Control

  “Then why’d he prop the door open with the brick?”

  “Maybe he was afraid the door might close and lock him out here—maybe he was just keeping the avenues open. Then maybe he decided to make the jump.”

  “Maybe,” Eric said. He started back to the door, moving fast.

  “But you don’t think so.”

  “I don’t think so.” He gestured for Haggerty to precede him, then closed the roof door hard.

  They moved back inside to the corridor. “What do you think then?”

  “Not thing one.” He turned the knob of the first apartment door he came to. It was unlocked. Eric pushed it carefully open. “Except I’m not leaving without checking these.” He entered; Haggerty watched from the doorway. The apartment was small, so were the closets. Eric, gun ready, threw open the first one, then moved to the next.

  “You gonna open every closet door on fifteen?”

  “What about it?”

  “I think it’s dumb is what about it.”

  “Frank,” Eric said with some passion. “We are what’s dumb. There’s a brontosaurus on the loose and we can’t find it. We get surprised in an elevator, get the crap knocked out of us, and you stand there and tell me opening closet doors isn’t the same as nuclear physics.” He stormed out of the apartment and went into the next. It was even smaller.

  Haggerty stood by the door again. “It’s also boring,” he said.

  “Boring for you perhaps, but for me—pure scintillation. On my deathbed when my grandchildren ask me what was the high point of my life, I will say without doubt it was opening closet doors in a building on First Avenue with Frank Haggerty being a pain in the ass.”

  “You’ve had the rag on all day,” Haggerty replied, and he wandered out into the corridor, looking at the light rising from the elevator shaft.

  Eric left the second apartment, entered the third, searched it, left it, entered the fourth, searched it, left it, entered the fifth when he heard a shout of surprise but by the time he was back in the corridor all he could see was Billy Boy standing where the elevator door had been, his arm around Haggerty’s throat. He held Haggerty dead in front of him like a shield.

  “Gimme it,” Billy Boy said, pointing to Eric’s gun.

  Eric took his time before shaking his head.

  Billy Boy was screaming then—“Gimme the fucking piece or I throw him down the shaft.”

  Quietly Eric said, “You do I’ll shoot your nuts off.”

  Suddenly Billy Boy moved, shoving Frank out into space, holding him with both hands out in the shaft. “I’ll kill your fucking partner—”

  “—he’s not my partner, he’s a washed-up old bum they stuck me with, I don’t give a shit what happens to him but you kill him, I kill you—-”

  “—Jesus,” Haggerty said, dangling fifteen floors above the street. “Please bring me in.”

  “I thought you liked heights,” Billy Boy said. “I heard you say that. Heights don’t bother you.” Then he took one of his giant hands away, held Frank out there with just the other.

  Haggerty shut his eyes, muttered “please” again.

  “Bothers you now, huh?”

  Haggerty managed to nod. “Yes. Yes. It bothers me. I don’t wanna die like this.”

  “The gun,” Billy Boy said.

  Eric aimed it dead at the giant’s testicle area. Nothing showed on his face but inside he knew he was good for maybe half a minute more of acting before he turned the gun over.

  “My arm’s getting a little tired,” Billy Boy said.

  Eric did his best to keep his hand steady on his pistol.

  “Don’t,” Haggerty said then. “Don’t hand over anything, he’ll shoot us both.”

  After that they all froze for a while, the three of them.

  Then Billy Boy made a quick move and Haggerty was his shield again.

  And then again, the three of them made a tableau.

  Haggerty broke it. “Leave us here, Eric,” he said.

  Eric didn’t dignify the suggestion with words, just a quick shake of his head.

  “I mean it, Eric,” Haggerty said, louder; color was coming back, the fear of falling fifteen floors leaving him now.

  “Listen to the man, Eric,” Billy Boy said.

  “That’s right,” Haggerty said. “We can’t stay like this forever, can we? Okay. So you go to the stairs and you start walking slowly down and you call out every so often so he’ll know you’re not pulling anything. And he can tie me up and when you’re a couple floors away and I’m tied he can take off across the roof to the next building. And if we’re lucky this time, maybe we won’t be able to find him, Slocum’s no one I want to mess with anymore.”

