When a wolf leaves the pack, he lives only as long as he can kill by himself quicker and surer than any pack he runs up against. Meet a man beyond either forgiveness or vengeance. Meet the Man they Call The Lone Wolf. Better meet him now. The way he lives, he can’t live much longer.
After the bloody business up in Harlem, when the turf blew wide open and the world seemed to end in flames, Wulff was taken into protective custody. It was O.K.: it wasn’t his first time in jail. Not nearly, not in a life like Wulff’s. At least the accommodations were clean and the meals regular, what more could a man like Wulff ask after they smashed his fiancée and made his life a burnt-out cinder?
But Wulff wasn’t even safe in prison. So he forced his way out—it’s safer when you’re on the run. Always going where the trouble is, he made his way to Detroit, that chrome city that turns out such shiny cars. The trouble was that the cars were coming off the conveyor belt with uncut junk in their innards. And even more troublesome was the fact that Wulff knew all of it.