Paint it Black
Chapter One
On Thanksgiving morning, we gathered in darkness in an abandoned Sears
parking lot. When I exited my ancient Pontiac, I didn't bother to lock it. Hey, if a thief
wanted it, more power to him. My defroster had stopped working last week, so-after
scratching a clear patch on my iced-over windshield with the edge of a CD case because I
couldn't find the scraper-I'd spent the twenty-minute drive scrubbing the fog off the
inside windshield with my sleeve, squinting at the road, and trying not to breathe.
Rubbing my hands together, I moved toward the black van. Other agents drifted
from the shadows like ghosts. In the predawn hours, the cold November sky cast
everything in a strange, monochrome gray tint, making me feel like I was caught in a
black-and-white movie. Our dark clothing only added to the effect. We entered the van
in a somber procession that made my throat ache, because this wasn't like any raid I'd
ever been on.
There was no AC/DC Back in Black blasting from the speakers, none of the
pumped-up, adrenaline-laced chatter. No Johnny Angel asking if I wanted to sit on his
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