The Triumph of Evil by Lawrence Block Page B

jacks?” He stood with his feet together and his hands at his sides, then sprang, and flung his arms up so that he wound up with his feet spread and his hands touching above his head. He returned to the original posture, then repeated the whole process. “Jumping jacks.”
    “Oh, sure. Jumping jacks. We used to do that in an exercise class.”
    “Then you’ll do them?”
    “I suppose. What’ll you be doing while I’m doing jumping jacks?”
    “I will sit in that chair,” he said, “and I will watch you.”
    “That’s it?” He nodded. “Groovy,” she said, taking the money. “You’re nice, Milton.”
    “And don’t talk while you do the jumping jacks.”
    “Anything you say.”
    He seated himself in the chair. It was quite comfortable. The whole apartment was tastefully furnished. She undressed quickly. He beamed at her. She began doing jumping jacks. He watched her as attentively as he possibly could. Much of his flight time had been devoted to determining what he would ask her to do. It had to be something that involved no disrobing on his part, and no physical contact.
    She went on doing jumping jacks and he watched her breasts bounce heroically. After a few moments he stiffened, then slumped in the chair. Eyes closed he said, “You can stop now.”
    “That was quick.”
    “Usually I can last longer.”
    “It’s a compliment to my excitingness. You’re very sweet, Milton. You want a Coke or something?”
    “I have to go.”
    “Uh-huh. You come and see me next time you’re in town, okay? That was lots of fun.”
    “And good exercise.”
    “Oh, it certainly was. Keeps me in shape. ‘Bye, now.”
    He walked toward the elevator. When her door closed he doubled back and walked down four flights of stairs. He knocked softly on the door of Apartment 10-H. There was no response. He knocked again, somewhat louder. There was still no response.
    He put his ear to the door and listened very carefully. He heard nothing.
    There were four locks on the door of Apartment 10-H. One of them took him 30 seconds. The others were somewhat easier. After he had picked the fourth and last lock, he put on his gloves again and wiped the door where he might have touched it. He listened again, very carefully, and let himself inside.
    The apartment was dark except for a ten-watt night-light in one hallway. He let his eyes accustom themselves to the dimness. Then he took off his shoes and crept around in his stocking feet until he found Emil Karnofsky’s bedroom.
    He used a pencil-beam flashlight. Karnofsky was sleeping on his side, clutching his pillow. Sparse gray hair, a prominent nose, a forceful jaw.
    He tiptoed to the bedside and stood for a moment, deep in thought. Then he stooped and placed one hand over Karnofsky’s mouth while his other sought purchase on the back of the old man’s neck. He was gentle, very gentle, taking away the chance of consciousness but being careful not to take away life as well.
    He moved around the apartment, making sure the blinds were drawn. Then he turned on the living room lights and carried Karnofsky to the living room. The man did not stir. He went back to the bedroom for the silk dressing gown he had noticed there before. He took it to the living room and got Karnofsky’s arms into it.
    He stripped himself to the waist, placing his clothing neatly on Karnofsky’s couch. From his jacket pocket he took out an eight-inch length of steel pipe wrapped not too thickly with electrical tape. He lifted Karnofsky and propped him against a wall. The man still had not stirred but was breathing regularly.
    Dorn smashed his skull with four blows.
    It occurred to him as he was doing so that he should have removed his gloves, but no blood got on them, or on his person. He dressed quickly but carefully. Then he went through the apartment room by room, turning lights on as he entered each room and off as he left it. He pulled open drawers, slashed mattresses, knocked books off shelves. He made