He stood across the street from Jill's apartment, staring up at the only lighted window. She passed by it occasionally, her slender body provocative in silhouette. Probably wearing her Danskins.
Eric Brooks was less than an hour dead.
Full night now. Traffic a steady flow of lights and the smells of gasoline and rubber. The occasional booming, blaring radio.
The sidewalks were full, too. Lovers. He'd had a lover once. Been faithful, too. At least for a time. But then
He watched the window.
He was going up there soon.
Very soon.