The old man looked at the bum asking the question with disdain. “The Iron Eagle isn’t a thing, it’s a person – if you can call him that. He’s one of the sickest serial killers I’ve ever come across in all my years in this business.” The bum was sitting next to the office building where the old man had his office. “You’s Barry Mullin, ain’t ya?” The old man didn’t answer. “Yea, I recognizes ya from the paper, though it’s been a few years. I heard you’s a drunk, only yous got a home.” The old man didn’t say anything; he just kept walking toward the entrance of the building. He was slow, but he was walking….
You can discover more about both book and author by clicking here and whilst you’re there, why not check out Roy’s excellent guest post..
“IT’S FICTION. DO I REALLY NEED FACTS?”
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