Clint Henleys atonement began on a sultry Chicago night in 1937 when a cherry-red Ford coupe eased to the curb at Maxwell Streets infamous Runaway Central. George Yustice eyed his prey through the windshield as two frightened young girls edged closer. Yustice leaned across the seat and said, Hey, girls, ya wanna But the words died in his throat as the windshield exploded, and he gaped at the powerfully-built young manaxe in hand, a berserk look in his eye.
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