The driver stared off into space. As we approached the intersection, he punched the gas, blowing through a red light and nearly colliding with a delivery truck.

I traced my Smith & Wesson over the entire room. "Who's there?" I repeated. The apartment was dim and quiet, just the way I liked it. Even the corpse at my dinner table didn't have anything to say. All this trouble for a damn book? What next? Perhaps my bare-assed guest would start singing and dancing.

It had been twenty long, painful years since I had a geography lesson; and there she was, laying there before me in all her glory--Jakarta, Indonesia. Certainly I knew this one; I'd been there before. But I thought they called it Malaysia or Micronesia. So damn confused. What did you expect? I had a freakin high school education.

The blond behemoth tossed me through the full-length window and stormed inside. I'd already shot him twice but he was too jacked up on heroine to notice. I would have loved to ask what happened to his clothes, but I was too busy spitting out teeth and glass. At least he wasn't armed, that much I knew for sure.

The surgical thread in my neck was all I had left of her, the only sign that any of this was real. And when that came out, I washed away any trace of her from me. Her absence left an emptiness I hadn't felt in years. And the truth was, I'd probably never see her again.

"Nice tidy little story. Very touching." Hicks adjusted the toothpick in his mouth. "You're running out of fingernails Mr. Dennings, and I don't do toenails if you know what I mean? Perhaps we should start taking pieces from someplace else?"

The stairwell faded in and out of focus. No telling how she got me down the stairs or how much blood I lost. The staircase spun and suddenly I was seated in the passenger side of a black Chrysler Le Baron.

I thundered across the rooftops, the wind at my back. Loose gravel made the footing awkward as I raced ahead. My pace quickened as I came upon a skylight and jumped through. A waterfall of glass followed me down as I landed somewhere between the cranberries and mashed potatoes. Quickly I unloaded my guns into their lifeless bodies. As the rounds tore through them I noticed that few had heads. Empty cartridges clanked off the table as I slapped in fresh ones and turned.
I was too late.
The seven executives had already been slain. And where was the eighth?

Special Agent Hicks left the photos out for maximum effect. Then added a couple more. Indigo's lifeless corpse beckoned me. At least they hadn't shot her in the face. That beautiful face. I took a deep breath. Her eyes were now lifeless mirrors of the grave.

A wiry man in a sharp gray suit and mirrored sunglasses ticked the volume down. “Please, remove the cuffs,” he motioned to a second man in a beige jacket and matching tie.

I'd seen her before in the subway, minding her own business. Just the two of us waiting for the L10, the last train out that evening.