MORTAL JUSTICEPrologueThe full moon shone, revealing the face of man. He took a step back until the darkness shielded him. The lights in the bar dimmed. He saw his shadow pass the window obscured by the Miller Lite sign. He grinned, he was about to turn off the light. He chose this bar because of the sign. It's true that there were other bars with Miller Lite written in the window. However, this was the only one in Washington DC where the bartender was named Miller; at least as far as he knew. Tonight Shannon Miller would be his. For the next two hours he would play with her. Give her a chance to repent. An hour before dawn his time would be up. How long would it be before her family and friends reported her missing? As with the others, he allegedly weighed down his body with a concrete block. Within a week or two, someone, perhaps a tourist, would discover a float in the Potomac. All evidence was swept away. She would have been just another woman executed by the DC killer. The door opened. He remained in the gap watching over the parking lot. Satisfied, she turned, locked the door, and ran across the empty parking lot to her car, a red Toyota with more rust than red. The tap-tap of her high heels beat a drum on the cracked asphalt. The moon ran behind the clouds as if to hide her horrified face. He was an avenger, a messenger from God. His mission was to rid the nation's capital of immoral women. The prostitutes feared him. They now walked the streets in pairs. In their terror, they continued to pursue their evil trade. Sometimes he saw them huddled in groups of three or four. They reminded him of children in a thunderstorm. Like a ghost, it crawled in his direction. The only light cast by the Miller Lite sign and a distant streetlamp. The only lamp had been... in the center of the paper... in the center of the river. Giving her a kiss he pushed her body into the water. She sank into the block, pushing her out of his sight. There was no time. He hid the old rowboat under the centuries-old willow tree where he had found it two days earlier. The blood-soaked racing suit ended up in one dumpster, the gloves in another. He knew the program. By 10 they would both be in the landfill. Good luck finding them. At home, he took a shower and put on his gym clothes. It would have been a fantastic day. Today he would have announced his candidacy for president. The limousine pulled up to the curb. Jimmy Falan jumped out and was halfway down the sidewalk when Jerold Robbins opened the front door. “Good morning Senator or should I say Mr. President?” Not Jimmy yet. It won't take long. Then you will be the sniper of the most powerful man in the world." "Yes, sir." Jimmy smiled.