Somewhere a doorbell was ringing. Its persistent buzz cut down through the layers of deep dreamlessness and nudged Nick's realization of who he was and why he was there. He came awake with all his faculties in the time it would take most men to rub the sleep out of their eyes. His great muscular body crossed the room in a catlike leap that brought him down softly next to the table on which his Luger rested.
1966.