‘Henry,’ Mark sat down, his voice breaking, ‘The chef, Emma… Oh my God, Henry.’ ‘What?’ ‘She’s dead,’ Mark whispered, ‘Someone c...t her fucking head off.’ Henry felt his blood go cold, ‘What?’ ‘They’re both dead,’ Mark exclaimed, ‘And both are connected to me! What am I going to do!?’ Henry looked at Mark, ‘Call the police.’ ‘I can’t call the fucking police,’ Mark shouted, ‘They’ll suspect me.’ ‘Did you do it?’ ‘You mother fucker how can you even say that?’ ‘Hey,’ Henry shot back, ‘Two women. ”I laughed. “Good to know. If you were in her line of work and sucked maybe twenty dicks a night you would.”“Ugh. Yeah, that would take a lot of the pleasure out of it. Interesting neighborhood you live in.”“It’s ugly, but it’s home.” We walked on, reaching my building without further incident. As we approached, I said, “This is us.”She looked up at the massive eight-story building, an impressive Depression-era Art Deco pile of white limestone, a rectangular layer-cake design with each floor. More

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