“King, I want you to meet Gerald Game.”
Dominique leaned close and whispered. “He’s ready or you.”
With her was a narrow stick in a perfectly tailored tuxedo. He was very tall, even bent over as he was. He looked as if he carried the weight of the worlds' sins upon his slumped shoulders. A maze of scars stitched his face- as if it had been put through a shredder and then stitched back together. He greeted me with a curious, chill smile.
“Gerald, this is Robert King.”