The Hanging

Chapter 27

The night was cold and the Climber was freezing on the square in Allerslev.

From time to time he slapped his arms around himself, but it didn’t help much. Through his work he was used to being exposed to the elements and he had years of experience in dressing for the weather. Despite all this, he had underestimated the cold of the night and his sinewy body did not carry much in the way of extra padding as in-built protection for the chilly north wind that was sweeping over the square with increasing intensity.

A gust of wind-a little stronger than he cared for-caused him to look up into the crown of the tree he was standing under. The upper branches were illuminated both by the streetlamps and by the clear white moon. The tree was ready to be felled and could not take too much wind. He narrowed his eyes and concluded that there was no immediate danger of the tree coming down on its own. In a short time his victim would be arriving for work. It was now more than half an hour since the morning papers had been delivered, tossed helterskelter in front of the hot-dog stand. He shook himself again and jumped back behind the tree trunk for shelter.

Suddenly he noticed a man with a bottle in his hand unsteadily making his way across the square, aiming directly for him. He retreated farther into the shadows. Shortly thereafter, urine ran out on both sides of him and he heard the man mumbling, without being able to make out his words. He carefully pulled his cap visor down in order to conceal his face lest he be discovered. Then he mouthed into the night, “Not this time, Allan, no one is that lucky.”

The words were directed to the hot-dog vendor. At that moment, the light in the stand went on. The darkness gave way and for the next couple of seconds the Climber held his breath until he heard the man on the other side of the tree leave. He peeked out hesitantly and followed the drunk with his eyes until he turned a corner. Then he took his stick and crossed the square to the hot-dog stand.

The vendor was bent over the newspaper bundles and did not immediately realize that he had a visitor. It was the voice, that well-known voice that he could never mistake, that made him look up with a start.

“Good morning, Allan. Give my regards to your brother.”

With his solid beech stick the Climber rammed the man in the skull. His body collapsed in a limp heap, while his head landed neatly on a bundle of newspapers. Blood flowed from his nose out over the latest news. The examiner took a step to the left and put all his strength behind the next blow. He was skilled with an ax and had no trouble striking his victim right on the neck. Ten seconds later he was back at his tree, where he paid no heed to the noise and started up his saw.

An earsplitting crash rent the morning asunder. The sound wave thundered down the street, bouncing off the building walls, shaking the earth, and rousing the town from its slumber.

The Climber smiled out into the dark and gave himself time to savor the sight of his handiwork before he disappeared.