Paranoia and criminal greed, by the writer who turned the crime novel into bitter poetry.
He could remember the gun in his hand, the man in front of him, the shock of the explosion, and then the blood. He could remember the flight though the woods, and the satchel with the money, and now the gang of killers, closing in. But what he couldn't figure was the woman. She had been there, once, when the killers caught him, and beat him half to death. And he had found her one night with one of them in her room. She said she loved him. And he wanted her. But could he trust her?