Chapter 9. There was a pounding at the door. It was allowed and impatient pounding like

people do when they've been at it for a while, but if they had, I had no memory of it. I was alone,

having spent the evening in the company of a nice enough young man named Carl, who had, quite frankly,

not made the cut. It was possible that he might be deemed more eligible of

advancement upon a second or third date, but I did not like his chances, and I was as yet uncertain

that I was willing to put in the time and effort to find out. Certainly if this was him causing an

unholy ruckus outside my apartment at this hour of the night, he was about to be reclassified

from a not yet to a not ever, a devastating fate from which there is no appeal.

I forced my eyes to focus on the faintly glowing hands of the alarm clock, and as best as I could

discern, it was either 2.15 or 3.15 in the morning. Either way, it meant that somebody had to die. I opened the

bedside table and woke the Beretta from her beauty sleep. If I was up, she may as well be up. I

stomped to the door not bothering with my robe as I did so. If this was Carl, trying to tantrum his way

into paradise, he might as well die with a sense of what he was missing.

The pounding came again with an even greater volume and urgency.

All right, shut the hell up, I called as I stomped delicately through the darkened front room of my apartment.

I smashed my foot into what may have been a side table or possibly in Anvil that I had

not previously been aware of owning and restrained my curses only through my desire to stifle

the fresh cycle of pounding that had just begun anew. Carl, if this is you, you'd better start

running, I said my cheeks hot with anger as I flipped open the lock of the door.

To my surprise, but not astonishment, whoever was on the other side of the door,

felt that this represented a golden opportunity to throw their shoulder behind the door

and pop it open in my face.

...