The Cold Millions

by Jess Walter

If I stayed a cop, it would be for John Sullivan, for I admired the man. Sully was honest and affable, off-the-boat County Kerry, six-four and 220, five of those pounds brush mustache.

In ’01 two holdup men set up shop on the north end of Howard Bridge, like fairy tale ogres, robbing every wagon that crossed.

These towns that had no business being towns, straddling islands and bays and cliffs and canyons and waterfalls.