I replaced the silver dollar on the doctor's chest and closed the lid of the coffin, then I shut off the lights and left the doctor to his last night on Earth. Billie was looking tired and I sent her off to bed. "I'll lock up," I told her. Which I did. Then I put on my coat and headed back down the dark street to my place. The wetness had finally gone out of the snowfall. It was down to wind-whipped flurries, silver brush strokes in the gusty night air. And cold. Goddamn it was cold.

There was a leggy blond woman in my bed when I climbed the stairs to my place. She had a big, sad, bruised look on her face.

"I hate my goddamn job," she pouted.

I shrugged, getting out of my clothes as quickly as possible. "Oh you know, you win some, you lose some."

I slid between the sheets. The warmth coming off her body was a rapture. She turned to me. "I didn't just 'lose some,' Hitch. I called for light fucking flurries and lows in the upper twenties. Have you seen it out there? It's a goddamn disaster. I fucking stink."

I love a woman who swears like a sailor. Bonnie Nash rolled into my arms. Fronts collided. High pressure dominated. We were in for a wild one.

Reprinted from Hearse of A Different Color by Tim Cockey by permission of Hyperion Books. Copyright © 2001 by Tim Cockey. All rights reserved. This excerpt, or any parts thereof, may not be reproduced without permission.