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Chapter 1

A KILLER IN WAITING, Fred Brinkley slumps in the blue-upholstered banquette on the top deck of the ferry The Nove white eye as the catalares right back at the sun

A shadow falls across hi, “Mister, could you take our picture?”

Fred shakes his head — no, no, no — anger winding hi around his head

He wants to s

Fred averts his eyes, sings inside his head, Ay, ay, ay, ay, Sau-sa-lito-lindo, trying to shut down the voices He puts his hand on Bucky to coh his blue nylon Windbreaker, but still the voices pound in his brain like a jackhammer

Loser Dog shit

Gulls call out, screah the overcast sky and turns hilass They knohat he’s done

Passengers in shorts and visors line the rails, taking pictures of Angel Island, of Alcatraz, of the Golden Gate Bridge

A sailboat flies by,the rails, and Fred doubles over as the bad thing whips into hisHears the loud crack Oh, God! The sailboat!

Someone has to pay for this!

Startling hirind into reverse and the deck vibrates as the ferry comes into dock

Fred stands, works his way through the crowd, passing eight white tables, lines of scuffed blue chairs, his fellow ferry riders giving him the eye

He enters the open co her son, a boy of nine or ten with light-brown hair “You’re driving me crazy!” the woman shouts

Fred feels the wire snap Someone has to pay

His right hand slips into his jacket pocket — finds Bucky

He slips his finger into the trigger loop

The ferry lurches as it bu Lines snake out from the boat, bow and aft