The Implementer was finishing a tall glass of watery beer when the text message arrived. He wiped his wide, dark-lipped mouth with the back of a dirty peacoat sleeve and threw a couple of bucks on the table for Janice, who knew what he looked like.

Stepping through the cheap double doors into the dank cold evening air, he buttoned up the shabby peacoat and pulled a shaby woolen watchcap over his thinning hair. "If 't were done then 't is best 't were done quickly..." he muttered to himself, and took out his pocket smartphone to check the address of the Silveminded Friendly Sleep Mental Institution. ABout twenty miles. He might even be back in time for Judge Judy if he timed things right. He checked his inside pocket for the comforting solidity of the silenced .44 and stepped up to a worn-down Honda Hawkwing 650 parked in the alley. It started on the fourth kick, and he sat astride it for a while, catching his breath, and then purred off into the darkling evening.