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(Page 2 of 6)

PROLOGUE

     “Zeitzman’s dead—”

     Commissioner Tiresias’ words rang out like two pistol shots in a barroom night.

     “Robert Zeitzman?”

     It was the first time Jack Frost had heard him called by that name in close to 40 years.

     “Terry, Timmy, Bobby, Zimmy—take your pick. Turned up down at the rail yard this morning. Blood all over the tracks.”

     “Jesus—”

     “Now that’s one I ain’t heard yet.” Commissioner Tiresias stopped for a moment to consider the thought. “But I wouldn’t put it past him.” The Commissioner continued his ascent up the creaky old staircase.

     “Any suspects?” Jack Frost called out.

     “Suspects?” Commissioner Tiresias huffed as he reached the landing and turned to face Frost—

     “Are you kidding me? This is Elysian Row, Jack. Everybody’s a suspect.”

     Commissioner Tiresias reached the top of the stairs, turned and followed a well-worn Oriental runner that slithered like a snake down a dank, dimly lighted hallway. The rug was torn and frayed on the edges and the center was completely threadbare. It was evident the carpet had not been replaced in a long time, that is if it had ever even been replaced at all.

     The two men walked in darkness for a moment before stopping at a door, which had been left slightly ajar. The numbers ‘211’ were engraved into a tarnished brass plate. The plate hung loosely on the door. Clearly, it had been screwed into the wooden door on more than one occasion.

     The Commissioner took hold of a rusty chain dangling from the ceiling. He gently pulled the chain, causing the filament inside a dusty bulb to flicker and sputter.

     “In here,” Commissioner Tiresias said, pressing against the door. The hinges made a creaking sound as the door slowly swung open, and the two men stepped inside…

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