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Control

William Goldman


  If Marilyn Chambers had one drawback it was she didn’t act a lot. Not many pictures. Three. The first one and this one and one in the middle with “Eve” in the title. He couldn’t remember any more than that, just the “Eve.” He asked the Duchess about it but she wasn’t into movies, porno or Hollywood, being blind, but he saw in the paper an ad for a movie over on First that had the word “Eve” in the title. It didn’t say any stars, just The Return of Eve and the address, so he told the Duchess where he was going and she wished him luck.

  But it hadn’t been Marilyn Chambers at all. It was a bunch of skinny girls and dumb-looking guys running around in woods that were supposed to be the Garden of Eden. Billy Boy hated how stupid the plot was. And he hated that he couldn’t spot his Marilyn. But most of all what he hated was the drunks. There were drunks slopping all over their seats, mumbling and singing and saying “take it all, baby’’ and Billy Boy said “shut up” out loud a couple times but that didn’t work and the last time someone answered “make me” and he thought about going up to the guy and clubbing him except that would draw attention and he didn’t want to do that, not now, because he was running low on bread and as soon as the flick was over he figured on going over to the area he’d been lucky in so far and waiting until someone rich came along and then he’d be loaded again. But if he caused trouble in the theatre, that wasn’t good; when you were gonna go to work, it was the last thing you wanted.

  “Woooo-eeeee” a black guy shouted from the rear and up front another black guy shouted “Maaaah-muhhh.” And then they both laughed. At what? Some people were really assholes, Billy Boy thought, trying to get with the stupid story. And now off to the left another plastered guy began to sing: “I did it all, I did the whole fuckin’ thing myyyyyyyy waaaaaaaay.”

  What kind of people do they let in here? Billy Boy wondered. He got up. from his seat and moved to the back of the place, looking for an usher but there wasn’t one. So he went to the box office door where there was a little slit you could talk through and he said to the fat lady inside when was the Marilyn Chambers part.

  “The what, the what?”

  Billy Boy repeated his question.

  “Ya think we’re the Music Hall? We don’t sell popcorn either.” Then she turned away from him and went back to whatever it was she’d been doing.

  Billy Boy could feel his hand just itching to turn into a fist, but no, that would be drawing attention, so he left the lady, stood at the back of the house a few minutes longer, then decided he’d been had, this was the wrong “Eve” and, feeling cheated, he walked out into the night, turned left, started uptown.

  Across the way he saw an old couple. He slowed for a better glimpse, then decided against them, they didn’t look like they were loaded. Old and poor, who needed them?

  Another couple drew his attention now, younger, up ahead, a guy with his arm around the girl. The guy looked flush, his coat new with a fur collar, so maybe he’d take-the guy and then rape the girl, not a bad combo, especially if she was pretty or had tits.

  Just then she turned to look at the guy, and not only wasn’t she pretty, she wasn’t young, she could have been his mother, for Chrissakes, and who wanted to rape something like that, a bag.

  You’re lookin’ for the easy way, Billy Boy told himself—just ‘cause it was cold and late didn’t mean you had to knock off the first ones you see. People were like trains, if you missed one, there was always another coming along. And the dumbest thing to do, the worst thing, the unluckiest thing was to rush it, to hurry. No hurry, Billy Boy told himself. No hurry, take it slow.

  Then he sensed something.

  Behind him.

  Up ahead in the next block was a new building being built, a fence still around it, but before you reached it there was a shop, a shop with mirrors and old shit in the window and when Billy Boy got there, without moving his head, keeping his head dead front, he could see for a moment before him.

  Two of them.

  Closing.

  He began to move a little faster…

  … Eric said “He spotted us,” cutting off Haggerty, who had started to say “I haven’t got my gun have you got yours?” but once the interruption happened, Haggerty changed his tack.

  “I don’t think he has.”

  “Frank, goddamit listen to me, I read this guy, and I’m telling you he saw us in that antique shop window. And yes I’ve got mine.”

  “That’s one massive son of a bitch,” Haggerty said.

  Eric nodded.

  “You remember when we brought in that football guy? He was another monster.”

  Eric stared ahead at the giant blond, maybe a half block ahead now.

  “We were great that night,” Haggerty went on.

  “Forget about the football player, all right?”

  “We were some team when we brought him in, I’m here to tell you—he broke my nose and damn near separated your shoulder but we nailed the bastard. Too bad he turned out to be the wrong guy.”

  “This isn’t the wrong guy, goddamit.”

  “Well if he’s who you say he is and he spotted us where you say he spotted us, why is he just walking along?”

  “He thinks slow, he doesn’t know what to do, he’s making up his mind, I’m telling you that’s him and I’m right—I’m on a hot streak, never forget that.”

