Julian left the parking garage, his lithe stride carrying him the few steps down Peabody Place to Third Street. He turned north so that the low hum of Beale Street was at his back. The music, laughter and low buzz of the crowds blended into the general cacophony of night in the city.

As he walked up Third, the majestic Peabody Hotel towered over him to the left, waiters and staff members sneaking smokes on the sidewalk. Julian loved that hotel. He’d stayed in it as a guest when he’d interviewed for his current job. He loved its quiet grandeur, its lush, overpowering opulence. The air was thick with the scent of money and the elegant patrons seemed both blase and unimpressed. Their cheeks were ruddy, their skin stretched tight as if stuffed entirely full of bored disdain and smug entitlement. They could well have been courtiers in the palace of Louis the XIV. The Sun King himself could have found no fault with their facade of discontent, satiation with life’s pleasures stamped firmly on their every gesture.

He remembered going down to the lobby and ensconcing himself at a table by the huge center fountain, a tumbler of scotch his only companion. He was unaware that he was about to witness the spectacle of the marching Peabody ducks or that he had inadvertently netted himself some prime lobby real estate.

In the space of a few minutes, people seemed to be crowding around the fountain as if having appeared from thin air. An elderly Norwegian couple, accompanied by their young granddaughter, asked if they could share his table and he accepted.

A red carpet was rolled from the elevator to the fountain. The jaunty notes of the King Cotton March competed with the fountain’s liquid gurgle. The ducks marched down from the fountain, a hard day’s swimming complete. The elderly couple looked at each other and shook their heads in disbelief. The grandfather limited himself to one comment, made in flawless English. “Only in America.”

At that point Julian gave in to the laughter. It wasn’t just the grandfather’s pithy comment, but the unabashed awe of his  fairy-sprite granddaughter. Of all the lobby occupants, many of whom were tourists and not hotel guests, her reactions were by far the most honest. Her eyes were huge in her delicate face. She took in her majestic surroundings with suitable awe and laughed in delight when the ducks waddled in trained symmetry down the red carpet. Even after the ducks were whisked away, she waggled her fingers in the gentle splash of the fountain and looked around as if transported to a magical kingdom.

He leaned forward and addressed her with solemn gravity “I know exactly how you feel.”

When Julian selected his condo on south Fourth, the nearness of the Peabody was one of its many attractions. His condo was certainly no slouch in the luxury department but he liked being able to wander through the palatial decadence of the Peabody whenever it suited his mood.

He turned east on Union and crossed the street to walk in front of the mellow red brick walls of Autozone Park. A baseball fan from early boyhood, his ability to see the playing field from his balcony was another selling point for his condo. On the south side of the street, the businesses became a little spottier, a little more industrial.

Two men were leaning against a parked car, a huge boat of a maroon Cadillac. Julian kept his eyes forward, but could feel the weight of their gaze following him. He allowed himself a casual look in their direction. The combined weight of those hard stares was unrelenting, unblinking, common to predators the world over. He sighed. He really wasn’t in the mood.

As the brick wall surrounding the baseball park ended, Julian took a left onto Fourth Street. The condominium complex stretched all along the street that ran from Fourth and Union, but Julian’s home was at the far end. He noticed that several of the sodium vapor lamps along Fourth were out. His condo seemed an impossibly long distance away.

To add insult to injury, his two buddies from across the street had fallen in behind him. Julian’s stride did not falter in length or pace. As he approached one of the black holes left by the faulty streetlights, the steps behind him quickened.

“Hey, man, slow down. You on ya way to a fire?” The speaker’s companion snickered at his friend’s wit.

Resigned, Julian turned. “Can I help you with something?”

“Yeah, you got a cigarette?”

“Regrettably, my friend, I don’t smoke. Is there something else I can do for you?”

The sidekick began to circle Julian in the stance common to pack hunters everywhere before speaking in a low, ominous mutter.  “Hey, Carl, listen to how fancy he talks. I think this boy believes he better than us.”

A half grin touched Julian’s mouth. “I can assure you that is not the case. In fact, I think we have more in common than you might imagine.”

In front of him, Carl pulled out a snub nosed revolver. “We don’t have nuthin’ in common. Give up yo watch and yo wallet, pretty boy, or them fine clothes is gonna have some air conditioning.”

Julian reached his hand slowly into the breast pocket of his jacket to retrieve his wallet. “Have you ever heard the joke about why sharks don’t attack lawyers? It’s professional courtesy.”

“Shut up! I’m ‘bout tired of listenin’ to that uppity mouth.”

“That is truly unfortunate.” And with that, Julian threw his wallet straight up in the air, where it became invisible against the black cushion of the night sky. No sooner had the wallet left his hand, than violet light began to crackle against his palm until he seemed to be holding a glowing neon ball. With an indolent movement of his wrist, the mass of energy slammed into Carl’s friend.

Carl’s lower jaw seemed to sag on its hinge as his friend was electrocuted in the space of seconds, falling to the ground in a limp heap of rags. The air was thick with ozone and the unpleasant smell of fried flesh.

Julian neatly caught his wallet on its return and slipped it cleanly back into his breast pocket. His smile flashed out, white and merciless, the smile of a predator. “Now, what to do about you, Carl? I’m afraid that your luck, clearly never in great supply, has finally run its course.” He fixed his unblinking blue gaze on Carl’s hand. “I can think of much better uses for your weapon than aggravated assault. They say that guns don’t kill people, that people kill people. Personally, I think the guns help.”

Sweat began to pour down Carl’s face. He looked like a man faltering under a great weight. His gun hand began to turn back toward himself with slow precision. He seemed powerless to halt its movement. His face was transfixed with disbelief and terror. Once the gun completed its one hundred and eighty degree turn, it tilted smoothly upward until it was pointing directly at the assailant’s face.

“Now, squeeze, Carl.” The gentle command wafted across the cool, fall evening, punctuated by the sound of a single gunshot.

Julian Ring did not spare a glance at the two bodies, heaped on the sidewalk like so much refuse. He merely resumed walking toward his condo, his stride lithe and unhurried. His housekeeper had gone grocery shopping today and he knew he would find his kitchen well stocked. He hoped there was ice cream.