Sitting down at his midnight desk after a long day on the job, Bill understood the true nature of his work: It was a brutal fistfight with death … one that he was destined to lose.
Forquet, a renowned Parisian tailor, was found dead — shears in hand — at his table Friday afternoon. He was forever silenced, along with the secrets of his powerful clients, by an unexpected and “massive heart attack”.
Miller, a wealthy Brooklyn accountant, came home to find a human ear displayed on his kitchen counter. One phone call and seventeen minutes later, he was escorted to a dark van and re-enrolled in the Federal Witness Protection Program.
He stared into his gin, and then briefly at the elegantly detached twenty-somethings sitting at the table to his left. He did not have the heart to tell them that he — a balding, middle-aged advertising executive — had created the totality of the reality they were currently enjoying.
He knew she had a S&W .38 in her bag. He did not know about the 13 men she’d drawn down on in California, Kansas, and Georgia. The lounge was about to get loud.