Stop it, Johnny wanted to scream. Oh, please stop it, I’m going crazy, can’t you stop it?
The singing ended with a loud, amplified snap! and the custodian said in his own voice, “That’s got you, whore.”
He walked out of Johnny’s line of sight again. There was a sound of tearing paper and the low popping sounds of twine being snapped. Then the custodian reappeared, whistling and holding a large stack of booklets. He began to place them at close intervals along the benches.
When he had finished that chore, the custodian buttoned his coat and left the hall. The door slammed hollowly shut behind him. Johnny looked at his watch. It was 7:45. The town hall was warming up a little. He sat and waited. The headache was still very bad, but oddly enough, it was easier to bear than it had ever been before. All he had to do was tell himself that he wouldn’t have to bear it for long.
4
The doors slammed open again promptly at nine o’clock, startling him out of a catnap. His hands clamped tightly over the rifle and then relaxed. He put his eye to the diamond-shaped peephole. Four men this time. One of them was the custodian, the collar of his pea coat turned up against his neck. The other three were wearing topcoats with suits underneath. Johnny felt his heartbeat quicken. One of them was Sonny Elliman. His hair was cut short now and handsomely styled, but the brilliant green eyes had not changed.
“Everything set?” he asked
“Check for yourself,” the custodian said.
“Don’t be offended, Dad,” one of the others replied. They were moving to the front of the hall. One of them clicked the amplifier on and then clicked it off again, satisfied.
“People round these parts act like he was the bloody emperor,” the custodian grumbled.
“He is, he is,” the third man said—Johnny thought he also recognized this fellow from the Trimbull rally. “Haven’t you got wise to that yet, Pop?”
“Have you been upstairs?” Elliman asked the custodian, and Johnny went cold.
“Stairway door’s locked,” the custodian answered. “Same as always. I gave her a shake.”
Johnny silently gave thanks for the spring lock on the door.
“Ought to check it out,” Elliman said.
The custodian uttered an exasperated laugh. “I don’t know about you guys,” he said. “Who are you expecting? The Phantom of the Opera?”
“Come on Sonny,” the fellow Johnny thought he recognized said. “There’s nobody up there. We just got time for a coffee if we shag ass down to that resrunt on the corner.”
“That’s not coffee,” Sonny said. “Fucking mud is all that is. Just run upstairs first and make sure no one’s there, Moochie. We go by the book.”
Johnny licked his lips and clutched the gun. He looked up and down the narrow gallery. To his right it ended in a blank wall. To his left it went back to the suite of offices, and either way it made no difference. If he moved, they would hear him. This empty, the town hall served as a natural amplifier. He was stuck.
There were footfalls down below. Then the sound of the door between the hall and the entryway being opened and closed. Johnny waited, frozen and helpless. Just below him the custodian and the other two were talking, but he heard nothing they said. His head had turned on his neck like some slow engine and he stared down the length of the gallery, waiting for the fellow Sonny Elliman had called Moochie to appear at the end of it. His bored expression would suddenly turn to shock and incredulity, his mouth would open: Hey Sonny, there’s a guy up here!
Now he could hear the muffled sound of Moochie climbing the stairs. He tried to think of something, anything. Nothing came. They were going to discover him, it was less than a minute away now, and he didn’t have any idea of how to stop it from happening. No matter what he did, his one chance was on the verge of being blown.
Doors began to open and close, the sound of each drawing closer and less muffled. A drop of sweat spilled from Johnny’s forehead and darkened the leg of his jeans. He could remember each door he had come past on his way here. Moochie had checked TOWN MANAGER and TOWN SELECTMEN and TAX ASSESSOR. Now he was opening the door of MEN‘S, now he was glancing through the office that belonged to the O’SEER OF THE POOR, now the