  “You better be,” Haggerty said, and probably he would have said more, a lot more, because God knew Eric was bright, nobody brighter, nobody around with an arrest record to match him, but sometimes he went off on these wild-ass hunches, and sometimes the hunches paid off but other times you busted your nose on the wrong guy’s fist, so Haggerty had a lot to get off his chest, except once the blond guy broke into a run none of it seemed to matter…

  … No way he could outrun ‘em—he hated to run from people why should he ever have to run from people, people should have to run from him but even when he was a kid he wasn’t the running kind, too much of him, he was the power kind, the kind that when he got his hands on you you wished you were someplace else and—

  —behind him now they were coming, they were coming, the one ahead of the other and closing—

  —and closing—

  —the fence—the Cyclone fence around the new building, the fence had a gate and the gate had a lock but shit, flimsy, nothing, nothing to stop him so Billy Boy shouldered his body against it and the fence sagged and the second time the gate was wide enough for him to slip through and inside and run toward the unfinished building, pretty finished, walls and everything done, but no people a long way from people, and now he ripped at the front door and it came open and inside was a sleepy old guy in a blue uniform dozing by two elevators and he said, “You, you can’t come in here,” which just proved what a creep he was since Billy Boy was already in there and now the old guy was getting up out of his chair, but he was slow—

  —and now Billy Boy was making a fist of his hand and a club of his arm and the arm went high and started down just as the old guy stood to meet it and he took it flush and silent and then he was on the floor, blood from his mouth, and Billy Boy slammed his fists against the buttons and an^ elevator door slid open, it was creaking and flimsy but it was open and he jumped inside and looked back and they were coming, the two were coming through the gate now heading toward the building as he mashed his fingers against the top-floor button and the flimsy door slid slowly shut but he’d gotten a good enough look to know these were^gonna be tough, these two, these were gonna give him more than a little trouble, he wasn’t gonna just be able to power his way past them, no, he was gonna have to brain his way past them, well, screw them, he could do that, he could brain his way past anybody when he wanted to, and he would, because he was lucky and when he was lucky he sensed what he needed, and as the elevator slowly rose he knew one thing sure, there was no way these two were going to take him, no fucking way in the world…

  … “Leave him!” Eric said as Haggerty knelt briefly by the unconscious watchman
and Haggerty nodded, stood as the second elevator door slid open, and then they were inside, Eric pushing fifteen, the top floor.

  Haggerty scowled.

  Eric checked his pistol as the machine slowly moved upward. “What’s that look mean?”

  “We’re on a snipe hunt and you know it—we should have called for reinforcements and waited down below—how the hell can we guess where he’s going?—he probably pushed the fifth floor and when he got there went back down to the street”

  .”You finished?” Eric asked. “I sure hope you are because I’m sick of telling you, I read this guy. And he’s headed for the top and then the roof—”

  Fifth floor.

  Sixth.

  “Shit,” Haggerty said. “I hate these new buildings.”

  Eric just waited.

  Haggerty pushed his big hands against the walls. “Feel this— it’s nothing—these new buildings, they put them up with cardboard.”

  Eric concentrated on his gun.

  “I wouldn’t live in one of these traps—somebody buys a couple brownstones, tears them down, puts up a fifteen story beaut like this—all the goddam builders, they’re the ones we should be after.”

  Haggerty rambled on like that and Eric knew what it was about —Frank was a great cop, he’s been there, seen it all, but he didn’t have a weapon now and that was getting to him. Eric knew that if he gave him his weapon, Haggerty would realize he’d been seen through and get pissed.

  Nine.

  Now ten.

  Risking it, Eric said, “I don’t like using guns in the dark, I’m not that good, you’re better, take this.” He held it out.

  Haggerty just froze him with a look.

  Twelve.

  Thirteen.

  “He’ll be on the roof by now,” Eric said. “If there’s another building he can get to, he’ll be trying to get to it, if not, he’ll be there waiting so be careful—”

  “—.you be careful,” Haggerty snapped, still pissed about the gun offer.

  Haggerty moved up next to the door.

  Fourteen.

  Eric took a deep breath, tried to relax, but he could feel the tension of his right hand around his gun and tension never did anybody any good at times like this, except the other guy.

  Fifteen.

  And before the door was halfway open screaming came Billy Boy charging into the elevator, his fists huge and the first swing spun Haggerty into the wall and the second swing caught Eric on the neck and staggered him and Billy Boy seemed to fill the flimsy area, screaming louder and kicking Haggerty and swiping again at Eric who couldn’t get his gun up, couldn’t move, couldn’t do shit but slam back into the wall and his balance began to go as Billy Boy screamed “cocksuckers, rotten cocksuckers” and he swung his fists and kicked and screamed and Eric thought crazily of Jaws when the shark suddenly turns and attacks the boat, and this was like that now, something prehistoric was attacking, something prehistoric and it couldn’t think but it knew how to protect itself, it had survived on that instinct and—

  —and then the elevator door began slowly to close—

  —and Billy Boy was gone—

  —and they started down.

  Before Eric could ask it Haggerty answered: “I’m okay,” His face was cut along the jaw line and the blood flowed, but he’d lost blood before. His body hurt as he made it to his feet.

  Eric was getting up too when he saw it. “Look.” He pointed.

