8 Chapter 8

The Boulevard was a kaleidoscope of broken colour, shards of green, orange, red, and blue neon fragmenting through his wind-shield as he cruised, looking for the right place. He stopped at a red light. His chest felt tight and his breath was coming in sharp, rapid gasps. Hanging from the rear-view mirror was his talisman, a small framed icon of Sarah/Sally. She was naked from the waist up, her small breasts firm and rounded thrust forward like the figurehead of a ship. And she was smiling at him.

The light changed and the car behind him honked its horn. A wave of anger swept through him and for a moment he felt like...but no. He knew he had to keep control; he felt to blind rage. This was for Sally. Slowly, he edged down the throbbing Boulevard. From store windows, mannequins followed him with their gaze; crowds wandered from bar to bar, oblivious to him. But that would soon change.

Finally, he found the stretch he had been looking for. A place where the pickings would be easy. It didn't matter who the victims was, only what. Like a cat, he thought. Does a cat really care which bird it captures? Doesn't one pigeon look just like another? He pulled over and parked by the curb, engine still ticking over, and wound down the window.

Maybe it was okay to be a little nervous. It gave him an edge; it honed his vision. The lights had never looked so sharp; they felt like knifepoints piercing his eyeballs. He knew that he would never see anything as clearly as what he was to do tonight. And it was all for her. He gazed proudly at his icon. A figure separated itself from a small group standing outside a minimart and strutted towards him. He held his breath and gripped the wheel tightly. His pigeon.