The Devil’s Horns

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The apartment building did not cover much ground space, but it loomed ten stories up into the frosty winter night. Some others in Ashton City were larger, but this was the most ornate and commanded the biggest rents.

The surrounding streets were very dark. The shadows seemed blackest right around the building. And that was as it should be. For that building had a dark reputation. Its owner had an even darker one.

At the corner of the building, in the blackest of the shadows, a hat seemed to float six feet up in thin air. Then a hand appeared to shift the hat a little. And finally there was a match flare, illuminating a hard, scarred face for an instant, and igniting a cigarette.

A man’s voice sounded.

“Put that out, ya dope. This guy we’re waitin’ to burn down might see it.”

The fresh cigarette was ground under an irritated foot and darkness prevailed again. In the darkness, three professional killers with drawn guns waited to do a job they were sure of accomplishing.

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