open the door. He tried the knob—it was locked—so he kicked it open.
I poked my head through the doorway, saw a thin college student with a dark complexion and a shaved head, and smeared stage makeup on the right side of his face. He was standing next to the open window currently throwing a draft throughout the room, the half-packed suitcase on the bed in front of him filled with clothes and at least two large wads of ROCs, the shimmering rectangles of paper money rustling in the breeze.
“Hello, Raymond,” I said.
He stared, his expression like a deer in headlights as his mind caught up with reality. Next to me, Bellury and Phillips tensed, ready for a rush.
With a push, Raymond overturned the suitcase at us, money flying in a huge cloud. He threw himself through the open window—and hit the bushes three feet below with a curse. He was down and sprinting away within a few seconds, pace smooth and fast like he’d done this a hundred times before.
Phillips had dashed after—but he slipped on an old pizza box, landing firmly on his butt. Bellury, more cautiously, lowered himself through the window.
I turned around and hustled back through the front door of the building. With as much as I smoked, there was no way I’d catch up to a runner before the other guys anyway. As I trotted down the front steps, I panted.
* * *
I finallycaught up with them in the construction site from earlier, at the foot of the huge orange crane. They were standing at its concrete base, necks cricked up, looking up the side of the towering monolith.
Raymond was climbing the crane, the metal bars making up its side close enough together to provide him with good hand and footholds. He was two stories up and moving fast, clearly heading for the operator’s box halfway up.
“What are we waiting for?” I asked.
“I don’t do heights,” Phillips said.
“I’m sixty-five years and four months old,” Bellury said. “If you think I’m climbing a crane straight up you’ve got another think coming.”
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You’re going to make the consultant climb up three stories while you guys watch?”
“That’s about it,” Bellury said. He was already covered in sweat and looked tired.
Phillips looked very embarrassed, an embarrassment I wished I could feel firsthand. He took his gun out and pointed it at the ground. “I’ll cover you. If he comes back down, I’ve got him. I have no problem running as long as it takes. I do half-marathons.”
“And I’ll go find a phone and get the campus PD here,” Bellury said. “Just hold him long enough for us to handle it.”
“Okay.” I took a breath, looked up, and told myself it wouldn’t be that bad. Why had I been lifting all those weights, after all? My lungs might be shot from the cigarettes and my mind crazy tired, but I hadn’t run into a doorframe in awhile. It was just after noon. I wasn’t afraid of heights, not really. I should have it in me to do this.
I reached out, got a good grip on a bar over my head, and pulled up, finding that first, critical foothold. Then I did it again, and again. Raymond overhead was almost to the box, so I had to speed up. The huge anti-gravity accelerator in the base of the tower was making me nervous; the long line upwards for anti-gravitons had to mess with the gravity around here if the crane wasn’t completely powered down. If Raymond turned it on too soon—well, I’d either be crushed up against the bars I was climbing, or forced off and end up a smear on the rapidly-shrinking ground below.
It doesn’t matter,
I told myself.
Nothing you can do about it now. Keep climbing
. So I pulled and placed the foot, pushed and grabbed the bar, over and over again. The orange-painted metal felt cold and rough in my hands, and the wind was already picking up.
My foot slipped—
And I caught myself with my left hand, my right gripping hard, splitting the weight. My heart beat a hundred miles an hour. I
I poked my head through the doorway, saw a thin college student with a dark complexion and a shaved head, and smeared stage makeup on the right side of his face. He was standing next to the open window currently throwing a draft throughout the room, the half-packed suitcase on the bed in front of him filled with clothes and at least two large wads of ROCs, the shimmering rectangles of paper money rustling in the breeze.
“Hello, Raymond,” I said.
He stared, his expression like a deer in headlights as his mind caught up with reality. Next to me, Bellury and Phillips tensed, ready for a rush.
With a push, Raymond overturned the suitcase at us, money flying in a huge cloud. He threw himself through the open window—and hit the bushes three feet below with a curse. He was down and sprinting away within a few seconds, pace smooth and fast like he’d done this a hundred times before.
Phillips had dashed after—but he slipped on an old pizza box, landing firmly on his butt. Bellury, more cautiously, lowered himself through the window.
I turned around and hustled back through the front door of the building. With as much as I smoked, there was no way I’d catch up to a runner before the other guys anyway. As I trotted down the front steps, I panted.
* * *
I finallycaught up with them in the construction site from earlier, at the foot of the huge orange crane. They were standing at its concrete base, necks cricked up, looking up the side of the towering monolith.
Raymond was climbing the crane, the metal bars making up its side close enough together to provide him with good hand and footholds. He was two stories up and moving fast, clearly heading for the operator’s box halfway up.
“What are we waiting for?” I asked.
“I don’t do heights,” Phillips said.
“I’m sixty-five years and four months old,” Bellury said. “If you think I’m climbing a crane straight up you’ve got another think coming.”
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You’re going to make the consultant climb up three stories while you guys watch?”
“That’s about it,” Bellury said. He was already covered in sweat and looked tired.
Phillips looked very embarrassed, an embarrassment I wished I could feel firsthand. He took his gun out and pointed it at the ground. “I’ll cover you. If he comes back down, I’ve got him. I have no problem running as long as it takes. I do half-marathons.”
“And I’ll go find a phone and get the campus PD here,” Bellury said. “Just hold him long enough for us to handle it.”
“Okay.” I took a breath, looked up, and told myself it wouldn’t be that bad. Why had I been lifting all those weights, after all? My lungs might be shot from the cigarettes and my mind crazy tired, but I hadn’t run into a doorframe in awhile. It was just after noon. I wasn’t afraid of heights, not really. I should have it in me to do this.
I reached out, got a good grip on a bar over my head, and pulled up, finding that first, critical foothold. Then I did it again, and again. Raymond overhead was almost to the box, so I had to speed up. The huge anti-gravity accelerator in the base of the tower was making me nervous; the long line upwards for anti-gravitons had to mess with the gravity around here if the crane wasn’t completely powered down. If Raymond turned it on too soon—well, I’d either be crushed up against the bars I was climbing, or forced off and end up a smear on the rapidly-shrinking ground below.
It doesn’t matter,
I told myself.
Nothing you can do about it now. Keep climbing
. So I pulled and placed the foot, pushed and grabbed the bar, over and over again. The orange-painted metal felt cold and rough in my hands, and the wind was already picking up.
My foot slipped—
And I caught myself with my left hand, my right gripping hard, splitting the weight. My heart beat a hundred miles an hour. I
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