Luce sat folded into the peeling chair, motionless save for pulling on a cigarette. She breathed a cloud through nightmare lips, fogging up the office as if my mind had been clear enough to see through it anyway. I reached for the tin on my desk: closed, but no cigar.
“He’d been following me for weeks, Kurt. Not even making an effort to stay hid. Trailing the guy was a piece of cake, even my brother could do it.”
“Yeah, ’til this morning. Same spot as usual, see, but his throat… His throat was cut.”