Chapter Eighteen

Alfred Cain unlocked the door to his three-bedroom apartment, moved into the living room, and looked around at its luxury. He had lived in this apartment now for the past eight years and had gotten used to its luxury. Despite that, each time he stopped to inspect it, it didn't stop to remind him of how far he had come.

From a kid who starved, working construction jobs, if he could find any, a dry crust of bread a day, would mean he was lucky. His mother had died of starvation.

Looking around, he confirmed that this was all he had ever dreamed of as a kid. Too much money, every conceivable luxury within his grasp, plenty of women. Though he cared less about the women, he confessed to himself that they were the best form of relaxation; God ever made for men.

He took off his coat, loosened his tie, and dropped his .38 automatic on the table, then moving over to a nearby window, he sat down on an armchair.

His apartment was on the thirtieth floor of a fifty-floor hig