Moisture slicked the irregular brick walls and brick paving of the narrow alley that followed the downhill slope into dense fog. Moon glow above the fog cast an eerie, blue light, easy enough to see their way.
Duncan grabbed Donald’s arm and thrust him to the front, shoving from behind, almost at a run.
Thirty yards below, a pale yellow light winked through blue fog. A crossing street.
At the bottom of the alley, surrounded by a yellow corona, a small, dark form turned toward them.
Cold chills shrouded Donald’s shoulders and he stopped.
Duncan pushed from behind but Donald refused to budge.
“Damn.” Duncan saw him too.
Silhouetted by yellow gaslight, the black form danced quickly up the alley toward them.
Duncan said, “A Tong hatchet man. Should have ate that little Chinese girl’s liver. Woulda got more power.”
“Hatchet man? What, does he chop?”
The small dark form danced closer, elbows up and down, legs kicking in and out, skipping and spinning like a cat on a hot tin roof. He wore a black, flattop hat and what looked like black pajamas.
“Downright creepy, hain’t it?”