10
Dante, aka Harvey Mertz, didn’t look dangerous. Dressed in quantities of baggy silk and an oversized wool coat, he had a young smooth face, round surprised eyes, and standup blond hair. With practice, he kept his soft mouth sardonic, but he didn’t have to practice the cold glow in his pale eyes. That came naturally. As did his affinity for criminal activity.
He’d started out with an illegal gambling operation and then expanded into anything that offered a profit—except drugs.
“Drugs lack artistic appeal,” he told Max, his assistant-in-crime. “Besides, you either have to go national or wind up dead.” Neither of these options appealed to Dante. It was nice staying alive. And staying local it was easier to watch his back. He knew where his friends were if he needed to kill them.
When h
