Chapter One
The Digger's in town.
The Digger looks like you, the Digger looks like me. He walks down the wintry
streets the way anybody would, shoulders drawn together against the damp
December air.
He's not tall and not short, he's not heavy and not thin.
His fingers in dark gloves might be pudgy but they might not. His feet seem
large but maybe that's just the size of his shoes.
If you glanced at his eyes you wouldn't notice the shape or the color but only
that they don't seem quite human, and if the Digger glanced at you while
you were looking at him, his eyes might be the very last thing you ever saw.
He wears a long, black coat, or a dark blue one, and not a soul on the street
notices him pass by though there are many witnesses here — the streets of
Washington, D.C., are crowded because it's morning rush hour.
The Digger's in town and it's New Year's Eve.
Carrying a Fresh Fields shopping bag, the Digger dodges around couples and
singles and families and keeps on walking. Ahead, he sees the Metro station. He
was told to be there at exactly 9 A.M. and he will be. The Digger is never late.
The bag in h ... read full excerpt from: The Devil's Teardrop: A Novel of the Last Night of the Century ebook