  The twelfth-floor button was lit.

  “You think he did that?” Haggerty said. “Why the hell would he?” He stared at the lit number. “Must have been like that from the beginning. These goddam flimsy buildings, nothing works.”

  “It wasn’t lit when we went up,” Eric said.

  “It might have been, you don’t know for sure,” Haggerty answered, louder.

  Louder still Eric told him, “If it had been lit we would have stopped and we didn’t stop!”

  “I don’t want to fight about the twelfth floor, let’s drop it, Eric.”

  The elevator passed thirteen now, moving down.

  Eric got his gun ready, stood back from the sliding door, waiting.

  “Blast the shit out of him if he’s there,” Haggerty said.

  Now the sliding door was beginning to open.

  Slowly. Slowly.

  Nothing.

  Eric waited a beat, then stepped quickly out into the hallway, pistol in quickshot position. He gestured for Haggerty to follow. The hall was empty and, except for two red Exit signs, dark.

  Then came the pounding.

  Thunderous rhythmic sounds echoing down. Again. Again. “What’s he doing up there for Chrissakes?”

  Eric listened as the pounding went on, reverberating down the naked concrete stairwell. “We better find out.” He pointed back toward the elevator.

  Haggerty shook his head. “I’m not getting back in there.”

  Together they started toward the Exit sign and the dark stairs. Eric led the way up, up to thirteen with only the pounding for company. For whatever reasons, the sound was frightening, partly because of the distortion of the echo, partially because of their ignorance of what it was. Except that they knew who was causing it, and that was frightening too.

  But when the sound stopped, it was worse.

  “Shit,” Haggerty said.

  They were almost to fourteen when it happened.

  Then there came a crash, louder than any earlier sound.

  “Shit,” Haggerty said again.

  They waited a moment before Eric led them up again; he had only just started when the thought crossed his mind that perhaps he wasn’t the only one around on a hot streak…

  .

  ... Billy Boy was in action before the elevator door was fully closed. First thing, the very first thing he did was run to the door that led to the roof and throw it open.

  It didn’t want to stay.

  He was no more than a few steps away from it when it started closing on him. He cursed, went back, opened it fully again, rooted around on the roof, found a brick, pushed it against the door so that it wouldn’t shut again.

  Then he came back to the hall. No lights but the red Exit signs, one by the stairs up, one by the entrance to the roof. He needed them for now, as he moved to the elevator door. He backed off it as far as he could, then broke into a bull run, slammed his shoulder against it. It made a big sound as the door shook but screw that, that didn’t matter—what mattered was that even with that first try, he knew he could beat it.

  He backed off again, again threw his body at the door. It didn’t give exactly, but it wasn’t even as steady as the first time. Again he drove at it and again there was the sound booming out and by the fifth or sixth try, he could begin to sense victory. He backed away, panting heavily now, sweating but he never minded sweat when he was getting somewhere.

  And he was getting somewhere now.

  He exploded across the hall and the elevator door gave more than before. He backed off and roared into it and now it was close to surrender. Twice more he ran and after that he got on the ground close to it and brought his huge legs up and kicked and kicked and kicked.

  Almost there.

  He stood and made both his hands into fists and struck at the door’s center and if it were alive he would have broken its kidneys by now, would have torn its guts open by now, would have—

  —he could hear footsteps from below.

  With all his close to three hundred pounds he shouldered the goddam thing and when he did that, nothing could stand up to him.

  The door crumpled back into the shaft. The elevator had long since returned to the first floor and that was where the door headed now. Billy Boy leaned way out, watched it slam into the roof of the elevator, tear it apart.

  Then he ran to the first red Exit light, shattered it dark. Then he ran to the second, did the same. The only light left now came from the elevator shaft.

  Carefully, Billy Boy approached it. To the left of where the
door had been there was a ledge. Not much of one, but enough for him. He was good at streets and he was good at heights, nothing bothered him. He moved into the elevator shaft, got secure on the ledge, out of sight. He was in his parlor now with nothing to do but just wait till a fly came calling …

  Eric moved with silent grace onto the fifteenth floor, gun ready. No movement, nothing. The place was totally empty and totally dark—except for the light rising from the elevator shaft. It was like a glimpse of some other world, some eerie world, a Bergman film. He said that last to Haggerty, who was beside him now.

  Haggerty nodded. “Right. Yeah. Gaslight. I get what you mean. I loved her in that but she was great in Casablanca too.”

  Eric decided to leave well enough alone.

  Haggerty moved toward the elevator shaft, stopped. “My Helen would have had a stroke over something like this. We had a little terrace and she couldn’t even bring herself to peek over the edge. Never bothers me—” He stopped.

  “What?”

  Haggerty pointed. “Roof door’s open. Probably went out there.”

  They headed for the roof. It was a jumble of debris—bricks and wheelbarrows and paint cans. They moved quickly to the edge. The next building was contiguous and perhaps fifteen feet down. “Possible jump,” Haggerty said.