It wasn’t completely light when I woke up again, but the foggy, half-light that sometimes lingers along the coast in August. I got up and put some coffee water on and got under the shower.

Pain leaped through my stomach and my head felt like a coconut that had fallen from a tall tree. I soaped my face, carefully washing away the caked blood, wondering whether I should try to shave between the cuts.

When I had toweled off I worked through a cigarette while I drank some of the coffee. I began thinking about Frank Peskin, wondering why a guy like that would kill himself—or get himself killed.

I thought about Hiram Moon, too, wondering why the rummies around the wharf had hinted that he might be involved. It didn’t seem likely that he’d have any reason for wanting Peskin out of the way, but I’d never known the wharf rats to be wrong.

(cf. Vorzimmer, Jeff. The Best of Manhunt 2 (p. 358). Stark House Press. Kindle Edition.)