I placed the clear plastic in a pile by the back door so I wouldn't, couldn't, forget them. 'Concentrate.' I carried the equipment up the stairs in one trip. The temperature was in the mid-nineties again outside and seemed to rise by five degrees inside with each stair I climbed. The second floor looked smaller now in the brighter light of day and I had completely missed two small boxes next to the back support post in the darkness of two nights ago. The heat upstairs was stifling.

I opened the container of alcohol, filled the paint roller pan half full and let the mop head drink its fill before beginning to methodically coat the floor starting in the front corner opposite of the stairwell. The methanol went on easily in thin coats that dried into the thirsty wooden floorboards almost as quickly as I could apply them. I worked rapidly, staying away from the uncurtained windows by making longer strokes from the sides.

My first coat stopped at an imaginary diagonal line between the last window on the far wall and the top of the stairs. I had three of the original gallons left when the first coat was finished. My shirt was soaked through with sweat and the biting smell of the alcohol hung in the stagnant air of the second floor.

The vertical support beams were next. The rough unfinished posts easily drank two coats apiece. I was just finishing the second coat when I heard a car in the alley. My heart started to race again as I peered out of the lower corner of the back window. It was Henry's white truck; an hour left.

I sat the mop down and took out my lighter and a cigarette in consolation to my frayed nerves. I slapped the lighter twice, then thought better than to light it in the alcohol charged air.

The air in the downstairs bathroom was refreshingly cool. I lit a cigarette and barely recognized my own reflection in the dirt-streaked mirror. My blond hair appeared brown and clung to my sweaty forehead in narrow points. I looked pale even in the dim light of downstairs. I drew long on the cigarette and followed it in with a deep breath. The red end of the cigarette highlighted my face in the mirror. I moved closer so that I could see myself clearly through the grime.

"This is the worst of it," I said out loud. "It's almost over. Concentrate." I took the cigarette from my mouth with black-gloved fingers and blew the smoke at myself as I spoke. "See you soon Bobby." I finished the cigarette and put the butt in the same pocket with the other one.