The man with the knife breathed heavily. It had gone as planned, but it was never easy. First a blow from the flashlight to the other man’s forehead, dizzying him. A jab to the throat. Ankle around ankle, driving him backward to the ground, his skull cracking on stone. And then the knife, opening him up, letting him bleed out.

The storm blotted out everything around him. He could barely see the beach, which was fifty yards away. The industrial buildings bordering the park were dark, deserted shapes. The agitated water slurped against the Picnic Island pier like a noisy blow job. Out in the channel, white lights outlined a giant ore tanker headed for safe harbor, but the ship appeared as disembodied as a ghost floating in darkness.

Below him, the man’s eyes were fixed, like gray stones. It was almost over. He would spend eternity that way, with that same look of impotent, furious surprise. His mouth was stuck open. The blood no longer pulsed from the giant gash. The dead man’s fingers were still curled around the aluminum pistol case, so he peeled them away, taking the handle of the case in his own hand. He had what he needed now. Everything was ready.

He pushed himself to his feet, staring at the body.

‘Don’t move!’ a voice called to him above the rain.

Instinctively, he flicked up the heavy flashlight toward the sound. He saw a gun, twenty feet away, pointed at his chest. The man holding the gun squinted into the bright light. He was bulky, with blond hair plastered to his face. He wore a sport coat, dress pants, and sneakers. He looked middle-aged and soft.

This wasn’t a moment for panic or fear, just cold calculations. Twenty feet wasn’t an easy shot in the driving rain, but if he charged, he was dead. The man was a stranger, but his appearance was no accident. One of them had been followed. Himself or the dead man at his feet. It was bad either way.

The man with the gun came closer, rubbing his eyes. The rain was like a waterfall. The gun wobbled as he pointed it. ‘He dead?’ the man shouted, nodding at the body on the pier. ‘That took balls!’

He didn’t reply. The man had seen the murder play out. That was no good. He watched the man try to keep the gun steady and keep water out of his eyes. The flashlight was bright; it had to be a fat orange blob on his retinas now. The downpour made the man gulp and swallow.

‘Looks like a gun case!’ the man called, gesturing at the aluminum case. ‘You planning on shooting somebody?’

‘You,’ he hollered over the howl of the storm.

The man’s eyes widened nervously, but then his stubbly, fleshy face relaxed, and he chortled. He came even closer, until they were almost chest to chest. ‘That’s funny.’