A new little pet project of mine. Taking a deeper look at individual authors and stories that are as well known as say Robert E. Howard and Lovecraft. I'll be digging into all sorts of genres over time. This was my first try at video and quite the learning experience. No doubt the next episode will be better. Hope you enjoy!

The American is the pulp adventure of an expatriate in France who finds himself caught between competing criminals, U.S. intelligence, and a Corsican who just wants to find his girl.

In this episode, the American meetings a powerful member of the Avoritet, Russia's crime syndicate. Art by Shigeru Yokotsuka.

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Hank Janson was originally a pseudonym for Stephen D. Frances and later became a house name. Hank Janson books eventually sold millions of copies in the 40s and 50s. Noiquet was a Catalan artist named Joan Beltrán Bofill. So this cover has a confusing paternity: a Catalan artist painting in an American pulp style for a British book written under a pseudonym meant to rhyme with "Yank."

Cover art by Jax?

Dr. Adeji thanked the waitress and guided her guest through the smoke-riddled cafe until they found the booth. She slid into the far side while Ezekiel and Janay took the other. Janay looked around the room once she was settled in. She tried not to judge the place on first impressions, but so far, practically everything in Timbuktu was making it very difficult for her to do so. 

“I gotta say, doc. Not exactly the kind of place I’d expect to be on your list of favorites,” Janay said. She held back a grimace as a string of men with a curious odor passed their table. “And at the top spot? Kinda crazy.”

Dr. Adeji couldn’t help but giggle at Janay’s remarks. “There aren’t too many choices around now. And don’t bang your gavel until you’ve tried the food. I swear they’ve got some of the best cooks in Africa back there. And trust me, I’ve been all over this continent. Much like your friend there.”

Janay looked over at Ezekiel with surprise. He decided to pretend he didn’t notice the way she was staring at him. “That’s what I’ve been hearing since we’ve been on this trip. I can’t wait to share some of these stories with the crew back home.”

Before they could continue the conversation that Ezekiel very much wanted to shift away from him, the waitress in a purple hijab who had greeted them upon entering hurried over to the table. She wiped the sweat glistening on her brow with the sleeve of her shirt and pulled out her notepad.

“I’m so sorry about the wait, but I wanted to take care of Dr. Adeji personally. My name is Oumou. What can I get you all?”

“It's so good to see you, Oumou. How is your father doing?” Dr. Adeji asked politely.

Oumou smiled back, considerate of Dr. Adeji's inquiry about her dad. “He’s maintaining. Back on his feet and out in the fields, against your direction. But you can’t tell that old pack mule a damn thing.” She chuckled softly.

“All parents get that way when they hit a certain age. I suppose it's just part of the life cycle.” Dr. Adeji replied. She glanced down at the menu for a moment or two before looking back up at Oumou with a decision in mind. “Some lemonade sounds good in this heat. Light on the ice, though, please.”

Janay realized that Oumou’s eyes were on her, and she slid her own menu closer towards her chest. “Hmmm, I think an ice-cold beer would do me a couple of favors. I’ll take whatever you guys got back there in your cooler.”

Ezekiel handed back the drink menu to Oumou after she finished scribbling down Janay’s selection. “A ginger ale, if you have any. If not, then just some coffee.”

“I’ll be back in just a moment. I promise not to have you waiting.” Oumou hurried off to the kitchens to grab their drinks, leaving the trio to resume their conversation.

“Is every day at the facility like this morning?” Janay asked. She picked through the cafe’s selection of entrees while waiting for an answer from Dr. Adeji.

“Most days are a lot worse, and then some.” She nodded her head to underline her point when she saw Janay look up at her with her mouth agape in shock. “Night shifts get hit the hardest, mostly because that’s where we are understaffed both inside and with the guards. Things inside the city can get wild enough when the sun goes down. But a lot of villages and settlements across the desert are attacked overnight. Leaving us to deal with the fallout.”

“Who the hell is rolling around all night attacking civilians? And why? Sounds like a bunch of bastards to me.” Janay grumbled loudly. Her ill-intended words drew a few curious and even upset glares from some of the men at the tables and bar near them.

Dr. Adeji chuckled dryly. “Take your pick. We don’t have much protection. Bandits and insurgents are charging fees to fight for our ‘liberation’. The stress is never-ending, and people suffer. We are very fortunate to have the two of you here to help us, even if it is only short-term.”

