The Pale Bonsai
The rain hit the pavement in a rhythmic, violent staccato. I stood in the alley, my breath a white plume in the cold. My hand was steady. My mind was a ledger. I checked the watch. 0200 hours. The target was not a person. It was a coat. I pulled the wool garment from the evidence bag. It was heavy. Wet. The fabric was coarse, a deep, institutional gray. It had belonged to a man who no longer...
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