Jonah reached up to ring the bell one more time. Someone shuffled on the other side of the door. Jonah took a half-step backward.
‘Who is it?’ said a scratchy voice.
‘Mr. Foster?’ Jonah said. ‘Mr. Mark Foster?’
‘Who wants to know?’
‘Exterminator.’
‘What?’
‘Exterminator. I’m here to spray your apartment, sir.’
The peephole in the center of the door slid open. Jonah stepped in front so Foerster could get a good long look.
‘What’s your name there,’ the voice said, ‘Jake?’
‘Jake, that’s right.’
‘Who do you work for, Jake?’
‘The landlord sent me. Manor Property Management. I’m checking through all these apartments because of a roach infestation. Do you have any roaches in there, Mr. Foster?’
‘How do you know my name?’
‘Your landlord gave me all the names.’
‘My landlord can fuck off.’
Jonah sighed, just a working man getting nowhere with a customer. ‘Sir, I’m going to have to come in there sooner or later. There’s a roach problem in this building. If I have to call the office, they’ll just get the maintenance guy to let me in.’
He waved the clipboard as if that would tell the story.
The door opened a crack. Foerster kept the security chain on. An eyeball peered out at Jonah. ‘They have to give me twenty-four hours notice. You know that, right? You can’t just walk in here without notice.’
Jonah slid his right foot into the crack. Foerster tried to slam it shut but the foot was already there. Jonah shouldered the door hard. Once. Twice. Three times and he could feel the chain going. Four times and it was loose. Five and he blasted the chain housing out of the wall. Then he was off balance and inside the apartment.
They faced each other in a kind of stand off, Jonah startled by the looks of the man. Unshaven, Foerster held an empty beer bottle in one hand – the hand with two fingers wrapped together in a cast. He was pale, almost a shade of yellow, as if light was bad for him. His skin hung on bone, like a vampire’s would.
‘Davis Foerster. I’d like you to come with me, sir.’
Foerster smiled, a wan and sickly sight.
‘You a cop?’
‘No, I’m not. I work for the courts. Why don’t you come along peacefully? That way nobody gets hurt.’ Jonah started to reach back to take the cuffs out.
‘Sure,’ Foerster said. He smiled that terrible smile again. He seemed relaxed, relieved even. ‘I'll be right with you. Just hold this for me, will you?’
He threw the beer bottle. They stood five feet apart, maybe less. Jonah ducked too late. The bottle bonked his head and shattered, spraying glass and beer all over him.
He backed away into the hall again, but things went funny. The hallway was black, and bright white spots – call them stars – shot across the dark field of his vision. They sparkled and left trails of glowing dust in their wakes. They looped and spiraled. Spiders spun cobwebs in the corners.
Then his vision came rushing back, brushing away the darkness. He was down on one knee like a man proposing marriage. Things had gone wrong right from the start. He fumbled the walkie-talkie out of his jumper. He’d better call Gordo quick.
He looked up and it all moved in long slooow mo. Foerster came out of the apartment. Now he had a thick wooden table leg. He carried it like a slugger in the on-deck circle. A long screw stuck out from the business end. The screw would attach the leg to a table. It looked nasty, like it could poke a nice hole through somebody.
‘C’mere,’ he said. ‘You wanna fuck with me, right?’
He swung the table leg full bore. Jonah jerked away, but the swing connected with his hand and knocked the walkie-talkie flying. The handset bounced off the wall, then hit the floor and broke into pieces. Jonah crawled backwards, pulling out his pepper spray. Foerster kept coming. Jonah shoulder-rolled and came up firing like a shortstop. He pressed the button on the top of the canister, but he aimed too low. The spray hit Foerster in the shirt.
Foerster gaped down at the wet stain and Jonah charged.
He hit Foerster hard and it was like tackling a scarecrow – there was no real substance to the man. He bulled him back into the apartment. They flew through the doorway and crashed to the floor. Jonah lost the pepper spray. Foerster lost the club.
Jonah landed on top. They wrestled. This close, Foerster smelled like cigarettes and body odor. Jonah was bigger and stronger, but Foerster raged with desperation. He screamed in Jonah’s ear, and squirmed away like an eel. Jonah reached for Foerster’s waistband, snagged it with his finger, lost it.
‘Shit!’
Jonah rose to his feet and picked up Foerster’s club himself. He adjusted his grip on it. The weight felt good. That screw stuck out thick and mean.
A glass bottle shattered near his head. He looked up. Foerster stood behind a paint-peeling white table. It was piled up with empty bottles – beer bottles, wine bottles, hard stuff. Foerster grabbed another bottle and threw it. Jonah ducked and it smashed against the wall. He felt the wet tingle of the glass.
‘Get the fuck out of my house,’ Foerster said.
Jonah ran down his options. He thought fast. The club might break this guy in half. Look for the pepper spray instead? That meant turning his back. Lost seconds. Time for Foerster to move. Fuck his M.O. – did he have a gun in the fridge? Maybe. Under the pillows? Jonah didn’t want to find out.
Let him have it with the club? Of course.
He moved in.
Foerster threw another bottle.
Jonah swung.
He connected, spraying beer and shards of glass all over himself. He took another step forward.
‘This is a citizen’s arrest,’ he said.
Foerster threw again. He threw to the right and high. The bottle smashed harmlessly. He picked up two more, one with each hand, and let fly. His aim was gone. Beginner’s luck that first time. Jonah charged him, the club raised high. He brought it down like a woodsman splitting logs – knees bent, legs planted, his thighs and back doing the work, the force of it like electricity through his body, grip so firm his knuckles stood out in white.
The club smashed the empty bottles, then sliced through the table. The table broke in half, then separated and fell in. Glass went flying, a fountain of glass. The sound was like a car crash. Foerster dropped way back, then dove out the window.
‘He’s coming out! He’s coming out!’
Jonah went to the window and stuck his head through it. Foerster aimed a kick. His foot whistled just past the edge of Jonah’s nose. Jonah ducked back.
He counted to three then poked his head out again.
He caught a glimpse of Foerster’s head going down the stairs. Jonah dropped the bat and clambered out onto the ironwork. It had been white once but now was flaking with rust. Across the alley was the old fire escape to the abandoned building next door. He went to the railing and glanced around five stories below. Gordo’s round moon face stared up at him.
‘He’s coming down!’
Gordo raised his arms upward like he was praising his maker. ‘Bring him to me.’ His voice echoed off the brick walls.
Jonah hit the stairs, taking them two at a time. He reached the first landing, turned the corner and two seconds later stood at the top of the next flight. One floor down, Foerster was perched up on the handrail like a bird on a telephone wire, grasping the stairs behind him with one hand.
It was three stories to the street and Jonah thought he had a jumper.
