She hadn't telephoned ahead, hadn't called to be certain he would be in his apartment. Charley kept her finger on the button. She could hear the shrill baying of the bell behind the door. There was no response, no shout from Benny that he was coming, no slither of footsteps from behind the door. She had her finger a long time on the bell and she swore under her breath. When the door beside Benny's scraped open, bolts drawn back and locks turned, she took her finger from the bell button. The couple coming through the door beside Benny's were elderly and dressed for Sunday. The man wore a suit and the woman wore black with a dark-grey headscarf over her hair. They eyed her, they seemed to indicate to her that it was not appropriate to make so great a noise on a Sunday morning, then looked away. It was Palermo. They did not ask if they could be of help, they did not tell her if they knew where Benny was. It was Palermo, and they minded their own affairs, did not involve themselves. The man in his suit performed the ritual of locking the door behind him, two keys.
