He went back, took the two matchsticks down, and straightened the Venetian blinds.
I’m gettin’ too old for this, he thought. Well, this is the last one. Just don’t get careless now. He hated the thought of giving it up. It was like having his last piece of ass, knowing it was all over. The speed raced along his nerves, like fire burning along a fuse. He shook his shoulders, closed his eyes, and let his head fall back for a moment. He was getting hard and he sighed with ecstasy.
Oh, yeah. Jesus.
Was he ready.
He took the stairs to the third floor, walked across the connecting terrace. The wind rattled the plastic pool cover and he jumped, the shotgun coming up. His eyes burned fiercely, then he relaxed and kept moving. He entered the stairwell of the west tower and listened.
Nobody. Just the wind, moaning through the shaft. lie climbed the stairs, thinking about what was coming, reached the tenth floor, and cracked the door. The hail was empty.
He closed the door and ticked the steps off in his mind. He cocked the shotgun. Unbuttoned the bottom buttons of the raincoat. Double checked the location. Apartment 10-A was between the door and the elevators. On the right.
Perfect. Twenty, maybe twenty-five feet, no more.
He took several deep breaths. His pulse battered at his temples.
Four apartments on the floor. The one across from her, 10-D, was being repainted for a new tenant. No one was home in either of the other apartments at the corners of the hail, he had called both numbers. He was lucky tonight. Tonight was definitely his lucky night.
He went through the door and walked to the elevators, pushed the down button and waited. One of the elevators arrived. He stepped in, pushed all the buttons between ten and the ground, and stepped back Out. The doors closed. He pushed the down button again. The other elevator arrived and he repeated the manoeuvre.
He held his thumb across both hammers of the shotgun to make sure it did not discharge accidentally and walked to the door of 10-A.
He rang the bell and then swung the barrels of the shotgun up through the opening of the raincoat.
They were playing a golden oldie, ‘Long Time Comin” by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young when the doorbell rang.
‘Coming,’ she said. There was gaiety in the voice. She sounded happy. Was it part of the act?
Sharky heard her take the chain off the door, turn the latch.
The two muffled shots came almost as she opened the door.
Thumk thumk.
Almost together and no louder than a fist hitting a refrigerator door.
There was a cry, not loud, like an animal whimpering.
A sound like gravel hitting the wall.
Something fell, heavy, on the floor.
He heard the door close.
Shotgun. A silenced shotgun.
He forgot the earphones. They ripped from his head as he bounded for the door. He had his automatic in band before he reached the stairwell. He bulled into the stair- shaft without precaution. Below him, several floors down, someone was running, taking the steps two or three at a time.
‘Hold it!’ he yelled. ‘Police, hold it!’
lie followed the sound, taking the steps six at a time and hanging onto the railing to keep from falling. Several flights below him he saw a shadow flee across the wall. He kept going. A door opened and slammed shut.
What floor? What fucking floor?
lie reached four, flattened himself against the wall, pulled the door open, and held it open with his foot as he swung around and leaped into the hail.
Empty.
He went to three, swung the door open and went through head first and low, almost on his knees, the 9mm held in front of him in both hands. He was outside on the terrace and he jumped quickly into the shadows, letting his eyes grow accustomed to the darkness.
He listened. The wind flapped the plastic pool cover. He started moving through the shadows towards the door on the other side of the pool. His reflexes were ready, but his mind was jumping back and forth. What had happened on the tenth floor. Was she all right? What the hell was going on?
He remembered his walkie-talkie. As he ran to the east tower he pulled it out of the case on his belt.
‘Central, this is urgent. Contact Livingston, Papadopolis, and Abrams and tell them Zebra Three needs them at base immediately.’
The walkie-talkie crackled. ‘Ten-four.’
He reached the other door, pulled it open and waited a second, listening, before he went through.
Nothing.
He waited and listened.
