A Story For Sunday: Friday The Thirteenth by B.R. STATEHAM

near to the knuckle‘He turned around and glanced at his partner.  The monstrous goon was standing directly in front of the burning headlights of the Ford Mustang, big mitts for hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks, and fully outlined like some black silhouette of a nightmare.
He smiled at that thought.
It was Friday the 13th.’

Read the rest here at Near To The Knuckle.

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