In New York, he checked into a hotel in the midtown area, not too far from his Victim’s address. The clerks were smiling and attentive, which bothered Frelaine. He didn’t like to be recognized so easily as an out-of-town killer.
The first thing he saw in his room was a pamphlet on his bed-table. How to Get the Most Out of your Emotional Catharsis, it was called, with the compliments of the management. Frelaine smiled and thumbed through it.
Since it was his first visit to New York, Frelaine spent the afternoon just walking the streets in his Victim’s neighborhood. After that, he wandered through a few stores.
Martinson and Black was a fascinating place. He went through their Hunter-Hunted room. There were lightweight bulletproof vests for Victims, and Richard Arlington hats, with bulletproof crowns.
On one side was a large display of a new.38 caliber sidearm.
“Use the Malvern Strait-shot!” the ad proclaimed. “ECB-approved. Carries a load of twelve shots. Tested deviation less than.001 inch per 1000 feet. Don’t miss your Victim! Don’t risk your life without the best! Be safe with Malvern!”
Frelaine smiled. The ad was good, and the small black weapon looked ultimately efficient. But he was satisfied with the one he had.
There was a special sale on trick canes, with concealed four-shot magazine, promising safety and concealment. As a young man, Frelaine had gone in heavily for novelties. But now he knew that the old-fashioned ways were usually the best.
Outside the store, four men from the Department of Sanitation were carting away a freshly killed corpse. Frelaine regretted missing the kill.
He ate dinner in a good restaurant and went to bed early.