“Jesus, it’s cold” whispered Sgt. Patty McFinn, the first responding officer. The precinct had radioed in the call at about a quarter past eleven. Two men had been found knocked unconscious in the middle of Paradise Alley, bolo tied
together like something you’d see in a comic book. McFinn wasn’t surprised- this was the third such find this week. He didn’t touch the men because he knew Detective Shephard would want to inspect every inch of the scene. He hopped up and down, trying to stay warm while he waited for the investigators to show up. And that’s when a voice like the sound of slow, crunching gravel gripped him in a vice of icey terror: “This city is mine, McFinn. Tell your Captain to keep these lowlifes locked up…or I’ll hold him accountable.”
The Night Man.
He was real.
McFinn didn’t turn around, held hostage by a primal fear of what he’d see…until the whirl of what could only be a leather cape vanishing into the wind, released him. “Shit…”