Since Halloween night, the murder, the insane amount of clients, the only thing Ace was looking forward to during Thanksgiving was a break. His business slowed around Thanksgiving. As he turned off the lights in this cold late night, he looked out the large front window and saw the first light covering of snow. He had at some point in the evening, noticed the wet door mat and the damp air, but had been too busy to look out.
Now that the shop was empty, he usually like to sit for a while in the darkness. He took a sip of beer and his mind wandered back to strange night of Halloween. Halloweens were always strange nights, but the strange scene that unfolded seemed to continue to haunt him. Senseless murders were not common, but were also not so uncommon in this neighborhood. It had been quiet for almost six months, and Ace had noticed businesses seemed busy and the streets more friendly.
Ace had closed the shop early on Halloween because people were too drunk and crazed to be in his shop. He was siting like he was sitting now, on the worn couch, in the dark and looking at the night around him. There were several crowds of unruly kids. Some stopped to look in, or jingle the door and then moved on. Others passed by laughing or dressed in hideous outfits and trying to be a different person. Masks can do all sorts of things.
Then Ace saw him again. Because the shop window was so large and pointed east, he had a good view of the graveyard. People were wandering in and out of the place all night. Some weird candle show happened earlier, but the party had moved on, probably to the bar or someone's apartment. Then a solitary figure stood just inside the broken down gate. Ace had to sit very still to tell that he was actually there and not just another slab of marble. He had seen him briefly one rainy evening. To Ace, this guy was more unsettling than all the ghosts and ghouls out that night. The kind of person his mother had cautioned her son about. "Ace, your gift can be a curse, too." She had said that so many times that he had stopped listening. But in his adult life he now understood. The tattoos spoke and moved for him. That night, the tiger seemed to stir and bristle.
The man moved when Mr. Ling-Ling started screaming. Moved isn't the right word. Ace had never seen someone vanish like that before. He was gone. Simply gone. Then Ace saw the glare of the flames on the pavement and two men running through the side alley. He moved closer to the window and realized the glow was a fire in the warehouse. He unlocked the door and crossed the street. Again he saw the two men --one obviously chasing the other--standing on the roof. Only their silhouettes showing their actions. Ace knew, though, that it was the man from the graveyard. He moved quickly and evaded the other one's attack. He look controlled in contrast to the erratic and awkward movements of the other man.
The flames rose-up and caught Ace's attention, and when he looked back, only the man was left. He was looking down and his gaze stopped on Ace. Then again, before Ace could move, he was gone. Ace ran to the shop, whirled around and locked the door. Had he killed the other man? Was it self defense? Why was he chasing him?Ace was panting.
He stood-up and told himself that there was a no need to worry about that night. He had not seen the man since then and nothing seemed unusual about the weeks that had followed. He picked-up the phone, "Mom, it's me. Call me back and let me know what to bring for Thanksgiving dinner." He slipped the phone in his pock, sat on the couch, drinking beer and watching to snow cover the curbs, buildings and gravestones. He drifted into sleep.
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