He wasn’t sure, but he thought the Ford on the corner was familiar. It was the kind of car a pig would camp in. Empty now, but he’d walked by it twice; first time, he would have sworn a butt in the ashtray was glowing rusty orange, a tiny setting sun. Second time, it was dark.

Maybe it was a trap, but maybe that was alright. The chase was the big thing, playing tag. If you didn’t want them to decode the letters, you might as well not send them, you know?

He’d even left a message on the one pig’s voicemail, that guy Graham’s. The one in the newspaper. Left him a clue about tonight. Nothing big, but if you put it together with the letter to the Channel 5 News…

Well if Graham had done that, he’d have been waiting out front, right?

Worked the lock like a pro and went upstairs. The second door on the second floor of the walkup apartment was important. He dug the rubber Nixon mask and Glock 26 out of his pockets and got ready.

And when he was ready, he kicked the door in and, you know, he did his thing.