Joe Prantera called softly, "Al." The pleasurable, comfortable, warm
feeling began spreading over him, the way it always did.
The older man stopped and squinted, but not suspiciously, even now.
The evening was dark, it was unlikely that the other even saw the circle
of steel that was the mouth of the shotgun barrel, now resting on the
car's window ledge.
"Who's it?" he growled.