Then Manuello took a burnished metal tube from his coat pocket and began to screw it onto the barrel of the pistol. It was a silencer.
Earl said, ‘What the hell are you doing?’
Neither Wexlersh nor Manuello answered him.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Earl said in shock and horror as a sudden and unacceptable realization dawned upon him.
‘No shouting,’ Wexlersh said. ‘No screaming.’
Earl thrust off the sofa, to his feet, uselessly struggling to free himself of the handcuffs.
Wexlersh rushed at him, clubbed him with the revolver, once on the shoulder, once alongside the face.
Earl fell backward onto the sofa.
Manuello had gotten the threads of the silencer misaligned with those that had been machined into the barrel of the pistol, and he had to unscrew it and try again.
Still looming over Earl, Wexlersh looked at his partner and said, ‘Will you hurry up?’
‘I’m trying, I’m trying,’ Manuello said, wrestling with the stubborn attachment to the pistol.
‘You crazy bastards are going to kill us,’ Earl said through split and bleeding lips.
When Laura heard their fate put into blunt words, she wasn’t surprised. She realized that she had known, if only subconsciously, what was coming, had sensed it when the detectives had first entered the room, had felt it even more strongly when they had handcuffed Earl, and had been convinced of it when Wexlersh had taken Melanie away from her, but hadn’t wanted to accept the truth.
Manuello had misthreaded the silencer again. ‘This thing’s a piece of shit.’
‘It’ll fit if you start it right,’ Wexlersh said.
Laura understood that they didn’t want to use their own revolvers for fear the murders would be traced to them. And they didn’t want to fire the pistol without a silencer, if they could avoid it, because the gunshots would bring neighbors to windows in other apartments, and then someone would see them leaving with Melanie.
Melanie. She was standing near Manuello, whimpering. Her eyes were closed, her head bowed, and she was making small, lost, pathetic sounds. Did she know what was about to happen in this room, that her mother was about to die, or was she whimpering about something else, something in her private inner fantasy world?
In a tone that was part disbelief but mostly rage, Earl said, ‘You’re cops, for God’s sake.’
Wexlersh said, ‘You just sit there and be quiet.’
Laura’s gaze had settled on a heavy glass ashtray on the coffee table. If she grabbed it, threw it at Wexlersh, and managed to hit him in the head, it might knock him unconscious or cause him to drop his gun, and if he dropped his gun, she might be able to reach it before either he or Manuello could react. But she needed a diversion. She was desperately trying to think of something to distract Wexlersh when Earl evidently decided they had nothing to lose by resisting; he distracted both detectives at exactly the right moment.
As Manuello continued to struggle with the poorly fitted silencer, Earl looked at Wexlersh and said, ‘No matter what we do, no matter how loud we scream, you’re not going to use your own gun or mine.’ Then, shouting for help at the top of his voice, Earl launched himself up toward Wexlersh, using his head as a ram.
Wexlersh stumbled back two steps as Earl butted him in the stomach. But the detective didn’t fall. In fact, he struck down with the gun, clubbing the bodyguard to the floor, putting an abrupt end to the attack and to the shouting.
In the brief confusion, Laura snatched up the ashtray even as Wexlersh struck Earl. Manuello saw her and said, ‘Hey,’ just as she heaved the object at Wexlersh, which was sufficient warning for the detective, who ducked and let the ashtray sail past him. It thudded into the wall, thumped to the floor.
Wexlersh pointed his service revolver straight at Laura, and within the muzzle was the deepest blackness that she had ever seen. ‘Listen, you bitch, if you don’t sit down right now and keep your trap shut, we’ll make this a lot harder on you than it has to be.’
Melanie was mewling softly now, in increasing distress. Her head was still bowed, her eyes closed, but her mouth was open and slack as the pitiful sounds issued from her.