"He is all alone. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Darkness closed in on them as the officers stepped inside the musty interior. Why? Because Howard Spurlock the author dared not risk the liberty of Howard Spurlock the malefactor; because there were still some dregs in this cup of irony. Of course, he had no idea who I was. I owe his mother one, and will repay the debt, with interest, to her son.
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