NICE SUNNY day. Slight breeze. Crows cawing somewhere but he couldn’t see them. The streets were almost empty. He was just turning into the driveway of the Fair Breeze Condos on Sheridan. A lady came out of the doorway putting on white gloves as she walked toward him with a smile. She was a friend of Wayne’s mother. Her name was Stella Armstrong. “Wayne,” she said. “Mrs. Armstrong.” “You visiting someone?” “No,” he said. “I’m here to shoot Lee Cole Carter.” Mrs. Armstrong thought Wayne meant he was going to take the singer’s photograph. He wasn’t carrying a camera, but they were so small nowadays that you could carry one in your pocket. Wayne was a painter, not a photographer, but maybe, Mrs. Armstrong thought, he took photographs and then went back and painted pictures from them, not that she recalled any real paintings of people Wayne had ever done. “Got to get to an appointment with my doctor,” she said apologetically. “I’ve got a thing on my back.
