happening, to see the wind blowing your clothes as the earth pulled you back faster and faster. You’d
have time to scream a long, long scream. And the sound you’made when you hit the pavement would
be like the sound of an overripe watermelon.
I could understand why that other guy had chickened out. But he’d only had six months to worry about.
I was staring forty long, grey, Marcia4ess years in the eye.
I looked at the ledge. It looked small, I had never, seen five inches that looked so much like two. At
least the building was fairly new; it wouldn’t crumble under me.
I hoped.
I swung over the railing and carefully lowered myself until I was standing on the ledge. My heels were
out over the drop. The floor on the balcony was about chest-high, and I was looking into Cressner’s
penthouse through the wrought-iron ornamental bars. He was standing inside the door, smoking,
watching me the way a scientist watches a guinea pig to see what the latest injection will do.
‘Call,’ I said, holding on to the railing.
‘What?’
‘Call Tony. I don’t move until you do.’
He went back into the living room – it looked amazingly warm and safe and cosy – and picked up the
phone. It was a worthless gesture, really. With the wind, I couldn’t hear what he was saying. He put the
phone down and returned. ‘Taken care of, Mr Norris.’
‘It better be.’
‘Goodbye, Mr Norris. I’ll see you in a bit. . . perhaps.’
It was time to do it. Talking was done. I let myself think of Marcia one last time, her light-brown hair,
her wide grey eyes, her lovely body, and then put her out of my mind for good. No more looking down,
either. It would have been too easy to get paralysed, looking down through that space. Too easy to just
freeze up until you lost your balance or just fainted from fear. It was time for tunnel vision. Time to
concentrate on nothing but left foot, right foot.
I began to move to the right, holding on to the balcony’s railing as long as I could. It didn’t take long to see I was going to need all the tennis muscle my ankles had. With my heels beyond the edge, those
tendons would be taking all my weight.
I got to the end of the balcony, and for a moment I didn’t think I was going to be able to let go of that
safety. I forced myself to do it. Five inches, hell, that was plenty of room. If the ledge were only a foot
off the ground instead of 400 feet, you could breeze around this building in four minutes flat, I told
myself. So just pretend it is.
Yeah, and if you fall ‘from a ledge a foot off the ground, you just say rats, and try again. Up here you
get only one chance.
I slid my right foot further and then brought my left foot next to it. I let go of the railing. I put my open hands up, allowing the palms to rest against the rough stone of the apartment building. I caressed the
stone. I could have kissed it.
A gust of wind hit me, snapping the collar of my jacket against my face, making my body sway op the
ledge. My heart jumped into my throat and stayed there until the wind had died down. A strong enough
gust would have peeled me right off my perch and sent me flying down into the night. And the wind
would be stronger on the other side.
I turned my head to the left, pressing my cheek against the stone. Cressner was leaning over the
balcony, watching me.
‘Enjoying yourself?’ he asked affably.
He was wearing a brown camel’s-hair overcoat.
‘I thought you didn’t have a coat,’ I said.
‘I lied,’ he answered equably. ‘I lie about a lot of things.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing . . . nothing at all. Or perhaps it does mean something. A little psychological warfare, eh, Mr
Norris? I should tell you not to linger overlong. The ankles grow tired, and if they should give way . . .’