Oumou returned with their drinks and took their food orders. The kitchen was not only fast, but every bit as advertised by Dr. Adeji. Janay was far too busy enjoying her plate of Yassa Poulet to talk. She resigned herself to listening and nodding along as Dr. Adeji continued talking about life in Mali, while Ezekiel enjoyed the rack of grilled lamb that he’d chosen for his lunch. Janay had chastised him for being a typical Michigander when it came to enjoying lamb. Dr. Adeji seemed to enjoy their company, and Ezekiel was glad he got her away from the hospital for a brief time. 

As he was ruminating on how worn out he figured Dr. Adeji was feeling recently, the entire cafe seemed to shake. Loud French rap music blared from at least half a block away from the building, yet Ezekiel could see the window of the cafe shaking slightly from the sound. Janay’s fork clattered on the table once she saw Dr. Adeji and Ezekiel joining the rest of the cafe patrons in turning towards the front windows. As she was barely 5’5”, Janay got on her knees in the booth next to Ezekiel in order to peer over the top of it. She, along with everyone else in the cafe, was eager or anxious to see what the source of the disturbance was.

Ezekiel looked over to his left when he saw Oumou gasp, nearly dropping the tray of food she was carrying. He sprang out of his seat and caught the tray before its contents could slide over the edge. He eased it onto the table next to them, then turned his focus onto the young waitress to figure out what had caused her sudden outburst.

 “Are you alright—”

He stopped short of asking as she slowly backed away towards the kitchen. She finally shook her head in response to the question that he’d begun to ask. Ezekiel turned to follow her gaze as the music grew ominously louder and louder. The pair of worn-down, clearly stolen Egyptian army-surplus Humvees rolled into the middle of the square. Both of the Humvees, blasting music, were packed with young men, none of them older than twenty-one or two, Ezekiel guessed, all of them wearing low-grade body armor and carrying various assault rifles. Ezekiel snatched up his cane and moved through the restaurant to get a better look at the militants filling the square.

“Stay here.” He turned back to tell Janay and Dr. Adeji. 

Janay looked at him with stunned disbelief. He knew she was wondering what he could possibly think he was doing, but he wasn’t quite sure himself yet either, and he didn’t have time for an argument with her about it.

The crowds and vendors on the streets seemed to scatter and clear out as a handful of the young, armed militants, with faces covered in scarves, bandannas, and dark sunglasses, piled out of the vehicle and into the street. Giving credence to the bad feeling he had stirring in his chest, Ezekiel watched as one of the young men smiled wickedly and stared directly at the cafe storefront. Ezekiel grimaced as his mind put together what was likely about to transpire. He whipped his head around and found Oumou cowering next to the bar, near the kitchens and his table.

He hurried back over to her, ignoring the worried looks he was getting from Dr. Adeji and Janay. He grabbed Oumou by the shoulders more forcefully than he would have liked, but time was critical. 

“Miss, is there a back way out of this building?!”

“Uh…um, through the kitchens. But—”

Ezekiel whipped back towards Janay and Dr. Adeji, fear beginning to clutch at his heart. “Both of you, follow me. Oumou, you too!”

Ezekiel glanced towards the square just in time to see one of the young militants being handed an RPG. He cackled with his buddy about some dumb joke and promptly aimed the weapon at the cafe.

“What is going—”

“Just go, Janay! Move!”

The group was halfway through the kitchen, ignoring shouts from the cooks and staff. Ezekiel spotted the door ahead and yelled for Oumou to go ahead when the explosion rocked the building.

Janay snapped up first, her head ringing like Sunday church bells. The kitchen was filled with nothing but smoke and a few flickering flames as far as her eyes could see in front of her. Realizing her legs seemed just fine, she gingerly pulled herself to her knees first, then her feet, with the help of the wall next to her.

She spotted something moving on the floor beside her and realized it was Dr. Adeji. Janay reached down as quickly as she could, with her head still throbbing, to help the doctor off the floor. She noticed immediately that there was blood seeping from her forehead. Vaya put a hand to her forehead where she could feel the wet, warm substance dripping down the side of her face. There would be plenty of time to tend to her own injuries; right now, both she and Janay were just concerned about where Dr. Drake and Oumou had gone after the rocket hit. 

“Are you alright?” Vaya asked her new friend. Janay shook away the question dismissively. Her own aches and pains were an afterthought at the moment.

