Night or day, wet or dry. Spencer powered through the dark and broken parts of town doing his rounds and then crisscrossed the suburbs that seemed to flourish from Detroit’s pain. But just as in nature there are careless creatures that follow the same path or drink from the same watering hole, Spencer didn’t realize predators were everywhere in this way of life. They watched from alleys and street corners, the human equivalent of a trapdoor spider waiting in its hole for some hapless creature to make the mistake its mother warned it never to make. Forgetfulness, laziness, preoccupation: Darwinian sins that can be just as momentous for a modern man.

Biggy Freak watched the light down on Gallagher and Davison. The traffic stacked up here, after coming off the freeway—where it was safe enough to have a window down seeing as no wiseass was gonna jack your car at seventy.

Biggy Freak had a few places he liked to watch, but this was his favorite. He’d loaf around in the shadow of the underpass behind a line of dumpsters, watching through the gaps at the victims lining up, getting all sacrificial-like. He could work his magic (he called it freakin’ them with the Biggy Freak) and then choose one of three escape routes, none of which anyone in their right mind would follow him down. And he was one big mother to boot: 6'4" in his Converse with a long-assed Chuck Norris of a blade hangin’ in his pants, so it was no matter that his gun didn’t work. Ain’t no chicken hoe gonna take that chance, especially some whitey business guy who’d forgotten to put his window back up as he smoked a cig in his fully loaded Infiniti like he hadn’t a care in the world.

The first Spencer knew of his carelessness was when his head was forced back by the barrel of a gun shoved hard into his chin.

“What up, G, in your G35?”

Spencer nearly swallowed his cigarette. It tipped to the side, spilling hot ash down his cheek. He yelled and instinctively tried to jerk his head to the side. Biggy Freak kept a firm hold. He’d seen it coming. He liked shocking these dumbass suckers. Grit on them fast and hard, don’t give ’em time to get their shit together.

“Unload that Michigan bankroll, friend.”