Chapter 18

It meant a cold park bench and colder coffee. It meant wearing ragged clothes that made him look as much like a hobo as possible. No one even sees them. The homeless are like blowing litter to the passersby, something inconsequential, or a mess the city should take care of.

Taking a deep breath, he checked his Glock with rapidly numbing fingers when he caught sight of something moving around in the graveyard in the distance. He watched the suspicious figure until the dark form became swallowed up in the fog, and disappeared.

Glancing at his watch he noticed it was time for his stint to be over, so he reached down to turn on his ignition when suddenly he saw the figure again. What the hell was that thing? He’d seen it twice. It might be nothing, but he would feel better if he checked it out, so he opened his car door to get out.

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