Slovenia

“Minnie,” said Carl Watson, “do you know what friction is?”

I glanced at him and shook my head.

He insisted. “I mean... how shall I put it... do you know what rubbing is?”

The Anti-G limousine slid a few inches over the avenue surface and stopped in front of the discreetly lit entrance into an upscale nightclub. Here, although only remotely removed from the vulgar strip of Las Vegas casinos, it was agreeably tranquil. A lady in a long dress with a low neckline, entered a special compartment and a gentleman in a tuxedo followed her.

Early in the morning, Harold awoke with stiff limbs and neuralgic pains in his joints. Another day was beginning and that thought filled him with a quiet joy. Another day of his steady, calm life that he’d been accustomed to for the thirty years since he’d begun his job here, in the Big Hermitage. 
Nothing–-absolutely nothing–-announced that he was going to kill a man today.