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on the wall, and on a desk in the den stacked with folders and ledgers, an IBM-XT computer with 20MB hard drive, a compatible drive, plus the keyboard. He knew the model well and admired it.
    “Phone’s right here,” she said, turning, and saw the knife pointing at her chest. It was one of those Sicilian fisherman’s jobs, used to gut fish and hack bait. It had a bone handle and a six-inch tempered-steel blade with serrations. When she looked at him there was an amused expression on her face, as if she thought he was having a little joke.
    “Now, hey —” Her palms rose before her in a funny defensive gesture.
    “Just don’t say nothing. Just turn around and walk downstairs to the cellar. You won’t get hurt.”
    Her eyes moved helplessly all around the room as though she were listening for something. “Hey, listen … my husband …”
    “I know,” he smiled pityingly at her. “He’s due home any minute. Right?”
    He tucked the knife point up under her breastbone. “Go on,” he coaxed. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
    * * *
    He tied her with some laundry line she had down there and dragged her across the floor. There was a washing machine and a dryer off in a corner with a few baskets of fresh laundry waiting to be ironed. He grabbed a stocking off the top of one and stuffed it into her mouth; all the while she made this growling, gagging sound. She didn’t struggle at all. Then, with a sudden lurch, he dumped the rest of the basket of laundry on top of her face, because he didn’t want to look into her eyes. Her legs and lower torso stuck out from beneath the scattered laundry. Her dress was hiked up above her thighs.
    He was quite heated up by then and knew that if he was going to do anything, he’d better do it fast or it would happen by itself of its own accord. That happened to him when he got excited. He’d just sort of lose control. This time it didn’t happen and he got to her fast. She never moved once. Not a muscle. Nor did she even make a sound. But all the time it was going on, he could feel her coiled tight as a spring, something inside her cold and trembling, like vibrations.
    When he’d finished, she just lay there, her legs splayed wide, never moving. He pulled all the laundry off her face, the sheets and pillowcases, a pair of ludicrous men’s pajamas with palm trees waving all about them. Underneath it all she was still there, eyes opened wide, part of the stocking spilling from her mouth with a clot of drool on it and blood at the corners where she’d bitten her tongue trying not to scream.
    When he took the knife out again, she fairly well knew what was up. Her eyes followed the knife, up and down, left and right, as though mesmerized by its dreamy motion. He bent over and put the point up against her throat, her eyes watching him all the time. She never once struggled or tried to stop him. For a moment he thought he saw something like pleading flicker in her eyes.
    She looked so silly there, disgusting, with her pants yanked down around her ankles, and the bloody stocking dangling like a tongue outside her mouth. And those big, flat, dumb eyes pleading.
    He punched the blade in hard and gave a sharp halftwist. She made a gagging sound like someone clearing her throat and started to squirm. He gave the blade a second twist and yanked sharp right. This time he must have severed an artery. A stream of blood squirted up about three inches under his hand and suddenly her throat opened and something white yawned from beneath it like a flower blooming. It was rather beautiful, he thought.
    When he finished he stood up, feeling a rush of dizziness, as though all the blood had emptied from his head. For a moment he thought he was going to black out. It was over in a minute and then he felt fine. Nearby was a shelf above a wash sink with a lot of paint cans and rags and brushes. He found a spray can of Red Devil, and on the wall right above her head he sprayed a large phallus and