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patiently, taking his time, enjoying the intrusion. Killing for Tommy was a luxuriant, tactile experience that rivaled sex. He was in no hurry to end it. He heard a phone ring, and a little later, a toilet flushed. After listening carefully to the sounds and muffled voices, he thought there were at least two women in the corner suite and two men in front of the elevator. The rest of fourteen seemed quiet. The empty rooms talked to him. … He could hear no TVs or radios coming from the other section of the floor. He thought the Prosecution had probably chosen the fourteenth floor because nobody else was up here. He was looking out of the maintenance closet through a slit in the slightly opened door.
    A beautiful woman he recognized as Victoria Hart left at ten P.M. He could hear her laughing with the cops before she got in the elevator and the doors closed. Itwas going to be much easier than he had originally thought.
    After she left, Tommy “Two Times” Rina slipped out of the closet and moved up the corridor to where the two deputies were looking at something in the
Star
tabloid. Tommy pulled out his silenced 9mm SIG-Sauer P-226 and held it in his right hand. In his left, he had his 9mm silver and black Israeli Desert War Eagle. They were his two favorite handguns. The Germans and the Jews made the best guns. It was an irony that completely escaped him.
    “Evening, gents. Is Liz Taylor getting a new husband?” he said flatly.
    Both cops spun, going for their weapons, but they froze when they saw Tommy holding the two silenced 9mm cannons. If they moved, they were a micro-second from death.
    “The fuck …?” Tony Corollo said, astounded that Tommy had somehow gotten up there, behind them.
    ‘The fuck?” Tommy mimicked. “Was that the fucking question, you worthless fuckface?” he said deadpan.
    The deputies looked at him and knew they had no chance to get to their shoulder holsters.
    “I want you two cheeseburgers to get up and move over to the elevator and stand there with your hands on the door. You, with the brown hair, push the button. Get the box up here.”
    “What’re you gonna do?” Deputy Corollo asked hesitantly.
    “Gonna throw you two shitheads a party. Gonna be fun. …”
    When the elevator arrived, Tommy told Deputy Manning to reach in and push fifteen, which was the floor directly above, then told him to let the elevator go on up. Bobby Manning did as he was told, and once it was gone, Tommy waved his guns at them. “Okay. Now prythem doors open again; let’s get us a look in there.” They hesitated, so he re-cocked the SIG-Sauer for emphasis, and the two frightened officers pushed their fingers in and pried the elevator doors open. They both looked down the yawning dark throat of the elevator shaft.
    “Officer Krupke, whatta ya see down there?” Tommy grinned.
    “Nothing,” Tony Corollo said, wondering if he could dive out and catch the cable, slide down it, and get out of the way before Tommy pulled the trigger.
    “Nothing? Look again, get way out there. …” Tony and Bobby craned their necks but didn’t lean out. “What you’re looking at down there is the landing zone, fellas. That there’s ground zero. Now I want you two bricks to hit right smack in the middle of the shaft. We got cash prizes for that lucky winner.” Tommy was really beginning to enjoy himself. “This is “The Jersey Solution,’” he said. “I get the lady, and you two hemorrhoids get the shaft.”
    Without hesitation he fired twice, once from each gun. Both silenced automatics made faint hissing sounds like a man spitting out a fruit seed. The first bullet blew Bobby Manning out into the darkness. He hit the opposite wall, slamming against the structure, throwing a spray of arterial blood into the air and all over the brick-walled shaft. Then he fell silently down, palms and shoe soles trailing like streamers as he plunged into the dark abyss. Tony Corollo was simultaneously hit in the mid-back. He flew