Dark Randy had an extra cup of coffee this morning. Then he sat on his sofa, curtain half-drawn on the long, east-facing window in what he called his living room, and he waited for the police to come. No A/C today. Not yet. He has been sitting on his sofa for nearly an hour, gazing at the wall. The day began late for Dark Randy. He is sweating already. The reassembled note is now carefully taped together and positioned perfectly in the center of the low table before him. He’ll hide it safely away somewhere before Officer Fincher arrives. He should be here within the hour. He said on the phone that he needs to ask Dark Randy about where he was and what he was doing on June ninth. Three days ago.