Free Wild Cat Falling by Mudrooroo Page B

pane was out he might be able to reach the half-turned key in the back door. Screw-driver swipes off putty and jerks out tacks. He slips the jemmy edge under the pane and eases the glass until it is almost free. Good. Just one last little jab. Crash! Shatter of glass on metal. Hell! He freezes and crouches with nerves strung tight. Faint sound on sensitive ear-drums. Someone turning in bed. Probably some lousy Jew who counts his money every night!
    Hand reaches through the window, fumbles towards the key and pulls it out. Hard to turn. Ah! That’s got it. He slips through and shuts the door, pauses inside, dripping water from drenched clothes, face hot and feet icy cold. He peers about, mind and body alert. Door into the shop unlocked. Enters warily, remembering the odd night cop.
    He finds the cash drawer on the counter and forces the cheap lock. Stuffs notes and silver into deep pockets and darts swiftly to collect sharp clothes. Finds an empty carton and shoves them inside.
    Grouse! Fifty quid at least and all these new threads. Rent taken care of and money over for sharp shoes. Swingiest cat in town!
    Off now before the luck runs out. Locks the back door and leaves the key in for kicks. Everything swell. No rain now to wet the loot. Damn! He’s lost the bloody cosh! Hopes it’s dropped in the mud so they won’t find fingerprints. Cops haven’t got his prints yet anyway, so should be safe enough. The night is a friend to the night cat. Nobody sees. . . .
    The Town Hall clock strikes eight. Party is on in the loft! I go on reading.
    â€œLet’s pass on now to something else, do you mind?”
    â€œI was just going to suggest it.”
    â€œBut to what?”
    â€œAh!”
    â€œSuppose we got up to begin with.”
    â€œNo harm in trying.”
    â€œChild’s play.”
    â€œSimple question of will-power.”
    â€œAnd now?”
    â€œHelp!”
    â€œLet’s go.”
    â€œWe can’t.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œWe’re waiting for Godot.”
    To go or not to go? Read on.
    â€œAll the dead voices.”
    â€œThey make a noise like wings.”
    â€œLike leaves.”
    â€œLike sand.”
    â€œLike leaves.”
    Might find a clue in this crazy stuff.
    â€œLeaves?”
    â€œIn a single night.”
    â€œIt must be spring.”
    â€œBut in a single night!”
    â€œI tell you we weren’t here yesterday. Another of your nightmares.”
    â€œAnd where were we yesterday evening according to you?”
    â€œHow do I know? In another compartment. There’s no lack of void.”
    â€œGood. We weren’t here yesterday evening. Now what did we do yesterday evening?”
    â€œDo?”
    â€œTry and remember.”
    Denise. Dark hair on the pillow. Soft like silk. Waiting in the milk-bar now I guess. Keep out of that old trap, man, just for tonight. She likes you and she makes you soft. And what about that June doll? What about her? Don’t know. Don’t care, but might as well find out — for kicks.
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ten
    A dingy lane leads to the party place. Muffled jazz beats the air that has swapped today’s heat for the different animal heat of night. A sea breeze cools me a little as I stand wondering how to get in . . . nighttime, play-time, cool-time is wonderful.
    A few others drift along and I go in with them. The music wails louder as we climb the stairs and are drawn into a room pulsating with rhythm and life. It’s like a bodgie party in a way, but not really like. This mob is different, forcing die mood, too much highbrow talk, not drifting easily with the jazz current like the milk-bar gang. I feel like out of place, an outsider looking in, no part of this set-up. But now I’m here I guess I’ll have to act out the night.
    It’s a broad low loft, the walls plastered over with unframed daubs, mostly in the same style as Dorian’s psychological masterpiece in the Uni