"Put the needle down." he said
quietly, dangerously, with a contraction of the frontalis muscle. This
was his favorite song. To interrupt it was a deep personal insult. But
this is what I had just done.
I held the needle in the air
above the record, and looked at him, smiling slightly. "You played this
record nearly 230 times in the last week." I said. "You've just about
driven me crazy." I said. "Crazy people can be dangerous." I said. He
said nothing, but began walking slowly toward me. I think it has driven
him slightly crazy too. In fact, this whole apartment building is a
little mad from it.
"Put it down. This can end here. It doesn't have to be this way. Nobody has to get hurt."
My left eyelid twitched perceptibly. "It's gone much too far for that." I muttered.
As
he approached he seemed to become less and less threatening, but more
desperate. He had seemed so tough a few seconds ago, but now... I
detected a certain weakness in him. A certain fragility. As if any real
impact or mishandling would damage him permanently, or even break him.
My eye twitched again, and his did the same. I began to lower the needle and he relaxed a little.
And then, with a sweep of my arm and a little wrist action I scratched the record.
The
scream of the record found an echo in his throat. His eyes rolled
backwards in his head, his knees began to buckle. And with a final hiss,
he fell to the ground, stone dead.
"Rock on." I said coldly. "Rock on."