  Eric had no intention of leaving until he heard Frank say “Slo-cum” because that must have meant he had something, some notion of working things out. Still he hesitated till he caught a look from Frank who was in front of Billy Boy and the look meant “Move, friend.”

  So Eric moved. He went to the top of the stairs, took a step down, waited, listened, took another, another, waited, and when he was halfway down this flight he said it, “Halfway” and he continued moving slowly, wondering what the hell Frank had working—Frank had a way with the dummies of this world, no denying that. In a bar, if there was some big musclehead who had had a couple too many and was looking to lay somebody out, inside five minutes Frank was the best friend he’d ever had. Eric had seen him do it over the years—it was a gift, probably an Irish one—and it worked when they were interrogating prisoners too. The less than brilliant trusted Frank Haggerty. He was big, he had that Irish puss of his, he didn’t talk down to anybody. There were times when Eric wished he had it too, that sense of quick trust that—

  “—louder!” Billy Boy said from above.

  “At fourteen,” Eric yelled back.

  “I said louder!”

  “Fourteen!” Eric shouted. “And heading down.”

  Should he head down though? Eric waited at the fourteenth landing. He was out of sight, he could try screwing around with his voice, make it seem distant, make the giant above think he was disappearing when actually he was waiting there, ready for whatever.

  Risky, Eric decided. Billy Boy wasn’t playing with a full deck and if for some reason he decided to drag Frank to the stairwell and glance down and catch a glimpse of Eric waiting, it might not go well for Frank, might indeed go badly for Frank,”so maybe he’d head halfway down to thirteen and call out again when he got there and then just rest, just await developments, which seemed a good enough decision and when Eric was halfway down thirteen he really intended to call his position but then the scream began above him, but not above him long, the falling scream of Frank Haggerty was above him and then even and then below and then came the crash that in Eric’s mind shook the building, no, more, shook his world, but in reality of course was nothing more than an old man being split open by the roof of an elevator more than a hundred feet below …

  … “You do I’ll shoot your nuts off,” the pretty cop said. Billy Boy didn’t like that a whole lot. It was the way he said it, all quiet and low. As if he meant it. Maybe he did: I’d like to meet you sometime, Billy Boy thought. Just you and no guns against me and my hands. I’d eat that up with a spoon. That would be wonderful. But the look behind the pretty cop’s eyes was not the kind of thing that made you happy.

  An’ it had been so great up till then. Standing in the shaft, waiting, that was great. Because there was no way one of ‘em wouldn’t come take a peek down. You had to do that. And when the old one did it was all so fast, so easy, just a quick grab and then out of the shaft onto the floor again with the old guy shitting in his pants probably, a perfect shield.

  An’ gutting it out with the pretty boy, that’d been good, ‘cause there was no way Billy Boy could lose, these guys couldn’t take him, that was a fact. There was nothing better than playing a game you knew how it would come out, and it had to come out you the winner.

  . An’ now
the pretty boy was gone to the staircase and the old one was saying, “You can use my belt to tie me if you want.”

  “Don’t give me no suggestions. If you’re so fucking smart how come you’re’ almost dead?” He took the old guy then, framed him in the opening where the elevator door had been, kept a hand on his chest. One push and gone.

  “Please,” the old guy said. “Let me move a step away.”

  Billy Boy let him. But he kept his hands ready. It was still one push and over.

  “I knew you wouldn’t drop me.”

  “Oh yeah? Well I wasn’t sure myself so how could you know?”

  “It doesn’t fit your record, Slocum—”

  “—that’s the second time you done that, called me ‘Slocum’ and I know what you’re up to, you’re trying to get me to slip and tell who I really am, but that’s not gonna happen.”

  Haggerty shook his head slowly. “Don’t bullshit me, son.”

  Billy Boy made a fist. “Don’t call me a liar, down you go.”

