Marco

Just after 10:30pm, Tom headed for the QwickiMart, six blocks away. There were lots of sirens nearby, but that wasn’t unusual.

A minute later, Tom noticed someone walking rapidly towards him. As he neared, Tom recognized a former wrestling teammate and fun drinking buddy.

“Marco,” he called, “what are you doing out here so late?”

“Oh, hey Tom. I, uh, was feeling restless, so I, uh, went for a jog.”

“Is that blood on your sleeve, buddy? Are you OK?”

“Oh yeah. When I was by the park I heard a noise in the bushes. I spun around and tripped on the curb. You know how jumpy I am sometimes. Um, where are you headed?”

“The QwickiMart for ice cream. Got the munchies, man.”

Marco shuffled his feet a few moments, looking at Tom, then said, “I’m kinda hungry myself. Mind if I tag along?”

"Sure."

Three blocks on, they could see a mass of police cars at Rylin Park, across from the store.

“I, ah, don’t know what’s happening, Tom, but I don’t think I want to mingle with the police with blood on my shirt, ya know? Let’s turn here and take the alley to get to the QwickiMart.”

Tom felt a momentary quiver of unease, but then shook his head and thought, “You’ve been watching too many movies, dude.”

Halfway down the alley, in a pool of dark between shuttered shops, Marco pointed ahead and said, “Look!”

As he did so, Tom felt a powerful arm encircle his neck, blocking his windpipe and pressing hard on both carotid arteries. Then Marco was whispering in his ear.

“Sorry, Tom. I can’t risk you telling the cops you saw me here, and with bloodstains. But this will be painless. Like falling asleep. Because I always liked you.”