The City That Never Sleeps: A Tor.com Original

By Walton Simons

For over 25 years, the George R. R. Martin's Wild Cards universe has been entertaining readers with stories of superpowered people in an alternate history.

“There’s never a shortage of people other people want dead.” Spector felt on familiar footing now that he saw the entire game.

All a hit man wants can be as simple as a bottle of bourbon and a time to dream, but when you're Spector, the work never ends, in Walton "Bud" Simons's Tor.com Original, The City That Never Sleeps.

At the Publisher's request, this title is being sold without Digital Rights Management Software (DRM) applied.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Sep 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9781250258601

Book preview

New York, New York

December, 1986

Spector knew he was being followed. The tail was a young man who clearly wasn’t up to the job. His dumbass shadow was well groomed, had a nice blue suit, and was keeping in back of him by about thirty feet. Spector paused at the corner of Second Avenue and Tenth, the cold wind whipping his lank hair. New York City at Christmastime wasn’t as bad as it was in January, but it was still no picnic. A trio of Salvation Army folks sang God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, but not very well. There was an A&P a couple of blocks away. If the person following him came inside looking for Spector that would be his mistake; if not, Spector would do some grocery shopping.

He’d been back in the city for less than two weeks. After Wild Card Day he’d decided Manhattan was just too dangerous for him. Lots of people wound up dead that day, including big-name aces like the Howler and the Astronomer and some lesser known ones like the dino kid. Spector had done the Astronomer himself, feeding his former boss’s his death memory hard and fast, and leaving the old bastard’s corpse fused inside a brick wall. That helped him sleep a little easier, but there were still plenty of people who wanted him dead again, not to mention the politicians and cops who were howling for the blood of the aces who’d brought terror to their fair city.

So Demise had gone back to Teaneck and laid low for a couple of months. Still, he needed a roof over his head and food on the table, so he’d done a few random jobs for the local mob. He’d told them he was a chemist with a drug that could simulate a heart attack. His employers weren’t particularly curious about his methods and paid on time. The rubouts weren’t enough for Spector to live well, but he kept them on a scale small enough that he didn’t draw much attention, either.

He ducked into the A&P and moved quickly to his left and down an aisle. The place wasn’t crowded, which suited Spector to a T. He heard the door squeak open and knew the man had been dumb enough to follow him inside. Spector headed for a corner of the produce section where the lighting was poor. He heard slow, uncertain footfalls the next aisle over. Spector couldn’t figure why anyone who knew who he was would follow him, much less confront him. Unless the guy was an ace; that could be big