  “We brought the manager of the A&P down to the station. He definitely identified you as the one who robbed the store.”

  “Robbed the store?”

  Haggerty went on as he had been, even and soft. “We’ve got to bring you in, George. It’s your bad luck that when you hit the place Captain Haig’s mother was doing her shopping. She got all hysterical and now he’s eating our asses off. ‘Bring me George Slocum and no excuses.’ “

  “When was this?”

  “Two weeks ago now. I don’t like having my captain on my tail, George; that’s why it’s all over for you.”

  “Wait a minute-^-you guys hassling me over a goddam store someone hit two weeks ago?—I wasn’t even in New York two weeks ago.”

  Haggerty reached a hand out, gently touched the bigger man’s shoulder. “George—you’ve got all the advantages now—don’t complicate matters by lying. If you want to lie to the captain, fine. If you want to lie to your lawyer, I couldn’t care less. But it’s stupid now, agree?”

  “I’ll kill that fucking A&P guy.”

  “No, no you won’t—it’s not your way—your record proves it —you’re strictly a grocery store man—what’ve you hit, over sixty here and in New Haven and Boston?”

  Billy Boy looked at the old Irish face. “You bullshitting me?”

  “Oh, that would be really smart,” Haggerty answered. “Here I am with a guy ten times my size standing by an open elevator shaft. It would really make sense to lie and get you pissed enough to push me.” His voice was softer and more even than before.

  “Shit son of a bitch goddammit,” Billy Boy said, and he slammed one fist into the other. Then he was quiet for a while before shouting, “Louder.”

  “At fourteen,” came the voice from below.

  m said louder/”

  “Fourteen! And heading down.”

  “Don’t lose your temper, George—no point—like I said, we’ve got that positive identification—”

  “—but it’s not me—”

  Haggerty shook his head. “Hard for me to believe that, George —after all, how many guys are there wandering around six foot six and blond?—”

  “—I’m not blond,” Billy Boy said and ripped off his wig. The old guy looked stunned.

  “Lots of guys wear wigs,” he said finally.

  “An’ I’m not six foot six—”

  “—you sure look it to me—”

  “—these are boots—boots I got special—for height—look at them!”

  Haggerty knelt down and touched the boots saying, “Well these are different” and then he measured the heels and the built-up soles and said, “I’ve never seen boots quite like this before,” and then he was getting up saying, “Could this have been a mistake, this whole thing us after an innocent man, you mean you’re really not George Slocum?—”

  And he went on and he was shaking his head and talking in that quiet smooth honest way he had but Billy Boy wasn’t listening because nothing the guy said mattered anymore, and maybe the greatest thing Billy Boy had ever seen in a movie was when that guy pushed that old crippled bag down the stairs in her wheelchair only this was even better, this was perfect, a straight fall maybe a hundred, a hundred fifty feet, this was a God given chance and there was nothing he could do but take advantage of it…

  … “Well these are different,” Haggerty said, touching the leather, and a few minutes earlier he doubted he would have been able to sound as convincing. But Winslow was a believer now, so his voice was fine. “I’ve never seen boots quite like this before.” He started to get up, slowly, keeping the sentences flowing, throwing in the “innocent” now, a weighted word, one you had to use carefully when you were into the high point of your sell. That was all this was, really. A sales job. He had to convince Winslow and he’d done it. Not the best work of his career, but nothing to skulk about either. You had to have an honest face and a sincere tone —Haggerty had developed his working with jumpers—he’d lost the first one years before because he’d rushed it, been too pushy, but now he was older and not as dumb as in days of yore.

  “Older” definitely, but not a “washed-up old bum” as Eric had so recently termed him. When this was done he was going to have to retaliate for the insult, even though Eric was doing it in a good cause; i.e. his life. Maybe forget the retaliation, he decided as he was almost all the way up. He had zapped Eric good enough with the beer tasting so even Steven is fair enough, nobody needed more than that, nobody needed—

  —then came the push—

  —and even as he was flying backward Haggerty knew it was all a mistake; he understood human nature and Winslow believed him, believed the George Slocum story, believed—

  —Haggerty tried to grab to the edge of where the door had been—

  —and he was successful.

