It was another world. You wouldn't think it to drive down 4th Street by day, but there was evil seeping out of the seams of this sweet little town by night. A world of violence, packed with shapely women whose kisses were blood-red and whose boyfriends serenaded them to the sound of barking lead and screaming V8s.

And as gritty and twisted as that two-faced burg was, it had a picture window view of the big time from there. He might have made it if it hadn't been for the spoiled daughter of a mob boss, a perfume from the dream-haunted past ... and a certain bullet.

77 El Deora
Oblique Americana from the inky backwaters of the gene pool