'She's delusional and I'm frightened, Spikey,' whimpered Cindy, in her best pathetic girlie voice. 'I don't know what she's talking about. I've never even held a gun!'

'Very slowly take your hand out of your handbag, Cindy.'

But it was Spike who made the next move. He pulled out his gun and pointed it — at me.

'Put the gun down, Thurs. I've always liked you but I have no problem making this choice.'

I bit my lip but didn't stop staring at Cindy.

'Ever wondered why she was paid cash to do those freelance library jobs? Why her brother works for the CIA? Why her parents were killed by police marksmen? Have you ever heard of librarians being killed by the police?'

'There's an explanation for it all, Spikey!' whined Cindy. 'Kill her! She's mad!'

I saw her game now. She wasn't even going to do the job herself. In broad daylight, her husband pulls the trigger and it's all legal: a good man defending his wife. She was good. She was the best. She was the Windowmaker. A contract with her and you're deader than corduroy.

'She has a contract out on me, Spike. Already tried to kill me on two occasions—!'

'Put down the gun, Thursday!'

'Spikey, I'm frightened!'

'Cindy, I want to see both your hands!'

'DROP THE GUN, Thursday!'

We had reached an impasse. As I stood there with Spike pointing a gun at my head and with me pointing my gun at Cindy's, I realised this was quite possibly the worst situation to be in. If I lowered my gun, Cindy would kill me. If I didn't lower my gun, Spike would kill me. If I killed Cindy, Spike would kill me. Try as I might, I couldn't think of a scenario that didn't end in my own death. Tricky, to say the least. And it was then that the grand piano fell on her.

I'd never heard a piano falling thirty feet on to concrete before, but it was exactly as I imagined. A sort of musical concussion that reverberated around the street. As chance would have it the piano - a Steinway baby, I learned later - missed us all. It was the stool that hit Cindy, and she went down like a sack of coal. One look at her and we both knew it was bad. A serious head wound and a badly broken neck. It was a time of mixed emotions for Spike. Grief and shock at the accident but also realisation that I had been right — still clasped in Cindy's hand was a silenced .38 revolver.

'No!' yelled Spike, placing his hand gently upon her pale cheek. 'Not again!'

Cindy groaned weakly as the policeman who had been dealing with St Zvlkx rushed up with two paramedics at his side.

'You should have told me,' Spike muttered, refusing to look at me, his powerful shoulders quivering slightly as tears rolled down his cheeks.

'I'm so sorry, Spike.'