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The name’s Kyle Hyde.
On December 24, 1976, I shot a man named Brian Bradley. He was my partner.
And my friend.
“Hey, Bradley! I just heard from the chief. You really going to do it?”
“Yeah. We think it’s the only way to get the info we need.”
“I don’t know…”
“Look, I know it’s dangerous, but I’m the only one in position to get this done.”
“All right, partner. If you say so. ...So what are you going to tell Mila?”
“Not much. Probably tell her I’m being transferred or something. Might even send
her to Boston to live with some family until this whole thing blows over. Safer
than letting you watch her, right?”
December, 1975. Bradley goes undercover to investigate a Manhattan-based crime
syndicate. A year later he sells us out and gives confidential police information to the
bad guys. He’s a traitor. I hear the news, canvas the city, and finally track him down.
“Why’d you do it, Bradley?”
He turns to run...and I shoot him. Bradley crumples and takes a dive into the river,
but the body’s never found. A dirty cop’s not a popular subject, so the whole thing’s
swept under the carpet in a matter of days.
“We don’t waste manpower looking for dead rats, Hyde. Forget it.”
As for me? I leave my badge and gun on my desk and walk away.
Eight years on the force...done.
It’s been three years since I left the 89th Precinct and New York behind. Now I’m a
salesman for an outfit called Red Crown...but I’m still looking for Bradley.
On the surface, Red Crown’s a door-to-door sales firm dealing in household goods.
But Ed, the boss, has himself a little side business finding things that don’t always
want to be found, and from time to time, I lend a hand.
When a job comes in, Ed tells me where to go and puts whatever I’m supposed to
find on an order sheet that he mails to me. When I arrive, I just lay low until the sheet
shows. But once I get it, it’s time to go to work.
December 28, 1979. The last Friday of the year. Ed pages me, but I let it slide for a
few hours before calling in. ...It was a rough night.
“Hyde! Why haven’t you checked in?”
“Stop yelling, Ed. My head’s pounding like a marching band caught in a stampede.”
“Hung over again, eh? Well, no sympathy here. Ya reap what ya sow! Now listen
up! I got a job for ya! It’s a place called Hotel Dusk. Package is on the way, and the
order sheet’s inside.”
“Got it.”
I hang up and climb back into my beat-up station wagon. Time to hit the road.
I didn’t realize it when I started this trip, but as I pull up to Hotel Dusk I get the
feeling I’m going to find something. Something that will lead me to Bradley.
prologue