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darkness. He groaned to himself. A goddam fuse had blown! That meant a trip down to the basement.
    Abe was a careful man. He was always prepared for an emergency. He kept a powerful flashlight on a small table just inside his living room. As he groped for it, he received a violent shove between his shoulder blades that sent him staggering into the darkness. His thighs hit the arm of his TV chair and he toppled and went sprawling, but even falling so heavily, he held onto the rent bag.
    Pedro Certes, breathing fast, his heart pounding, had been waiting. He had unscrewed a lamp in the passage, put a bit of tin foil around the end of the bulb and re-screwed the lamp, fusing Abe's apartment and the passage lights. He was feeling very confident. Fuentes had said the Jew was without spine, and would faint at the sight of a gun. Pedro had brought with him not only the gun Fuentes had given him, but also a flashlight.
    'Stay still!' he barked, snapping on the flashlight, letting the beam take in the gun in his hand while it lit up Abe, who was struggling to sit up. 'Throw the bag to me!'
    Abe had been rent collecting for a long time. He had never experienced a hold-up. A cop had warned him, 'Abe, there's always a first time. Your people want you to carry a gun. Here's your permit, and here's the gun. I'll show you how to handle it.' And the cop was a good teacher.
    Never believing he would need the gun, Abe told himself that if a hold-up did happen and the thief got away with the rent money, he would not only lose his job, but also his home. His boss had spelt it out: 'Deliver or you're out.' So Abe took the gun talk seriously. He had never fired the gun, but he knew what to do: safety catch off, both hands on the gun and squeeze the trigger.
    'The bag! Hurry!' Pedro snarled out of the darkness.
    By now, Abe was sitting up, clutching the bag and staring at the bright light, seeing nothing of the man shouting at him.
    'Take it,' he said, and pushed the bag in the direction of the voice. The bag, heavy, travelled only a couple of feet across the coarse, worn carpet.
    Pedro stared at the bag, feeling a surge of triumph run through him. Tomorrow, Anita and he would be on a plane, going home. How happy his father would be to see him again! His mind moved like quicksilver. It had been arranged that as soon as he got the money, he would dart up to the first floor where Fuentes had a one room apartment. The Jew, scared witless, would imagine he had rushed out of the building, and when the cops were called, they would be scouring the streets for a man carrying a brown bag. Then another thought dropped into Pedro's mind. Suppose he didn't go to Fuentes' apartment, but ran into the street? Suppose he kept all the money? Forty two hundred dollars! He would have to silence the Jew. A knock on the head! That was it! Then he would walk out, go home, and there was nothing Fuentes could do about it.
    As he moved towards the bag, quivering with excitement, he took his eyes off Abe, sending the beam of his flashlight directly on the bag. Abe's hand crept inside his jacket. His fingers closed over the butt of the gun. He drew the gun as Pedro snatched up the bag.
    Abe's thumb drew back the safety catch, lifted the gun and squeezed the trigger. The flash and the bang in the darkness made both men rear back. Pedro felt a seering hot something across his cheek, then he felt his cheek turn wet. The light of his flashlight centred on Abe who was struggling to his feet. He jerked up his gun, and in panic, squeezed the trigger. Pedro felt the gun jerk in his hand, heard the bang, then with terror, saw a splodge of blood appear in the middle of Abe's forehead, saw Abe jerk and fall back.
    Pedro, stunned by the noise of the two shots, stood motionless, scarcely breathing, knowing he had killed the Jew.
    Into his mind, came the terrifying thought that he had killed a man! You pull a gun trigger and a man dies! Ice cold panic seized him. He thought only of himself.