Elvis Cole did not want it, seek it, or enjoy it, but maybe these were only things he told himself in cold moments like now. The nature of his life had cost him the woman he loved and the little boy he had grown to love, and left him alone in this house with nothing but an angry cat for company and a pistol that did not need to be put away.

Now here was this dream that left his skin crawling—so real it felt like a premonition. He looked at the phone and told himself no—no, that’s silly, it’s stupid, it’s three in the morning.

Cole made the call.

One ring, and his call was answered. At three in the morning.

“Pike.”

“Hey, man.”

Cole didn’t know what to say after that, feeling so stupid.

“You good?”

Pike said, “Good. You?”

“Yeah. Sorry, man, it’s late.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just a bad feeling is all.”

They lapsed into a silence Cole found embarrassing, but it was Pike who spoke first.

“You need me, I’m there.”

“It’s the wind. This wind is crazy.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Watch yourself.”

He told Pike he would call again soon, then put down the phone.

Cole felt no relief after the call. He told himself he should, but he didn’t. The dream should have faded, but it did not. Talking to Pike now made it feel even more real.

You need me, I’m there.

How many times had Joe Pike placed himself in harm’s way to save him?

They had fought the good fight together, and won, and sometimes lost. They had shot people who had harmed or were doing harm, and been shot, and Joe Pike had saved Cole’s life more than a few times like an archangel from Heaven.

Yet here was the dream and the dream did not fade—

Muzzle flashes in a dingy room. A woman’s shadow cast on the wall. Dark glasses spinning into space. Joe Pike falling through a terrible red mist.

Cole crept downstairs through the dark house and stepped out onto his deck. Leaves and debris stung his face like sand on a windswept beach. Lights from the houses below glittered like fallen stars.

In low moments on nights like this when Elvis Cole thought of the woman and the boy, he told himself the violence in his life had cost him everything, but he knew that was not true. As lonely as he sometimes felt, he still had more to lose.

He could lose his best friend.

Or himself.

Part One - THE FISHMONGER

Part One

THE FISHMONGER

Chapter 1

1