“Put down the fucking phone,” whispered Brian. He kept repeating it, like an incantation. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and rolled his neck over his shoulders.

Ralf looked at his friend in alarm. Brian was too jittery, too aggressive. Adrenaline and coke were coursing through his veins. It was worse than usual. Slowly, it dawned on Ralf that this could easily go wrong. He had to get out of here while he still could.

Inside the house, the man put his phone down on the table and stood up. Walked over to the kitchen island, took something from the counter, and pointed it at the TV. Flicked from channel to channel.

“See you later,” he heard Brian say loudly. No more whispering—was he out of his goddamn mind? Brian stepped out from behind the shrubs and headed toward the house.

Ralf watched him dart toward the back of the house like a thin black shadow, pause for a moment, and then push open the door. Vanish through the gap. Close the door behind him.

The man inside was still channel surfing, oblivious to any danger.

Seconds passed.

It was taking too long.

What was Brian doing?

Ralf’s breathing was rapid and shallow. He tried to calm himself. Then he saw Brian enter the kitchen. The man looked up. He said something; Ralf saw his lips move. Whatever it was, it had no effect on Brian. He didn’t break his stride, darting fluidly around the kitchen island. The man hesitated for a second before breaking into a run. He dashed up the stairs and disappeared from view. Brian followed hard on his heels, like a panther.

Ralf heard his pulse pounding in his ears like a drum, and his breathing was noisy and gasping, as though somebody had turned up the volume on every sound in his body.

Minutes went by. The kitchen remained empty. Nobody came down. Was the money upstairs?

What’s happening in there?

Something rustled nearby. Panic-stricken, Ralf swiveled his head. Peered into the darkness. Shadows moved around him, twisting like long arms in a macabre dance. A sudden gust of wind tugged at his jacket. Then he heard a low hum. It grew louder, drew nearer. He listened intently. The noise was coming from the dead-end street leading to the house. A car. The police?

Ralf broke away from the cover of the shrubbery and sprinted back to the bottom of the yard. He barely slowed down by the flower beds, racing across the wood chips until he reached the wall. Launched himself over it as though he weighed nothing at all. Panting, he fought his way through the undergrowth, back onto the embankment.

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