  But not for long.

  Not for long enough.

  His body began to arch out into the air now, and he caught a glimpse of the thick cables that supported the elevator, and he tried to grab tight hold of the cables—

  —and he was successful.

  But not for long enough again.

  His scream began then and it surprised him, he had never thought he would go into the good night that way. But for all his years on earth, he seemed to have learned nothing, for he went out as he entered, screaming, helplessly screaming like a baby…

  … Eric had never entered battle knowing he was going to kill the enemy, but as he took the stairs three at a time it was clear that that was the situation now, and it bothered him because when you were blood crazy your brain could take a powder and he had been in enough violent confrontations over the years to know the wilder you were the less chance for survival, and Eric was wild now, as he streaked to the fifteenth floor corridor then out the door onto the roof and he was halfway across it by the dark shadows of the elevator housing when he heard Billy Boy move in the corner ahead of him and he fired, fired again, was about to make a third attempt before he realized the sound was not Billy Boy but something metallic, a paint can maybe, thrown from somewhere and that somewhere was probably behind him and Eric instinctively went into a roll as Billy Boy charged from the elevator housing and they closed, and as his arms caught Eric, Eric realized that Jesus, he had never felt such power, and he went limp, then sprung taut, almost breaking the grip, except Billy Boy would not let go of Eric’s gun so they spun around in the darkness both of them clinging to the weapon and Billy Boy was much the stronger, Eric the more quick, and their attention was totally on who would control the pistol, until Eric did a stunning thing.

  He simply let go.

  Billy Boy stood still for a moment, surprised, holding the gun and that moment was enough for Eric to kick him hard in the wrist and the giant hand opened, the gun fell and Billy Boy went for it but Eric tripped him up and then Eric made a move but Billy Boy shouldered him away and finally Eric kicked again, sending the goddam gun across the roof into total darkness.

  Now th
eir only weapons were their bodies.

  Eric backed away, taking off his topcoat, tossing it aside, ripping his sportcoat the same way, throwing it blindly behind him, the same with his shirt, and it was cold as hell on his skin but if you were a nightfighter what you didn’t want was anything someone could grab hold of, you wanted your body free, and yes, he would probably bleed badly when they went to ground as they would, there were bricks on the ground and nails and broken glass too but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered if your body was free, not to a nightfighter, and Eric had spent too many hours learning, to lose now.

  That was the theory anyway …

  … As the pistol skittered away from them, Billy Boy felt like it was his birthday and the whole world was bringing him cakes. No one had ever come close to him, except when they had guns and all he had was his fist. Even then sometimes it was even.

  But with the gun gone, with just him against the pretty boy, it was strictly no contest. The only thing was, he had to be sure to make it last, to really take the pretty boy’s face away nice and slow.

  Then the striptease started and Billy Boy wondered what the fuck. Off came the coat and then the next coat and then he ripped his shirt away and was that an Apple stunt, did New York cops get taught to fight in the nude in the winter because if they didn’t, why was he doing it?

  Then the cop stopped with the clothes act and stood facing him. For a minute nothing. Then the cop spun suddenly all the way around and Billy Boy felt the kick hard on the shoulder. Japanese crap, it meant nothing. He’d whipped the shit out of those guys before.

  But he’d have to keep watching for it, keep a sharp eye out for it. And the next time it came he’d be ready. The next time he’d grab the foot and twist it till it came off…

  … Eric had no interest in karate, knew only the one move, the spin kick, which he executed with only a fair amount of speed. But he tried to use it at the beginning if he could. It always surprised, and beyond that, once it was in their minds that that was his form of attack, they always were on the alert, waiting for the next spin. You had to divide their brains. You had to win with your intelligence. Sometimes your power could leave you—an arm could be broken, a leg cracked—but as long as you thought, as long as you were in command in the mind, the battlefield was yours.