Blake opened the door and took his first step into Hell. He had come to his apartment with a lilt in his walk, pleasantly burdened with candy and flowers. This was to be a reconciliation with his wife, Stella. Stella, who hated private investigatorsââprivate snitches,â she called them.
So he had resigned from the firm of Bricker and Blake: Investigators. Too bad it had to be in the middle of the tough Arrenhower job. But Stella was worth it.
The room was in shambles. There was Stella, battered and bloody, sprawled on a chair. She had been brutally bludgeoned to death.
Iâm dead, Steve black thought, and I canât cry. Who will I cry for? For Stella, whoâd never hear me now? Maybe Iâll cry for the man who killed her. Maybe Iâll cry for him when I find himâand maybe God himself will cry for him before Iâm through...