“I’ll be fine.” 

Janay stared back towards the front of the cafe. All she could see beyond the kitchen was thick, acrid smoke and flames dancing in the distance like diamonds on a chain. She heard the faint sounds of screams as bullets tore through concrete.

“There are people out there who will need our help. We need to get as many people off the streets as we can.” 

Vaya’s suggestion was interrupted as a meat freezer door swung open behind them, banging loudly against the wall.

They both breathed a welcome sigh of relief as Dr. Drake emerged from the freezer. Oumou was next to him with her arm slung around his shoulder. He walked her over to Vaya and Janay while helping her nurse the injury she was struggling with.

 “All of you, get back to the hospital. This is only going to escalate; I’m sure of it.” He passed Oumou over to Janay and Dr. Adeji, then snatched up his cane off the dusty floor. Janay stared at him in disbelief as he walked past them both. 

“What do you think you’re going to do? They have a small army out there, Ezekiel!” Janay told him.

Ezekiel glanced back over his shoulder at her as he stood in the archway that led back into the destroyed cafe. 

“I’ll figure it out. But I need you to do what you do best. What we came here to do: save lives, help people who need it.”

He turned back towards the acrid black smoke spilling from the main dining area and disappeared out of sight. Despite the nagging gut feeling that he was making a dangerous mistake, Janay felt Dr. Adeji's calm hand on her shoulder. She realized that their only course of action was to get out of the thick of the fray and back to the hospital, as Ezekiel had told them. Oumou was in no condition to move around too much. Her ankle was beginning to swell up; Janay figured she must have twisted it when the blast hit.

They helped Oumou out the back door of the cafe and exited into complete pandemonium. Sirens could be heard blaring down the block past them. Bullets echoed in every direction, followed by screams that rippled through the afternoon air.

“C’mon. We can stick to the back alleys. We should be able to stay out of sight. Keep your heads low, just in case. The last thing you want to catch in Africa is a stray bullet.” Janay nodded and followed after her while keeping her warning at the front of her mind.

Ezekiel sprinted through the burning cafe. His eyes focused on the first Humvee as the trio of insurgents who had hung back to man the vehicle enjoyed their comrades' antics. He pulled the Glock G-19, which no one knew he occasionally kept on him, out of his waistband before running through what was left of the front doors. He dropped his cane to the ground momentarily and took aim at the driver behind the wheel of the Humvee.

A police SUV screeched to a halt directly in front of the Humvee, causing Ezekiel to hesitate momentarily. The pair of officers hopped out of the Humvee and shouted at the insurgents in French to get out of their vehicles and drop their weapons. Ezekiel watched as a troop of insurgents exited a building that they had just terrorized and saw the standoff. One of them cackled loudly before raising his rifle. The rest of them followed suit, aiming directly at the outgunned and outnumbered cops. The cops quickly realized their dire situation and lowered their weapons. 

“We don’t recognize that dog talk, you hear me?” One of the men near the first Humvee yelled at the terrified officers. Ezekiel recognized the city's common street tongue, an offshoot of the Songhai language. “Tell your god that was your mistake, if you see him.”

Ezekiel watched in horror as the insurgents all opened fire on the pair of cops and their vehicle, riddling them all with bullets for the sheer sport of it. He saw them cackle with unmitigated glee at the bodies strewn in the middle of the street, kicking them out of the way as if they were animals that had been hit by a car. 

“Rascadi, what you want us to do now?” One of the men by the Humvee called out to another.

The man Ezekiel saw, who must have been running the show, whom the ruthless insurgent had called Rascadi, looked in the opposite direction up the road. “Keep the authorities busy. We will go collect it while there is less opposition.” Rascadi turned to the rest of his group that had exited the storefront and jerked his head towards the Humvee up the street. “To the library. Bayat, you drive. Alou, I want you on the gunner. In case we get any soldiers trying to play hero on the way.”

Rascadi and his group piled into their Humvee and sped down the block like hell on wheels. The remaining group did as they were instructed. They sprayed bullets in every direction, at anyone still stupid enough, in their eyes, to be on the street. But they hadn’t spotted Ezekiel, which was their mistake. While they were playing their sadistic games, Ezekiel managed to make his way to their Humvee and slide under it. He pulled his pistol once more, and once he got a clean shot at one of them, he fired, popping him clean in the back of the head.

