6Scratch awoke in the '48 Dodge to the smooth sounds of Sinatra crooning In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning. And it was just that. The wee hours of the morning. The sun was just coming up and the sky was pink and grey. The birds were singing not a song of hope for the new day, but a warning or caution of something atrocious.
He realized he was in the driver's side of the car.
When he opened his eyes, he still had a blurry vision of an old Korean man screaming at him. Scratch immediately felt for an imaginary g*n in the breast pocket of his coat. The mist cleared from his eyes and a teenaged girl started shrieking. She turned and ran into the arms of a teenaged boy. Suddenly, Scratch was surrounded by people in the cul-de-sac where the Dodge was parked.
Scratch looked to his right and
