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A stockbroker battles local and imported mobsters, a hitman he calls The Creeper, and a shotgun-toting, naked murderer.
I stuff the DVD under my laptop and work hard to put on my three-o’clock-in-the-morning, full-boat Carr grin. Not exactly a simple trick. And definitely not sincere. I mean, how am I supposed to be calm and forthright when this DVD suggests last night’s love interest--the lady headed this way--could be a killer.
Clever of me to wake her up.
I gasp when I see her. Oh, my. And oops. Oh my because she’s wearing nothing but white athletic socks. Oops because she’s using both hands and all ten red-nailed fingers to grasp a pump action, single barrel shotgu | |  | | Big Numbers
A stockbroker needs money to win back his children.
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