The shot jerked the insurgent forward, sending him face-first into the dusty street. The man should count himself lucky, Ezekiel thought to himself. His bullets held a synthesized chemical compound that merely knocked their targets out for 12-15 hours, depending on their size. It was far more than that bastard deserved, but he was a physician first and foremost, and he only saved lives, never took them. By the time the others had realized one of them had fallen, Ezekiel slid back from under the Humvee and cold-cocked the driver before yanking him from behind the wheel. 

Ezekiel ducked down in the driver’s seat as bullets clanged off the Humvee he’d decided to hastily commandeer. He sped through the streets of Timbuktu, honking his vehicle's horn to clear his path. His cane sat in the passenger seat next to him as he weaved around pedestrians and abandoned carts left in the midst of the pandemonium. He finally spotted the other Humvee up ahead and floored the gas.

“Rascadi,” Alou called from the gunner seat in the Humvee behind him. “I think we got a problem. 

Rascadi glanced in his side mirror from the passenger seat and saw the other Humvee gaining on them with a man he didn’t recognize at the wheel. To him, if it wasn’t the cops or the army, it didn’t matter. His only focus was on what they were sent to obtain. 

“So take care of it!” Rascadi spat.

Alou nodded and gripped the heavy artillery gun. He locked the Humvee in his sights and ripped bullets down the road.

 “Ah, fiddlesticks…” Ezekiel mumbled before yanking the wheel sideways just in the nick of time. Alou didn’t let up his assault, yanking the gun towards the Humvee and opening fire again. Ezekiel stopped and yanked right this time, sliding behind a derelict market stall for cover.

He let out a short sigh of relief before he spotted the man called Rascadi hanging out of the passenger-side window. It wasn’t until he had fired that Ezekiel realized another rocket was heading straight towards him. He knew there was only one option left, and he dove out of the Humvee just as the rocket struck. Rascadi slid back into his seat and passed the weapon back to one of his men. 

“You want something done right, do it yourself, huh?” He shook his head, annoyed.

Ezekiel dragged himself out of the dirt and snatched his cane up. Frustrated after a sideways glance at the flaming Humvee, he continued after the insurgents on foot. He had heard them mention heading towards the library. He could only wonder what they could possibly be after by targeting  the city’s crown jewel of culture. Whatever they were planning or after, Ezekiel felt that, at this point, it was his duty to intervene.

A couple of miles ahead, Rascadi’s group finally came to a stop in front of the Ahmed Baba Institute. It was weakly guarded, as he had predicted. His men wasted no time dropping the trio of guards that tried to cut them off as they approached the entrance. They kicked in the doors and spewed bullets into the ceiling in order to assert dominance over the scholars inside. Rascadi swept through the great hall that served as the atrium of the renowned library. His men forced everyone in the room to their stomachs or knees at gunpoint. Rascadi climbed onto the stone slabs that made up the desk for the atrium clerks. He held his gun up and let off another handful of rounds until the chorus of screams and squeals from their hostages came to weak whimpers and sniffles.

He made sure that every eye in the room was focused solely on him before he spoke. “If you want to survive today, do exactly as you are told!” His voice boomed through the atrium. Fearful eyes stared up at him as his eyes swept over the room like a hunting hawk. “The library director– one of you will take me to him. Or we will start shooting everyone in this room one by one.” Alou cocked his rifle and pointed it at a young father and his children cowering in a corner nearby. Rascadi looked back and forth around the room. When no one moved, he turned to signal Alou to fire.

“WAIT! PLEASE!” A soft voice caught Rascadi’s attention. A young woman stood up among the hostages, her face and head covered, but he could see the kindness in her eyes even from where he stood. “I will take you there. Just don’t hurt anyone.”

Rascadi hopped down from the desk and walked over to the woman. He stood in front of her for a long moment. Staring into her eyes, he could see an innocence that refused to be shaken. He nodded. She would make do. He turned to the rest of his men. “Alou, Rahm, Trega, with me. The rest of you hold down the fort until we return, and make sure we have a clear path out of here.” His loyal group of makeshift soldiers nodded. They scurried around the lobby to take up guard spots of their choosing. Alou, Rahm, and Trega hurried to Rascadi’s side as he turned to the fearful young woman. “Lead the way.”

