DAN FRANKENSTEIN'S NAME FIT HIM LIKE A SECOND SKIN. HE HAD RUN THE GAMUT OF CRIMES COMMITTED, BUT MURDER WAS STILL A POSSIBILITY, PATIENTLY WAITING ITS TURN.
Barely Human is a story about "hands..". brutish hands, a genetic anomaly that impacted the lives of so many. It's about a monster of a man, Dan Frankenstein, who against all odds, arose from the abyss of the homeless to save an infant from certain death. It's the improbable story of a savage monster of a man, a man who befriended a young girl, a man who would not be dominated. Above all, it's the story of a man who sought the impossible...becoming the heavyweight boxing champion of the world. It's the story of a man who some said was "barely human.
Dan Frank -- age twenty-seven, ex-marine, ex-convict -- was one of the meanest, homeless son-of-bitches to ever roam the streets of South Chicago, or for that matter, any dimly lit street. What irritated him the most was his name -- two first names. That was why he preferred to be called Dan Frankenstein. And by the way, the name suited him like a second skin. Other than murder, he'd run the gamut of crimes committed. But murder was still a possibility, patiently waiting its turn.
On this bright moonlit night, his shadow didn't do him justice. Six-foot four, two-hundred and seventy-five pounds of virtually all muscle didn't project as such, making him temporarily look like an ordinary mugger. He didn't give a shit. All that mattered was his husky voice, fists as large as ripe Florida grapefruits, a face that belonged in a horror movie, and a frame of mind that didn't acknowledge the meaning of remorse.
He tugged at his unkempt beard which extended his chin like a Billy-goat, pulled a worn, wool cap just above shaggy eyebrows, surveyed the surroundings to make certain no one was near, and stepped out from the alleyway.
She pulled a brown wool scarf over her face as if she were a bandit and walked out to the sidewalk from her high-rise condo on the northwest corner of the tenth floor.
His pathway followed the base of the building, staying in the shadows until he was within arm's reach of his next victim.
"Your purse or your life," he yelled, his monster fists poised at his chest, ready to inflict a broken jaw if there was the least bit of hesitation on her part.
