“He's known Deborah a long time” I said. “He probably just wanted to see if she was okay.” There was a very long pause, and then Chutsky said, “Okay, buddy. If you say so. But I don't think I'm going to let him in here next time.”

I was not really sure how well Chutsky's hook would match up with Salguero's smooth and total confidence, but I had a feeling it would be an interesting contest. Chutsky, for all his bluff and phony cheerfulness, was a cold killer. But Salguero had been in Internal Affairs for years, which made him practically bullet proof. If it came to a fight, I thought it might do quite well on pay per view. I also thought I should probably keep that idea to myself, so I just said, “All right. I'll see you later” and hung up.

And so, with all the petty human details taken care of, I went back to waiting. Cars went by. People walked past on the sidewalk.

I got thirsty, and found half a bottle of water on the floor in the back seat. And finally, it got completely dark.

I waited a little longer to let the darkness settle over the city, and over me. It felt very good to shrug into the cold and comfy night jacket, and the anticipation grew strong inside with whispered encouragement from the Dark Passenger, urging me to step aside and give it the wheel.

And finally, I did.

I put the careful noose of nylon fishing leader and a roll of duct tape in my pocket, the only tools I had in my car at the moment, and got out of the car.

And hesitated. Too long since the last time, far too long since Dexter had done the deed. I had not done my research and that was not good. I had no plan and that was worse. I did not really know what was behind that door or what I would do when I got inside.

I was uncertain for a moment and I stood beside the car and wondered if I could improvise my way through the dance. The uncertainty ate away my armor and left me standing on one foot in the dangerous dark without a way to move forward with the first knowing step.

But this was silly, weak and wrong —and very much Not Dexter.

The Real Dexter lived in the dark, came alive in the sharp night, took joy in slashing out from the shadows. Who was this standing here hesitating? Dexter did not dither.