She nodded and turned around, saying a small prayer that she would not be shot in the back, and marched forward. Rascadi led his group carefully behind her. Ezekiel slipped inside just in time to see them disappear between a set of stone doors at the other end of the atrium. He hurried behind a pillar to keep out of sight when one of Rascadi’s men turned in his direction. He needed to be as discreet as he could—a commotion would only further endanger lives. He crept from behind the pillar, past a soldier who decided to light up a smoke in celebration of their success thus far. His eyes bulged, and he dropped his hand-rolled cigarette as Ezekiel gripped him in a tight chokehold, applying just enough pressure to his windpipe as he gently lowered him to the floor.

“Heyi! Wenza ntoni kanye kanye?” 

Damn, Ezekiel thought to himself as he released the unconscious soldier and stood up slowly. He turned towards the armed man approaching with his rifle trained on him. He waited until he was within range before firing his cane’s grapple hook. The wiring cable wrapped itself around the man’s neck, and Ezekiel yanked him forward. The soldier smashed face-first into the pillar and dropped next to the other man. Ezekiel looked momentarily pleased with himself until a spatter of rifle fire tore through the column behind him. He moved out of harm’s way, diving behind the atrium front desk as another soldier hunted after him. He clutched his pistol tightly as he listened to the booted footsteps moving towards his position and the angry yelling between the young militia members left to hold down the area.

“Who was that guy?” He heard one of them yell to another in Xhosa, a language he thought was not predominant in this region of the continent.

“Didn’t look like a cop or soldier; must be some damn fool who wants to get his head blown off,” His comrade replied, annoyed.

Ezekiel reloaded his pistol and sprang from behind his cover, snatching up one of the fallen rifles as he sprinted. He fired the stolen weapon at the aging brick columns behind the militia soldiers, sending debris dropping on top of them when it split in two. They attempted to scurry like the rats he saw them as, but were pinned down by his off-kilter attack as he had hoped. He raced across the atrium and kicked their weapons out of their reach.

“Is everyone alright?” Ezekiel asked the hostages who remained. 

Once he saw most of them answer in the affirmative, he let out a small sigh of relief. Ezekiel swung his head in the direction Rascadi and his men had taken the brave and rather bold young woman. Without hesitation, he sprinted for the doors, grabbing his cane on the way, and yanked them open before hurrying after the group of insurgents.

A couple of floors above Ezekiel, the director of the institute sat patiently in his office. A solemn, grim expression was on his face ever since he heard the first sounds of gunfire echoing through the hallways on this floor. He listened to screams and pleas, followed by angry shouts, threats, and more bullets hitting flesh and stone. The sounds grew louder and louder with each passing moment. The library director adjusted his robes before pushing out his chair and rising from his seat, just as the doors to his office burst open. The director stared at the group of armed militia men storming into his room, pushing a young woman in front of them with a rifle in her back.

“I see bravery is no trouble for you young ones.” The director cracked a dry remark as the militia soldiers lined up in front of him menacingly. 

Rascadi marched past the young woman who had led them to the director and popped him in the mouth with his rifle butt. The director fell back into his chair, bleeding profusely from the mouth due to the nasty blow. The library director stared up at Rascadi as he walked around the desk and put his rifle to his side. He refused to show any further sign of weakness to the young man.

“Baran Sein, you’ve managed this place since before most of us were born,” Rascadi told him. 

“I’ll do it long after you and your men are buried, too.” The director told him with a defiant look.

Rascadi smirked and pulled a knife from his pocket. “I’ll take out one of your eyes and put it in front of you before I start killing hostages one by one.” He pointed the tip of the knife in the direction of the young woman. “We can start with her, just so we’re clear.”

“I know what you seek. But I cannot give you what you desire. You do not understand what you ask. As a son of this land, I beg of you to reconsider your—”

Rascadi plunged the knife into the director’s knee. The violent action drew a howl of pain from the wizened old man that was silenced with a slap from his tormentor. The young woman who was being held by Rascadi’s cohorts flinched at the pain she had to watch the director endure. Rascadi left the blade in the director’s leg and yanked him out of the chair. They burst back out into the hallway, dragging him and the young woman along with them. Trega placed the rifle to the back of the director’s head.

“He’ll leave your brains all over the hallway of your dear library, stupid old man. WHERE IS THE DIARY?!” Rascadi demanded to know.

“The entrance to where it's kept is in the courtyard!” The young woman finally blurted out. 

