Waltz of the Bodysnatchers

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“I think I can be of service to you,” the pale stranger said. “I want to commit suicide.”

Lorimer looked up from his drink in surprise. Even in the half-light of the bar, it was obvious that the dull-voiced man who had come to his table was ill, shabby and tired. His thin shoulders were bowed within his cloak, making him appear as slight as a woman, and his eyes smouldered with broody desperation in a white triangular face. What a wreck! Lorimer thought contemptuously. What a pitiful bloody mess!

“I said I want to commit suicide,” the stranger repeated, his voice louder but still lifeless.

“Don’t shout it all over the place.” Lorimer glanced around the cavern-like bar and was relieved to see there was nobody within hearing distance. “Sit down.”

“All right.” The man sagged into a chair and sat with his head lowered.

Looking at him, Lorimer began to feel a furtive pounding elation. “Do you want a drink?”

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