[Douglas G. Brown]

Afraid he was being followed, Caspar weaved through a maze of alleys for a dozen blocks, returning to a rundown hotel across the street from his starting point. Spotting a loose window in the shadows of a dumpster, he dropped into the basement, and skulked up five flights of the back stairway, glancing over his shoulder at every turn.

Caspar deftly picked the lock and entered the seedy rented room. He gazed at the rump-sprung couch silhouetted by the glow of the flashing neon “Rooms For Rent” sign outside the solitary window. Locking the door behind him, Caspar tiptoed to the couch, and lowered himself into it. With blood throbbing in his temples, he reached down, and yanked off the offending tag hanging from the cushion beneath.

Illuminated in the pulsating neon, it read “ DO NOT REMOVE THIS TAG UNDER PENALTY OF LAW”.