He upchucked again, for the fourth time in two hours.
What the hell was wrong with him?Buckley Grover should be happy, ecstatic.The job he did yesterday had paid well, well enough for him and his family to get out of that ancient station wagon they had been living in and rent a decent motel room.Yet why did he feel so rotten?The man who sought him out for the assignment had also given Buckley explicit instructions:Find a solid metal weapon and then discard it in a safe, unassuming place.Buckley had done everything except that one directive.He had secured the old crowbar from a nearby junk yard, hitched a ride with a contractor's crew up to Terre Celeste, broke into the apartment of his mark, and aced the old man.It hadn't been easy to scale the side of the apartment building but he manage
