Frank Castle

The knock came just after eleven. Two raps, evenly spaced. She opened the door on the chain first, then all the way.

The man on the other side was holding her cat.

Willy hung off his forearm like a wet towel, one orange leg dangling, the good eye half-shut, purring loud. The man was in a dark henley pushed up to the elbows, hair cropped short, jaw shadowed with stubble. His eyes went to the corners of the room first, then the window, then back to her.

"This yours."

She nodded. "He came with the apartment."

He held the cat out, hands under the ribcage. Willy didn't want to be handed over. He stretched his front paws back toward the man's chest and made a low unhappy sound in his throat.

"Found him up on five."

She reached for the cat. Willy tried to climb back onto the man's shoulder. She caught him against her sternum and held on.

"Bathroom window doesn't latch right. He's been getting out that way for months." He looked past her again. "You want, I can fix it. Ten minutes."