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Morgan did not ignore warnings. He swung silently out of bed and reached under the mattress for a silenced Ruger .22 semiautomatic pistolan assassin's weapon. He stood naked at the window, listening. Something moved among the trees behind the overgrown garden. A dark shape broke and ran. Morgan moved swiftly. |
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There was only the sound of blundering, running footsteps ahead, and Morgan's own in pursuit. Morgan cut through the shrubbery onto the deserted street. A car was parked half a block from his house. The running figure emerged from the shadows a few feet away: a man, out of breath, frightened at being discovered and pursued. |
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He reached the car a step before Morgan, flung himself inside, and tried to close and lock the door. Morgan stopped him with a fistful of shirt and the Ruger jammed under a sharp chin. |
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"For Christ's sake, don't!" The voice was choked by the grip at his throat. |
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Morgan pulled the man out of the car and slammed him back against the car door. The intruder was at least half a head shorter than Morgan's six feet. Then in the half darkness he recognized Joe Ryerson, the defrocked reporter. Ryerson's eyes were enormous as he contemplated Morgan. He whispered, "Are you crazy, man? You're stark naked." |
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Morgan put the muzzle of the Ruger in Ryerson's ear. |
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"You can't do this. I have rights . . . " |
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Morgan caught his arm in a lock and lifted, eliciting a squeal of pain. |
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They went back through the trees and the neglected garden and into the dark house. Morgan pushed his prowler ahead of him, into the bedroom. "Sit on the floor. If you move, I'll kill you." |
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"Are you fucking crazy?" Ryerson's voice was thin with fear. |
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Morgan turned on a light. The pistol remained aimed at |
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