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'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!'
'Very slowly take your hand out of your handbag, Cindy.'
But it was Spike who made the next move. He pulled out his gun and pointed it — at me.
'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 stool that hit Cindy, and she went down like a sack of coal. One look at her and we both knew it was bad. A serious head wound and a badly broken neck. It was a time of mixed emotions for Spike. Grief and shock at the accident but also realisation that I had been right — still clasped in Cindy's hand was a silenced .38 revolver.
'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?'
