who took charge. Joffy hid the book and we stood to one side as the blare of an ambulance started up in the distance. The owner of the shop had come out and told us that tramps dying on his doorstep was bad for business but changed his mind when he found out who it was.
'My goodness!' he said in a respectful tone. 'Imagine a real live saint honouring us with his death on our doorstep!'
I nudged Joffy and pointed at the shopfront. It was a betting shop.
'Typical!' snorted Joffy. 'If he hadn't died trying to get to the bookie's it would have been the brothel. The only reason I knew he wouldn't be at the pub is because it's not opening time.'
Startled, I looked at my watch. It was 10.50. Cindy. I had been thinking about St Zvlkx so much I had forgotten all about her. I backed into the doorway and glanced around. No sign of her, of course, but then she was the best. I thought at first that the fact a crowd had gathered was good, as she would be unlikely to want to kill innocent people, but changed my mind when I realised that Cindy's creed of respect for innocent life could be written in very large letters on the back of a matchbox. I had to get away from the crowd in case someone else was hurt. I dashed off up Commercial Road and was approaching the corner with Granville Street when I stopped abruptly. Cindy had walked around the corner. My hand automatically closed around the butt of my gun but I paused, all of a sudden uncertain. She was not alone. She had Spike with her.
'Well!' said Spike, looking beyond me to the melee in the street behind me. 'What's going on here?'
'The death of Zvlkx, Spike.'
I was staring at Cindy, who stared back at me. I could see only one of her hands. The other was hidden in her handbag. She had failed twice — how far would she go to kill me? In broad daylight with her husband as witness? I was standing awkwardly with my hand on my automatic but it was still in its holster. I had to trust my father. He had been right about her on the previous attempt. I pulled out my gun and pointed it at her. There was a gasp from several passers-by, who scattered.
'Thursday?' yelled Spike. 'What the hell is going on? Put that down!'
'No, Spike. Cindy isn't a librarian, she's the Windowmaker.'
Spike looked at me, then at his petite wife, and laughed.
'Cindy, an assasin? You're joking!'
'She's delusional and I'm frightened, Spikey,' whimpered Cindy, in her best pathetic girlie voice. 'I don't know what she's talking about. I've never even held a gun!'
'
But it was Spike who made the next move. He pulled out his gun and pointed it — at
'Put the gun down, Thurs. I've always liked you but I have no problem making this choice.'
I bit my lip but didn't stop staring at Cindy.
'Ever wondered why she was paid cash to do those freelance library jobs? Why her brother works for the CIA? Why her parents were killed by police marksmen? Have you ever heard of librarians being killed by the police?'
'There's an explanation for it all, Spikey!' whined Cindy. 'Kill her! She's mad!'
I saw her game now. She wasn't even going to do the job herself. In broad daylight, her husband pulls the trigger and it's all legal: a good man defending his wife. She was good. She was the best. She was the Windowmaker. A contract with her and you're deader than corduroy.
'She has a contract out on me, Spike. Already tried to kill me on two occasions—!'
'Put down the gun, Thursday!'
'Spikey, I'm frightened!'
'Cindy, I want to see both your hands!'
'DROP THE GUN, Thursday!'
We had reached an impasse. As I stood there with Spike pointing a gun at my head and with me pointing my gun at Cindy's, I realised this was quite possibly the worst situation to be in. If I lowered my gun, Cindy would kill me. If I didn't lower my gun, Spike would kill me. If I killed Cindy, Spike would kill me. Try as I might, I couldn't think of a scenario that didn't end in my own death. Tricky, to say the least. And it was then that the grand piano fell on her.
I'd never heard a piano falling thirty feet on to concrete before, but it was exactly as I imagined. A sort of musical concussion that reverberated around the street. As chance would have it the piano — a Steinway baby, I learned later — missed us all. It was the
'No!' yelled Spike, placing his hand gently upon her pale cheek. 'Not again!'
Cindy groaned weakly as the policeman who had been dealing with St Zvlkx rushed up with two paramedics at his side.
'You should have told me,' Spike muttered, refusing to look at me, his powerful shoulders quivering slightly as tears rolled down his cheeks.
'I'm so sorry, Spike.'
He didn't reply but moved aside so the paramedics could try to stabilise her.
'Who is she?' asked the policeman. 'In fact, who are you two?'
'SpecOps,' we said in unison, producing our badges.
'And this is Cindy Stoker,' said Spike sadly, 'the assassin known as the Windowmaker — and my wife.'
35
KAINIAN GOVERNMENT TO FUND 'ANTI-SMOTE SHIELD'
Mr Yorrick Kaine yesterday announced plans to set up a defensive network to counter the growing threat of God's wrath unto His creations. Specific details of the 'anti-smote shield' are still classed top secret but defence experts and top theologians have both agreed that a system might be in place within five years. Kaine's followers point to the smoting of the small town of Owestry with a 'ram of cleansing fire' last October and the Rutland plague of toads. 'Both Oswestry and Rutland are wake-up calls to our nation,' said Mr Kaine. 'They may have been sinful but ultimate retribution without due process of law is something that I will not tolerate. In today's modern world where the accepted definition of sin has become blurred we need to protect ourselves against an over-zealous deity keen to promote an outdated set of rules. It is for this reason that we are investing in anti-smote technology.' The 14bn contract will be awarded exclusively to Goliath Weapons. Inc.
The news networks had a field day. The death of St Zvlkx so soon after his resurrection raised a few eyebrows, but the Windowmaker's somewhat bizarre accident while 'on assignment' became a sensation, supplanting even the upcoming Superhoop from the front pages. Incredibly, despite severe internal injuries and a devastating head wound, she didn't die. She was taken to St Septyk's, where they battled to stabilise her. Not from any great sense of moral duty, you understand, but because she could finger the sixty-seven or sixty-eight clients who had paid her to carry out her foul trade, and this was a prize the prosecutors were keen to claim. Within an hour of her coming out of surgery, three attempts by underworld bosses had been made to silence her for good. She was moved to the secure ward at the Kingsdown home for the criminally insane, and there she stayed, comatose, attached to a ventilator.
