The Greatest Evil

Начало книги

It was the middle of July, but Bob Koesler was shivering.

He tugged at his sweatshirt. Still it did not cover his swim trunks. He pulled the bulky towel more tightly about his neck. That didn’t help; the towel was wet. He hugged himself as he shifted from one foot to the other. There was no getting away from it: He was freezing.

He probably would get out of this alive. But he didn’t have to like it.

His discomfort was by no means unique. This was the ninth consecutive summer he’d been a counselor at Camp Ozanam.

O-Z, as it was more casually known, was financed and run by the St. Vincent de Paul Society. Catholic parishes affiliated with S.V.deP. were given tickets to distribute to financially distressed boys. The only expenditure for each camper for the entire two weeks’ stay-there were five such tours each summer-was the five-dollar round-trip discount bus fare from Detroit.

O-Z was located some thirty miles north of Port Huron. It helps to know that Michigan is mitten-shaped. The camp sat just south of the thumb’s knuckle. The western border was U.S. 25, the extension of Gratiot Avenue, which began in downtown Detroit.

Читать дальше →