Juan Martillo.
The apartment was in darkness, although at four in the afternoon it should be filled with daylight. Obviously the blinds to the front were still closed, which added to the sense that your informant had been right and the owner was indeed away on vacation. Still stealth was never wasted, and as quietly as possible you moved towards the closed door that Charlie Noel, who except for going down with the flu should have been with you, had assured you was the bedroom in which the Stuyvesant’s kept their safe. And inside that safe, enough money to see you both right through the coming winter. With any luck there might also be a little nose candy with a little street value. Of course you would make sure that Charlie got his cut, after all it wasn’t smart to cheat friends. Especially Charlie Noel who had ears in all the right places, and several ‘friends’ that could make really bad enemies.
A loud creak. Sounded like a footstep on a creaky floorboard. Was that you? No way, you are far too good for that. So Charlie was wrong they hadn’t gone away. Shit! That came from in there the room you wanted. You stand perfectly still, aware that any sound might give you away.
Another creak, louder this time and closer. Sounds like whoever it is, is slowly moving towards the door. How the hell they knew you were there God alone knows. Maybe they got CCTV, you swivel your head around looking for the telltale indications of Cameras, nothing. Your hand reaches back towards the grip of the pistol thrust into the back waistband of your Levis. Too noisy you tell your self and drop your hand to your back pocket where the bone handled switch blade nestles comfortably.
Of course you could always turn and make a break for the front door some forty feet away, but that would mean exposing your back to whoever comes through that door, and if they’re armed…