“I didn’t want to tell him this,” Roger said, “but that old man was a horrible, horrible selection.”
Greg asked, “How so?”
“Think about it,” Roger said. “That old man has been through a lot of s**t in his life. Too much s**t. Judging from his age, I’d bet he’s a World War II vet. If that’s the case, he’s already seen all types of wicked s**t. He probably saw a lot of his friends die right in front of him. Then his wife is likely dead or he wouldn’t be here by himself. A man like that, who’s already lived through the worst this world has to offer, isn’t likely to go Hemingway anytime soon.”
Trace nodded in agreement. “Damn, you’re right. Alex picked a shitty mark.”
At that exact moment Trace saw the man who would become his mark. A middle-aged bald-headed black man wearing a Brooks Brot
