Though the green light winked at him, Micah did not move. He had not moved all night, nor had he taken the traffic signal’s advice the two previous nights. His lonely vigil, thus far inneffectual, kept him parked in a rented car outside ‘Howling Mutt’s Gentlemen’s Club’.

Men came and went, though none gentlemen and none his quarry. Drumming his fingers on the stearing wheel, Micah prayed to a god he’d long forgotten that Dino would show. He had to. Tomorrow would be too late.

For now he had to watch the scum parade before his eyes, adorned with garrish trinkets and wearing designer clothes. He cursed the part of himself that wanted to reach out and take it from them, claim that life of ease and privilege for himself. They certainly didn’t deserve. The taking would be easy, the accumulation of wealth only a matter of time.

Pushing that aside, Micah had bigger concerns, bigger fish to fry. Hair slicked back and necklaces twinkling under streetlights, his fish finally arrived, fresh for the frying.