THE MERCHANT OF MURDER,
by Spencer Dean
PROLOGNothing to be afraid of—
The woman walked rapidly past the store, scarcely turning her head as she glanced within. There didn’t seem to be anyone inside, but she was sure that lustrous black eyes would be watching her from some slit in that curtain of rust-red carpets spread along the saggy clothesline at the rear.
Probably it would be safe to go in, now…but first she would walk to the corner and back, to give her heart time to stop its hammering. Or more truthfully, time to postpone the dreaded moment of decision, even if only for a few minutes—though actually the decision had already been made and it was already too late to turn back.
The bright April sun accentuated the tawdriness of the littered tenement hallways, shone pitilessly on
