If the vivacious brunette had not placed her warm hand on Karl Adler's shoulder she may have woken up in the comfort of her own feather bed. Instead, what was left of her stayed facedown in a back alley at the bright light of morn.

A cool breeze knifed through his clothing. Adler stood up and peered through the tops of moonlit evergreens. Alcohol coursed through his veins. Adler shut his eyes and tried to recall the events that landed Sondra Schmidt, pole dancer extraordinaire, at his Gucci-clad feet. There she begged for her life. Tears ran her mascara like the blade in Adler's hand ran her flesh.

Adler recalled earlier that fateful night Sondra had smiled, whispered pleasantries in his ear, then puffed a fresh Marlboro Red he lit for her. That was reason enough for Adler to gut her like a doe, but there was more.

Sondra's heavily-smeared, rose-colored, lipsticked mouth formed more words, but Adler could not hear them. The pulsated beat of music rattled the Iron Cougar's windows. At a shouted decible, conversation in the overcrowded bar competed with the song that played. Dancers gyrated around them. For some insane reason, Adler felt like an old fogey. No, more correctly stated, an ancient old fogey soon to be put out to pasture.

Sondra Schmidt was friendly to a fault. Her charms did not surprise Adler. He'd watched her perform numerous times before. Sondra loosened up the more she hit the sauce. Though on his third round, Adler appeared sober for once. Well, almost. If Adler was supposed to be the captain of the idiotic voyage his life had become that explained his sobriety, or the lack thereof.

Adler noticed a full moon glanced through the tavern's skylight. The thought "perfect for a lunatic like you, Sondra," crossed Adler's mind. He studied the petit dancer who he felt tried to irritate some other male in the room at his expense. In his lucid mind, Adler knew at no previous time had Sondra Schmidt flirted with him before. In fact, prior to tonight, she'd taken very little notice of him at all. Too late for the looker to rectify her mistake,. That would soon change. The fire smouldered within Adler and drew warmth.

The foolish nonsense of Sondra's elegant appearance did not alter Adler's notions. Her passionate green eyes were emphasized by an appropriate hue of liner. Sondra wore a diamond necklace. Adler admired the precious stones. Soon, they would disappear into another mystery.

Peepers alert with mischieviousness, Sondra flashed Adler a "now this is comfort" peek. She smelled of burnt cigarettes and spilled beer, of the cheap variety. Sondra made no effort to ignore Adler again.

"Lousy chaser!" Adler muttered to himself.

Confused, Sondra asked, "What?"

Adler snatched two drinks from a waiter's tray. He gave one to Sondra. After he scanned the crowd, Adler wondered why nobody in the cramped club ever had any room to themselves to breath? He swallowed the drink in one vicious gulp and reached for another waiter. Curiosity had become such a necessary part of Adler's psyche. Nobody knew his true identity. His pseudonym "Paul Compton" served him well. Adler bid his time. The night still young, Sondra Schmidt was going nowhere. Except with him.

The wind rustled Adler out of his recollections. He took inventory. Adler's bad knee hurt. That was nothing new. The same injury ached and dashed his effort to enlist in the Army thirteen years earlier. Adler was pleased to find the diamond necklace Sondra Schmidt had worn safe in his vest pocket. Adler deposited the valuable back in the pocket he'd extracted the treasure from.

The world around him morphed into a shadowed existence as Adler made his way. On the opposite side of Bruton Street, a tin roof reflected the waned moonlight. Seldom cautious, Adler heard an engine behind him. He stepped back to the side of the Broadmoor Building to better conceal himself. As the vehicle passed, Adler spotted its two-toned paint job.

Adler watched the road for several moments before he moved forward. His attention focused on an object not far away. Adler heard another engine and strained gears. He smelled the distinct aroma of diesel as a beam of light illuminated the street. Adler realized the bus driver spotted him. It wouldn't be long before what remained of Sondra Schmidt was discovered.

Content with himself, Adler walked on.

(TO BE CONTINUED:)