This whole town was a gutter for lowlifes like Sturm. And when the rain comes, the whole damn thing clogs up with them.
I’ve been on the trail of Higgs for years now, but the witnesses never hang about for court so we couldn’t pin the smuggling rig on him. But Sturm was once his boatswain. And if I could find that fucker before Higgs’ boys string him up…
I’d received a tip. A large guy matching Sturm’s description had just arrived in town. Transient priest, they said. Gives the nightly sermon at the waterfront church.
That’s my man.