Free TH03 - To Steal Her Love by Matti Joensuu Page B

work and the torch lay on the floor. From this point onwards he needed no light whatsoever.
    He was on his knees in front of a dark wooden door and working away, his hands raised up. More than anything he was listening, following the lock’s melody: a soft, three-voice humming accompanied every now and then by a tambourine. And he wasn’t only listening with his ears, he was listening with his hands too. His fingers moved like feelers, holding a piece of brass barely the size of a matchbox and turning a tiny screw at one end first to the left, then to the right, then back again. A small pipe stuck out at the other end and from inside that a steel pin thinner than a crochet needle moved inside the lock.
    More such needles lay on the floor in Sparkle Eye’s light, each with a different hook on the end or a carefully cut iron tooth. The needles weren’t envious of each other as they all had their own function that noother needle could perform. The pouch lay there too, empty this time, and a collection of tiny pieces of steel; a layman would only have guessed that they were part of some machine or other.
    Tweety had already gone through the pins a few times and would have been able to open the door if number five hadn’t been giving him trouble. It was caught somehow, almost like a maggot that didn’t want to be pronged on a fishing hook, but Tweety remained unfazed. He didn’t force it; you had to be gentle with locks, otherwise they could turn difficult and could easily seize up with something resembling angina. Talking to them often helped – you didn’t even have to speak out loud. You’re a beautiful, wonderful lock, he thought and let the words flow through his fingers, along the needle and into the keyhole. And you know me well. It’s Tweety, and you’ve always opened up for me before…
    Then everything was in place. Tweety could feel it somehow, or else the lock quietly whispered it to him. He unscrewed the steel needle, gently pressed the stump of piping with the flattened end into the keyhole, and turned. The lock creaked, the catch moved, and then the door was ajar.
    Tweety froze and sniffed the air. From inside the apartment came the smell of night and woman, like a sensuous, gaseous ointment, and nothing indicated that anyone had reacted to the creak. Not even the Ghost had moved. He listened to the stairwell, but nothing spoke of impending danger; a car hummed past the front door. He picked a plug-like key from the collection on the floor and straightened out the inside of the lock, packed his things into the pouch, checked that the button and safety pin fastening his back pocket were still in place and finally switched off Sparkle Eye.
    The world slowly began to appear before him; a gram or two of light always seeped in from somewhere. At first it consisted mostly of darkness in all its various densities. You had to listen to them with your face and understand them with your soul. Where a shoe had stood during the daytime, there was now a stone covered in moss or an angel’s feather, and a hinge wasn’t necessarily always a hinge, it might be a laughing skeleton. The edge of the door stood out, a slightly lighter strip in the middle of the darkness. Tweety took hold of it and pulled. The door moved an inch, then there came a dull clink and the movement stopped. The security chain was on.
    Tweety’s lips rose in a faint smile. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small tube and a piece of twisted steel wire, then rolled up his jacket sleeve. His cuff was loose, as if it had been stretched before, and rose up to his armpit with ease. He squeezed odourless white Vaseline from the tube on to his forearm, rubbed it into his skin, then untwisted the steel wire. At one end of the wire was a small loop, as small as a doll’s ring, and he pressed it against the tip of his index finger. He pulled the rest of the wire until it was straight, letting it run across the palm of his hand and along the inside of