Prolog
Friday, August 5
Frederick Mueller staggered out into the humid, hot night. He almost pulled his anonymous escort
service blond to the ground, his grip on her hand was so strong, but they held each other upright.
The girl laughed in an alcoholic daze.
"Fuck them. They had the worse wienershitzel... venerschmitzel..."
The girl put her hand on his shoulder and ran her wrist up the side of his neck. "Yeah, fuck them.
But give us a kiss first, love." She puckered and stumbled towards him.
"They should fucking kiss my ass." He walked off, oblivious to the girl's intent, but still with a iron
grip on her hand.
"Tonight won't be a waste, love. Besides, there's the mini-bar back in your hotel. I'm sure it's got
scotch."
"Low life, fucking, churls. I bet the place is owned by Jews."
The street glistened from the remains of an early evening shower. Dark yellow light from soot
encrusted street lamps barely illuminated oil stained puddles and deltas of half washed waste. A
man wearing a greasy, tan jacket and dark, faded jeans approached the intoxicated couple.
"Say, listen, buddy, I gots..."
Frederick pushed the man back into a doorway where he tripped and fell against a rough stone wall.
"I ain't gots nothing for you, buddy."
"Say, love. That wasn't nice."
"What the fuck do I care?"
The couple swayed down Cherry Street. Sometimes the girl had to fall behind to keep from
colliding with parking meters and other objects of the urban landscape . But Frederick dragged her
on, his relentless grip compelling.
The street was a procession of concrete steps leading up to stark, metal doors or wooden ones with
iron bars like prison gates and the inevitable array of white call buttons, interlaced with slick, mold
seeped steps funneling down like storm drains to black spaces hidden beneath the street.
Cold neon light illuminated the wrought iron tables and chairs of a late night deli. As they passed,
the door to the deli opened and a wash of refrigerated air congealed the moisture in Frederick's
clothes, icy fingers pricking the nape of his neck.
The man exiting the deli glanced over the pair. He wore a maroon beret, an open, starched white
shirt, and worn, black pants. Mild distain curled his lip.
"What you looking at, you fuck?"
The man turned away and walked off without saying a word. Frederick glowered after him.
"Come on, love, let's go to your room."
At first the sound seemed to be just part of the undercurrent of street noise, an automobile
accelerating, television spilling through an open window, the barking voices of a domestic quarrel,
footsteps. But here, in the quiet of the suddenly cool air, in the emptiness created by a momentary
distraction, in the eternity that lasts between one thought and the next, the sharp tic, tic, tic imprinted
itself on Frederick's mind.
It seemed to originate from the alley behind him, a dark recess in which only shreds of light dared
enter. Frederick strained hard to see in.
"Come on, love. You don't wanna go in there. The night's still young. Let's go back to your room
and party. What you say?"
Deep in the shadows Frederick thought he saw an even darker figure move ever so slightly, like a
cat stretching its spine, or a ghost taking a breath.
"Who's there?"
The girl yanked her hand out of Frederick's grasp as he stepped into the alley.
"What? Where you going?"
"I'm not going in there."
"Then just wait there 'til I come back."
Frederick moved tentatively into the gaping maw of the alley. Trash brushed against his shoes. A
faint smell of days old garbage, moist dirt, and just the hint of something sweet, chocolate perhaps.
The figure didn't seem move, but the tic, tic, tic was coming from where it seemed to stand.
Frederick stared at where the figure's hands would be and he thought he could just make out a
bony, emaciated hand working something over and over with its fingers.
Tic, tic, tic.
"Who are you?"
A hot, dry voice like a teasing, desert wind asked, "Why are you here?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why have you come to this place?"
Frederick laughed. "I came because Manny Gilbert said that place had good German food. The
little shit. I'm gonna pound his face when I get back to Baltimore."
"That's not why you're here."
The figure didn't move as much as the darkness got deeper, like a shadow when the moon
disappears. Hot, moist air flowed down Frederick's face and dripped off his chin.
Tic, tic, tic.
"You're here because you have a debt to pay."
"Who the hell are you?"
A thin, long strip of polished steel sliced soundlessly through the saturated night air. Stray threads
of light glistened off it like starlight reflecting in a midnight lake. Frederick opened his mouth but
could say nothing. His lungs drew in only the blood gurgling through the slash along the front of
his neck.
Frederick turned back towards where the girl still stood. His eyes saw horror erupt upon her face
and his ears heard her piercing scream, but his brain registered none of it, wondering only why it
was so much trouble to breathe. He fell headlong and crashed to the ground. His blood followed
the same path earlier taken by the rain and pushed some of the alley's filth a little further towards
the street.
The darkness withdrew deeper into the shadows until finally only the sound was left.
Tic, tic, tic.
And then even that was lost in the sounds of that hot, moist, summer night.
