SCARE Zak Webster got on with his life. What else was there to do? The events of the other night had been pretty strange, but he found it impossible to calibrate the degree of strangeness. Looked at from one perspective, it all seemed random enough, just big-city weirdness, but from another, there was something less than random about it, something ominously specific that seemed to involve him and Utopiates. A couple of days passed. Zak did his job, sold a set of mid-priced eighteenth-century maps of Peru, talked to Ray McKinley on the phone, said nothing about the tattooed woman. He wouldn’t have known what to say, and why would Ray even have been interested? He got through the working hours, and the genuinely random universe seemed to be asserting itself. That was a good thing, right? And then there was a counter assertion. It was another long, restless evening, and again it was nearly time to close the store, but then Zak glanced out the window and saw the battered metallic-blue Cadillac parked a short distance away.
