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If he was caught, he would spend the rest of his days behind bars, a caged animal! There would be no Anita, no welcoming father, no hot sun on the sugar cane farm.
    He heard voices. Doors slammed open. A woman screamed.
    Fuentes! He must get to him! Snatching up the bag in his left hand, holding the gun in his right hand, aware of blood dripping down his face, he moved out of Abe's apartment, trying to control his panic.
    Fuentes, waiting at his half open door heard the two shots and he cringed. He heard doors opening. He saw a number of the first floor tenants come crowding out onto the upper corridor.
    The goddam fool had screwed up the job! Pray the Lord, he hadn't killed the Jew! He joined the group of people who were staring down the well of the staircase, talking loudly, a woman wailing. He saw Pedro, blood on his face, staring up at him, and he stepped back. Pedro looked up at the frightened faces staring down at him, and he knew this was no way of escape. Still holding the brown leather bag, he ran to the entrance of the street.
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    Lepski was accepting the big carton which Harry put on the bar.
    'There's the chicken, Tom, plus noodles. Have a lovely meal.'
    Lepski beamed. 'Man! Will this stand Carroll on her ear! Thanks a million.'
    As Marian slid off the stool, he patted her rump. Then he heard pistol shots. Instantly, Lepski became all cop. He was off his stool and darting to the exit. He had his gun in his hand as he reached the street.
    Already the sound of the shots had caused a commotion. Cars with screaming tyres, were pulling up. People were gaping, stopping and staring at the entrance of the high rise.
    At this moment, Pedro came out onto the street. The sight of blood streaming down his face and the gun in his hand made the crowd scatter. Women began to scream, some men dived to the sidewalk.
    Lepski looked across the street and saw Pedro as he began to run. Lepski, moving fast, dodging around the stopped cars, and went after him.
    Pedro heard the hammering sound of pursuing feet. His eyes wide with terror, he glanced around and saw Lepski, weaving through the scattering crowd, after him. He knew instinctively that this man chasing him was a cop. He saw the gun in the man's hand. Half out of his mind with terror, he swivelled around and fired at Lepski.
    A black woman, rushing to a doorway for shelter took Pedro's bullet through her brain.
    Lepski bawled, 'Stop or you're dead!'
    Pedro swerved and began to dart across the street. Holding his gun in both hands, his feet spread apart, Lepski squeezed off a shot.
    Pedro felt the slam of the bullet which pitched him forward. He dropped the worn brown leather bag, and the gun Fuentes had lent him slid out of his hand. He folded down, pain raging through him.
    A patrol car screamed to a halt. Two cops joined Lepski. They approached Pedro cautiously, then one of the cops said, 'The sonofabitch is still alive.'
    Fuentes had rushed back to his apartment, slammed the door shut and rushed to the window. Leaning out, he was in time to see Lepski shoot Pedro. He saw the brown leather bag, containing forty two hundred dollars, drop by Pedro's fallen body, then he saw his gun lying a yard away.
    The gun!
    Fuentes didn't give a damn about Pedro. He only hoped he was dead. But the gun! He must have been out of his mind to have lent his gun to Pedro! As soon as the cops had checked the gun, it would be traced to him. At one time, he had acted as night watchman on a luxury yacht, and the owner had insisted he have a gun, and had fixed it with the police.
    Fascinated by the gun, Fuentes had wanted to keep it. When the owner of the yacht had sailed for the Bahamas, Fuentes had told him he had accidentally dropped the gun overboard. The owner had shrugged, told him to report the loss to the police and had sailed.
    This Fuentes hadn't done. The gun permit ran for another eight months. By then, with the money Pedro was supposed