My engine kicks out a death rattle and the car rolls to a halt. Looks like I'm hoofing it.
I dig my gear out of the back and abandon the car in the middle of what was once East Broadway. Over one shoulder I have a duffle bag filled with bombs, blades, bullets, and other assorted items of malice. Over my other shoulder is slung a slighter smaller backpack. It is powder blue with a cartoon moose drawn on the front. It belonged to my son once. Inside the backpack is my vengence.
The last rays of sunlight are smothered by the heavy grey blanket called the Vancouver sky. So be it, I've always been more of a night person anyway.
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