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saying what else she does, but it must be pretty twisted, because they’re saying each killing was done exactly the same way. When the second one happened, they knew immediately it was done by the same person. She’s cutting up more ‘n just their throats, I’d guess.”
    Frank looked away from the TV and called to the back: “Jenny! Burger and fries up!”
    “I’ve been on the road the past couple days,” Joe said. “When did this all start?”
    Frank picked up a glass near the sink and started toweling it dry with the dirty rag he’d wiped his hands on a moment before.
    “San Francisco,” he said. “A week or two ago. Then Phoenix. This one that they’re talking about was last night. Down in Austin, Texas. Poor schmuck still had some clown makeup left on his face from Halloween.”
    “Creepy,” Joe said, and took another swig.
    “Make you think twice about who you go home with after last call, that’s for sure,” Frank said, turning away. “Excuse me.”
    The bar owner shuffled into the back with a stack of glasses, and Joe noticed the old man at the end of the bar was staring at him. The guy looked at least 65, with long silver-speckled black hair matted around his ears and collar. A two-day growth of beard salt-and-peppered his wrinkled, sunken cheeks. His eyes were black in the low light of the bar, but Joe could see clearly that the man was grinning.
    “They’re coming,” the man said, head nodding vigorously. “Oh yes,” he said, getting up from his stool and moving quickly to the exit. His eyes never left Joe as his hands pushed the door open. “They’re coming.”
    Joe’s heart leapt.
    “Who’s coming?” he asked, but the man was already through the swinging door of the entryway. Joe jumped off his stool and went after the man, pushing through the swinging saloon-style doors and pressing his shoulder to the heavy wooden outer door that he’d come in through.
    The air was cooler outside, and the handful of streetlights did nothing to blot out the velvet black sky awash with pinpricks of light. There were a couple cars parked on the main street, but the lights in the shop windows on either side of the bar were out, and there was no sign of the old man. The breeze tickled the hair on the back of his neck.
    “Who’s coming?” he murmured to himself, and stepped back inside.
    In his head, he heard only laughter.

Chapter Three
    Ariana stepped off the St. Charles Street trolley and sighed. It was a typically hot, sticky day, but she was right where she wanted to be. In the heart of New Orleans. The center of voodoo, albeit overrun with tourists. She stepped quickly across the street and into the welcoming neighborhood of the Garden District. She had some time to kill, before she found some one to kill.
    Her steps clicked in staccato time on the uneven sidewalk. She had ditched her latex before leaving the hotel, but was still wearing her black spike boots with the more sedate blue jeans and a black tee. While you could wear basically anything in the Quarter without drawing a stare, Ariana did not want to draw undue interest here. She’d picked up a new latex bustier with plenty of useless yet intriguing chains and zippers at Dark Entry, a fetish boutique on Bourbon, and thought she might model it for the denizens of the Shim Sham club later to night. She’d modeled it for herself back at the hotel, and liked what she saw. Her thighs warmed at the thought of using it as bait to night. Thinking of having a man’s head nestled between her legs, unknowing of the sacrifice he was about to make, was all she thought about anymore. Which was funny, because initially, just a week before, she had never believed she could go through with it. She had trawled for weeks before finally acting. And then, just a week ago at the Cat Club in San Francisco, she’d found the perfect mark. She’d been at the club before, a curious wallflower enjoying the scent of withheld sex and unspent desire, but this