Chapter Nine
Ondahlie’s Dungeon
Cursing and grimacing, Don Landers hunched his neck deeper into the collar of his shabby winter coat. It didn’t help much. The wind was insistent, plucking at his clothing and forcing its needling way inside.
December was a b***h in any part of the Northern world. But here on the shores of Lake Ontario she was a real cold-crotch nickel-plated cunt. Nevertheless, he’d stuck it out. Homeless or not, he’d had a good job here — until recently — and money was more important than comfort. But now both were gone, and it was time to head for balmier climes. With his pack on his back and his hands jammed in his pockets, Don trudged down the highway, risking the occasional shower of slush in the hopes of finding a ride. And soon enough his prayers were answered. A