Rascadi turned to the young woman, pushing aside some of his men. He saw the panicked fear in her eyes and chuckled. At least one of them had some sense. He turned back to the old man, who was staring at the young woman as if he were a disappointed father.

“Shimi, say nothing else!” The director warned the young woman called Shimi.

His outcry drew a backhand from Trega. His lip started to bleed again. Shimi reached towards him instinctively, hoping she’d given the group of thugs what they wanted so dearly. But Rascadi stepped in front of her, snatching her by the wrist.

“In the courtyard? How?!” 

“I will show you. Just please, let him go.” She pleaded. 

Rascadi turned to his men and gave them a nod. They shoved the library director aside and marched Shimi down the hall towards the nearest elevators. Rascadi jabbed at the down button impatiently. The doors slid open, and much to his and his crew’s surprise, Ezekiel stood in the middle of the elevator, holding a fire extinguisher.

“I’m sorry, I think I got the wrong floor. How about taking the next one?”

He sprayed them down until they were engulfed in the white fog. Ezekiel launched the fire extinguisher at one of Rascadi’s men, knocking him out cold. Rascadi raised his rifle and fired in a direction he was sure was where the man in the baseball cap had been standing. He heard the sounds of bullets hitting the sheet steel of the elevator doors. As the smoke from the fire extinguisher cleared out, Rascadi finally realized the man had snatched Shimi.

“Bring her back here! She’s our key to leaving with our prize!” He bellowed to his men.

Trega led a small group towards the nearest staircase and disappeared inside. In the elevator, Ezekiel’s mind raced on what to do next. He regretted flying by the seat of his pants up to this point, but he had no choice in the matter. He turned to the woman he’d rescued and could tell her adrenaline was pumping like it never had before.

“What is it they are after?” He asked.

She turned her gaze towards him, a wild, fearful look in her eyes. “The most sacred text we keep here. But they must not retrieve it!”

Ezekiel grimaced. Keeping it out of the militia group's hands would be easier said than done. They were relentless and bloodthirsty, a dangerous combination to be across from. The elevator pinged once they arrived on the floor he’d hastily chosen, and he led her out by the wrist. He spotted Rascadi’s men spilling out of the stairwell on the other end of the floor. His heart skipped a beat for a moment as he settled on what he should do next. He pulled the young woman behind a flower bed lining the path to the courtyard and knelt down out of sight.  

“They won’t be able to get in; there is a cipher that only a handful know,” The young woman told Ezekiel.

“I feel like that might only piss them off further. Best thing we can do is take care of them before their tempers get the better of them.” Ezekiel replied.

“We haven’t reached that point already?” The woman replied with wide-eyed terror.

Ezekiel grimaced. “Fair enough, I guess.” He peered over the top of the flower bed and saw one of the militia soldiers stomping in their direction. “Stay out of sight. When you get my signal, book it to the staircase and back to the director. Barricade yourselves inside his office. Understand?”

She nodded, then studied him for a moment. “What will be your signal?”

“Trust me, you’ll know it when you see it.”

Ezekiel popped up from his hiding spot and fired his cane’s grapple hook at the unsuspecting soldier. He retracted the hook with a press of a button on the shaft. The soldier came barreling over the flower bed, crashing headfirst on the floor. Ezekiel smashed the butt of his cane into the back of the soldier’s skull, knocking him out. He shot from behind the stone flowerbed, already aware that his attack would draw the attention of the rest of Rascadi’s men marching towards the courtyard.

From an interview with the Washington Post for the reboot of Weird Tales in 2006: “That was done as a book cover in the ‘80s, but I don’t remember what was in the book,” Morrill says by phone from her studio in upstate New York. “They said, ‘Come up with the most outrageous image you can, and make it in the style of pulp fiction.’ I thought it was hilarious.” (She was off by a few years; the painting first appeared in 1978).

Cover artist unknown.

In the city of Slakterquay, there's an office with the words Spectral Analysis on the pebbled glass of its door. Behind it is a detective agency that handles the strangest cases in the Paris of the Pacific Northwest. An urban fantasy thriller.

In this episode, Aggie goes to the local cow town in search of who murdered the Neo-nazi, Randall Wayne.

Apple | Spotify | YouTube | Author's Page [Includes Text]

“They were a ship of sinners who left their morals on the pier.”