until finally it came to the wooden trap leading to my kitchen. I jammed on the brake and
thankfully let go of the rope.
I sat with my legs dangling while I massaged my aching arms. As soon as my heart had
stopped jumping like a freshly landed fish, I turned my attention to the trap. I pressed gently,
and it swung open, I looked into an empty kitchen. The cat jumped from my lap on to the
floor and started twining itself around the table leg looking up at me hopefully.
I took off my shoes, then slid soundlessly to the floor, crept over to the door and opened it
half an inch. For some seconds I heard nothing. Then I heard Benno humming to himself.
He was in the front room.
I closed the door again, then I picked up the cat and holding it under my arm, I opened the
china cupboard and took out a couple of plates. I pitched them into the air. The crash they
made when they hit on the floor was enough to raise the dead.
Still holding the cat I stepped back and flattened myself against the wall by the door. I
waited. Nothing happened. All I could hear was my quick, light breathing and the faint
purring of the cat.
Minutes ticked by, and I began to wonder if Benno was Coming. Then suddenly I noticed
the door was opening.
I bent down and gently put the cat on the floor. I gave it a little shove sending it away from
me. Then I straightened up, every muscle in my body tense.
The door continued to open inch by inch. The cat stood still, staring at the door. Suddenly it
growled, and its tail bushed out.
The door swung wide open.
“Goddamn it!” I heard Benno mutter. “A cat!”
I held my breath, praying he would come in, but he didn’t. He remained just outside the
door. I could hear his breath whistling down his nose.
196
The cat backed away.
“How did you get in here?” Benno demanded. “Here, come here.”
But the cat didn’t seem to like the look of him. It spat at him, continuing to back away.
Benno wandered into the kitchen. He had a gun in his right hand. He came in slowly,
snapping his fingers at the cat.
“Here, pooch, come here,” he said.
He was within three feet of me before some instinct warned him of his danger. He swung
around as I struck at him. That quick, unexpected movement spoilt my aim, and instead of
landing on his jaw, my fist caught the top of his shoulder. The force of the punch sent him
flying. He crashed against the wall, made a frantic effort to regain his balance, and at the
same time aim his gun at me.
I flung myself at him, my right hand clamping down on his gun hand. I crushed his fingers
against the gun butt and pinned him against the wall.
His fat, vicious face was only inches away from mine. He tried to grab my throat, but I
slammed over a punch that caught him on the side of his head, stunning him.
I tore the gun out of his hand and threw it away, then my fingers sank into the fat flesh of
his neck, my thumbs digging into his windpipe. As I exerted pressure, his face turned blue
and his eyes started out of his head. I held him against the wall and throttled him.
Only the whites of his eyes were showing when I stepped away from him and let him slide
limply to the floor. My hands ached, and my heart thumped as I bent over him. I put a finger
on his eye: it didn’t flicker. I touched the artery in his neck: no pulse answered me.
I straightened up, flexing my aching fingers and then with an unsteady hand I lit a cigarette.
Reisner, Della, Ricca and now Benno, I thought, I could feel no pity for any of them. If I
