Continuing at his casual pace, Haddad finished the first plum, flicked the seed into the street, then took the second from the bag and consumed it in three quick bites. He could feel the Turk’s presence now, matching his pace, so he picked up speed, widening the distance between them, then took a right onto an intersecting street.

There was less light here. One of the street lamps was broken, a bit of luck in his favor.

Moving even faster now, Haddad found his own alleyway and stepped inside, pressing his back against the brick wall as he quickly tied a knot in the bottom of the plastic bag.

A moment later the Turk came around the corner, his small form barely visible in the dim light. He stopped short when he saw no sign of his prey, swiveling his head to look up and down the street.

Haddad knew he had only seconds to do what needed to be done.

Stepping forward, he slipped through the shadows and moved in behind the Turk, then brought the knotted grocery bag up and over the smaller man’s head, pulling it taut around his neck.

The Turk gasped as Haddad yanked him backward into the alley. The victim began to scratch at the bag but Haddad held fast. Haddad knew, if the man did not, that it took five seconds of breathing exhaled air to reduce a man’s strength by half. The Turk gave up his attack on the bag and used what strength remained to swing his fists back, hitting and then clutching at Haddad’s shoulders and face, trying desperately to break free. But his blows were weak and as the seconds ticked by the struggling Turk was reduced to long, sucking, guttural breaths. By then, there was no air at all to be had. The plastic of the bag formed an ugly mask that clung to his open mouth and flared nostrils.