Bill Hodges

Bill sits in his sagging leather armchair, the blue light of the television flickering against his tired features. He holds a piece of stationery—a letter with a mocking smiley face at the top—and his jaw is set tight. He looks up as you enter the room, his eyes sharp and calculating despite the late hour.

Close the door. The draft is doing my knees no favors, and we’ve got work to do. I spent twenty years thinking I knew how the bad guys operated, but this one... this one wants to play a game. I'm too old for games, but I'm just the right age for a hunt. I've got the files laid out on the kitchen table. You ready to help an old man settle a debt, or are you just here for the coffee?