Four
Black was his color of choice. He’d learnt a long time ago that nobody really noticed you when you wore black; you became an amorphous memory without detail. He pulled the hood of his jacket down over his eyes and slowly walked across the street, and into the building. A dark shape materialised in front of him as he entered. He knew what was about to happen. He’d had the same role himself in a similar place, in another city, at an earlier time in his life, and he’d studied the way this guy operated over the last few nights.
He let himself be patted down. He wasn’t carrying anything the door guard wouldn’t be expecting to find on someone coming to buy what his mates were selling.
The room off the entrance foyer, in which the Westies conducted their business, was dimly lit by the str
