coffins. He has come to this task, a occupation he discovered from his father, after years making his dwelling with a quick draw and a funky nerve. Now he desires to fail to remember his previous, overlook the destruction he has attributable to assuming an easy existence and a quiet vocation. yet, the activity he is taking in new city additionally comprises a few outdated difficulties. the city is stocked choked with corrupt males, males who will make it very tough for Nick to proceed the relations exchange, males who will strength him to come back to his outdated profsesion, while he created corpses rather than cared for them.
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Extra info for The Man From Boot Hill: Reaper's Fee
Sample text
Don’t try my patience, old man,” the first masked man said. The older man didn’t have anything else left to say. Instead, he nodded and walked behind his desk to reveal a small safe hidden beneath a red sheet and a vase of flowers. Until now, the second masked man hadn’t done anything but stand in the doorway. When he started fidgeting, the first gunman walked over to him and pulled him inside. “My partner’s getting nervous,” the first masked man said. Just then, one of the customers spoke up.
Sometimes I think it was a mistake to stay here,” he said as the vodka worked its way through his system. “No, you always think it’s a mistake to stay here,” Catherine said as she leaned against the bar next to him. ” Nick looked into her eyes and smiled. The gesture seemed odd for features as harsh as his, but it was genuine enough. A thick beard covered his face, making his cheeks seem fuller and rounded. Rea p er ’s Fee 25 Cool, steely blue eyes took in the sight of her as he reached out to run a callused hand along the side of Catherine’s face.
I’ve got thirty. ” Ever since he was a kid, Barrett had never been able to contain his own excitement. Even now that he was in his early twenties, he seemed more like the boy who was jumping out of his skin to reveal his plot to sneak a peek into a whorehouse with a Rea p er ’s Fee 45 broken window without getting caught. “There’s a bank less than two miles from here . ” “Oh no,” Nick said. ” “What? Why? ” “I heard ‘bank,’ and that’s enough. We’re stuck out here because of that posse that tore after us after that bullshit in Leadville.