Chapter 1, 1974

 A small man, with a deformed left hand, entered Harvey's Restaurant on 42nd Street in New York.  He was clearly Jewish.  His eyes were fixed on another man, sitting in the corner of the restaurant.  Whether the customer knew the dwarf was merely speculation, but he became very self-conscious that this little man was staring at him.
 The maître 'd asked the man, "Do you care to be seated?"
 The man just looked ahead at the man in the corner, as if he hadn't heard.
 "If you don't want to be seated, then I'll have to ask you to leave.", the maître 'd said.
 The small man started walking toward the man in the corner, his eyes fixed on his target.  Slowly, he reached into his pocket and continued his stare.  His face remained emotionless.  He reached the man's table.
 The man, dressed rather well, looked up from his plate of veal, and asked, "Did you want something?"
 With one swift motion, the man pulled a knife out of his pocket and slit the throat of the man.  A couple sitting at the table next to the victim watched in horror.  A woman screamed.  A waiter dropped his tray.  The man put the knife to his own throat, and with one move, ended all hope of finding out why.  Two men dead in a restaurant, and no one eating lunch.
 Three thousand miles away and three hours earlier, the first call for Flight 402 bound for Hawaii was given by a nice-sounding girl over the public address system.  Every day, hundreds of senior citizens and newlyweds crowded into planes, heading for Hawaii.  Dreams of sunshine, hula girls, and volcanoes were in the minds of those getting on board.  Fantasies were coming true.  People had saved money for years, just for one , and Los Angeles was the last glimmer of the hurried life that they were getting away from.
 As these happy people stood in line to be assigned seats for Flight 402, a man in a dirty raincoat and sunglasses got in line.  He was tall and thin and emotionless.  The man in front of him in line was a retired Navy chief.  He and his wife were on their second honeymoon.  The man in the raincoat took a knife out of his pocket and stuck in in the side of the ex-Navy man.  The man screamed with pain and reached for his wife.
 "Oh my God", said his wife in disbelief.
 "Quick, grab him!", said another woman.
 "I've got him", cried a husky, young man.
 The man in the raincoat took the knife and stuck it in his own ribs, as if to commit Hari-Kiri.  All watched in horror and boarded the plane.  The airport security wondered how he got past them with a knife.  Two dead in an L.A. airport and others went into dreamland.

(start of another unfinished novel)