A real hot number

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I knocked on the door. My mouth was dry and I could feel a tenseness in my stomach. The knock sounded hollow and it seemed to reverberate in my ears.

I listened for some sounds beyond the door. Faintly I thought I could hear a baby crying and some muted sounds of voices. After a moment I could hear softly padding footsteps walking towards the door.

The door cracked open, and a flood of bright yellow light spilled out. There was a man standing in the center of the light, peering out at me.

"Hello!" he said. "You must be Allen."

"Yes," I answered. "Allen Dawson. You're Kenneth Hill?"

"Ken," he said. He shook my hand firmly, and pulled me into the house. "Call me Ken."

He shut the door behind me, and I found myself standing in the hallway of a clean-looking middle-class house. To my right there was a living room filled with heavy Spanish-looking furniture.

"Here," Ken said. "Let me take your coat."

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