Derek looked ahead to see the comedy club in front of him. A small lineof people slowly made their way inside, urged on by a large man in asimple but...nice suit. He held a clipboard in his hand and passed out apiece of paper to everyone filing inside. Derek slid into an open spotby the curb, a block away.Cold wind swarmed Derek when he opened his car door and he hissed throughclenched teeth, forcing him to clutch his thin jacket tighter to hisbody. With a quick glance for oncoming traffic,. "We don't sing atall. We keep quiet all the time." Vincent looked down and noticed thegunman's feet. They were clad in bright red snakeskin boots, pointed andcapped with steel. Small spurs stuck out from the heels."Don't sing? I wonder if I believe that? Sound to me like you singplenty," he said in his thick tones. Vincent heard him turn away,muttering something to his associate, who grunted back then walked off.The gunman turned back."OK. Thing is this. I don't believe you don't sing. But I am. More

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