Tyler stood still except for his middle finger, which flexed until it grabbed the loop of wire dangling from his sleeve. He slid the loop forward and felt the click as the Jacob’s-ladder mechanism sprung the NAA Black Widow revolver into his palm.

He took mental aim.

His arm swung to the right. The moment his hand stilled, he fired two shots.

The right lens of the enforcer’s glasses exploded and a puff of blood and tissue sprayed from his forehead. After a momentary pause, the huge man toppled backwards, slamming into the pavement with an enormous thud.

The dealer’s head snapped up from the money he was counting. His jaw fell open. “What the fuck …” he sputtered.

“You know what, friend?” Tyler smiled as he steadied his aim. “You swear a little too often. It’s tiresome.”

Then he shot him in the face.

6 - Vancouver, Canada

6

Vancouver, Canada

“Crap!” Dr. Graham Kilburn muttered as he glanced at his watch and realized he was already running twenty minutes late for his office. Stepping into the elevator, he reached into the jacket’s pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and hit the speed-dial key.

His receptionist Louise answered on the first ring. “You better be calling from our waiting room,” she grumbled.

Kilburn chuckled. “Louise, are you sure you’re not Sister Theresa from my third grade at St. Xavier’s?”

“Believe me, Dr. Kilburn, if I had a ruler lying around this office I wouldn’t think twice about rapping your knuckles with it,” the sixty-three-year-old receptionist huffed in her whisky-and-cigarette-infused voice. “We’ve already bumped Mrs. Fitzsimmons twice. And the way she’s looking at me right now …” she sighed. “How much longer?”

“I’ve got an urgent consult at St. Michael’s,” Kilburn said.

“Oh, Dr. Kilburn, not again!”

The infectious disease specialist still marveled at how his receptionist had no qualms with treating him like a disobedient preschooler but insisted on addressing him only as ‘doctor’ despite his repeated requests to use his first name. “I’ve been asked to give an urgent second opinion,” Kilburn said. “A young guy with pneumonia. Father of three. He’s not doing well.”

“Oh, I see,” Louise said, her tone suddenly concerned. “Okay. I’ll reschedule Mrs. Fitzsimmons. She’ll have to understand. The next two appointments after her are follow-ups anyway. I won’t need you back until 3 P.M.”

“Ah, Louise, did I call you Sister Theresa earlier?” Kilburn cooed. “What I meant to say was Mother Teresa!”

“At my age, it’s not healthy to have smoke blown up my ass, Dr. Kilburn.” Her deep chuckle turned into a cough. “Go help that young man. I’m off to find a sharp ruler.”