It felt weird, being back in this neighborhood at this time of night. Kind of like a high school reunion from hell. He scrubbed his hand over his face, moving the wrinkles around a bit, and stepped forward.

“Are you Monk?” said a small balding man with the shiny polyester look endemic to all bail bondsman.

“Yes, he is,” said a jazz-soft voice from the shadows. Felonious would recognize that voice anywhere. The flesh on his arms crawled in response to it.