Sam Saint Cloud was the closest thing Bartonsville had to the law. Bartonsville was an out of the way village deep in the Pocono Mountains that time seemed to have forgotten and was home to a ragtag collection of Pennsylvania Germans, Lenni Lenape and those from the distant cities of New York and Philadelphia who wanted to get away from their pasts. Beyond the range of most cell towers and of little interest to cable providers, the village existed in relative isolation and infamy and was a magnet for long-haul truckers and fans of roadside porn. Sam handled every kind of case from burglary to murder. Seated behind the wheel of his sometimes trusty 1969 Buick Skylark, he crisscrossed the Poconos and beyond in pursuit of clues for his cases, and wherever he went, crime never seemed far away. Regardless, from the seedy streets of Albany, New York to the hard flagstone sidewalks of Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania, Sam never tired in his quest for justice, even if that meant turning a blind eye to the law.
