Head high, I walked past the first cell and glanced in as I passed.
It was empty. As were all of the other cells on this floor. I still had a chance! Like a demented ape I swarmed up the iron rungs and fumbled my lockpick into the lock. There'were voices below me, getting louder, and footsteps as well as two of the guards ascended the stairs that faced away from me. But all that one of them had to do was turn his head. And when they reached the floor I would be seen at once.
The lock clicked open and I pushed and swarmed up through the opening. Flat on the roof I eased the door down. Seeing two fat guards through the opening just turning my way as it shut.
Had they seen it closing? My heart thudded like an 23 insane drum and I gasped for air and waited for the shouts of alarm.
They did not come. I was still free.
Some freedom! Depression instantly clutched and shook me. Free to lie on the roof, to shiver violently as the perspiration began to dry, free to huddle up here until I was found.
So I huddled and shivered and generally felt sorry for myself for about a minute. Then I stood and shook myself like a dog and felt the anger begin to rise.
"Big criminal," I whispered aloud, just to make sure that I heard. "Life of crime? And on your first big job you let yourself be trapped by a knife-wielding moron. You've learned a lesson, Jim. May you someday be free to put it into practice. Always guard your flanks and your rear. Consider all the possibilities. Consider the fact that the cretin might have woken up. So you should have coshed him or something to make certain of his sound sleep. Which is certainly water over the dam. Remember the lesson well, but look around now and try to make the best of this rapidly disintegrating escape. " My options were limited. If the guards opened the trapdoor and came up to the roof they would find me. Was there any place to hide? The top of the water tank might offer a temporary refuge, but if they came this far they would certainly look there as well. But with no way to get down the sheer walls it offered the only feeble hope. Get up there.
It wasn't easy. It was made of smooth metal and the top was just beyond my reach. But I had to do it. I stepped back and took a run, leaped, and felt my fingers just grasp the edge. I scrabbled for a hold but they pulled loose and I dropped heavily back to the roof. Anyone below would have certainly heard that. I hoped I was over an empty cell and not the hall.
"Enough hoping and not enough trying, Jim," I said, and added a few curses in the hope of building my morale. I had to get up there!
This time I retreated to the far edge, the backs of my knees against the parapet, taking breath after deep breath. Go!
Run up, fast, the right spot — jump!
My right hand slapped against the edge. I grabbed and heaved. Got my other hand up there and pulled mightily, scraping and bruising myself on the rough metal, hauling myself up onto the top of the tank.
To lie there breathing heavily, looking at a dead bird not a foot from my face, vacant eyes staring into mine. I started to pull away when I heard the trapdoor slam heavily back onto the roof.
"Give me a push up, will you? I'm stuck!" By the wheezing and grunting that followed I was sure that this had to be one of the fat guards that I had seen on the floor below. More gasping and puffing heralded the arrival of his adipose companion.
"I don't know what we're doing up here," the first arrival whined.
"I do," his companion said quite firmly. "We're obeying orders, which never did no one no harm." "But the hatch was locked." "So was the cell door he went through. Look around." The heavy footsteps circled the roof, then returned.
"Not here. No place to hide. Not even hanging over the edge because I looked." "There is one place, one place we haven't looked." I could feel the eyes burning towards me through the solid metal. My heart had started the drumbeat thing again. I clutched at the rusty metal and felt only despair as the footsteps crunched close.
"He could never climb up there. Too high. I can't even reach the top." "You can't even reach your shoelaces when you bend over. Come on, give me a lift up. If you boost my foot I can reach up and grab on. All I got to do is take a look." How right he was. Just one look. And there was nothing I could do about it. With the lethargy of defeat possessing me. I lay there, hearing the scratching and the curses, the overweight puffing and scrabbling. The scratching grew close and not a foot before my face a large hand appeared, groping over the edge.
My subconscious must have done it because I swear there was no logical thought involved. My hand shot out and pushed the dead bird forward, to the very edge, below the fingers-which descended and closed on it.
The results were eminently satisfying. The bird vanished, as did the hand, followed by screams and shouts, scrabblings, and two large thuds. "Why did you do that-?" "I grabbed it, uggh-oww! My ankle is broke." "See if you can stand onit. Here, hold my shoulder. Hop along on the other foot, this way..." There was plenty of shouting back and forth through the trapdoor while I bugged myself with relief and pleasure. They might be back soon, there was that chance, but at least the first round was mine.
As the seconds, then the minutes, moved slowly by I realized that I had won the second round as well. The search had moved away from the roof. For the moment. The sirens cut off and the bustle moved down to the ground below. There were shouts and the slamming of doors, racing of engines as cars moved out into the night. Not soon after — wonder of wonders-the lights began to go out. The first search was over. I started to doze-then jerked myself awake.
"Dummyl You are still in the soup. The search has been made, but this joint is still sealed tight. And you can bet your last buck that starting at first light they will go through every nook and corner. And will be up here with a ladder this time. So with that in mind it is time to move." And I knew just where I was moving to. The last place they would look for me this night.
Through the trapdoor one last time, and down the darkened corridor. Some of the inmates were still muttering about the events of the night, but all of them appeared to be back in their bunks. Silently I slipped down the stairs and up to cell 567B. Opening it in absolute silence and — closing it behind me the same way. Past my stripped bunk to the other bunk where my fink friend Willy slept the sleep of the unjust.
My hand clamped his mouth shut, his eyes sprang open, and I exacted primal and sadistic pleasure by whispering in his ear.
"You are dead, you rat, dead. You called the guards and now you are going to get what you deserve..." His body gave one gigantic heave then went limp. The eyes were closed. Had I killed him? At once I regretted the bad taste of my little joke. No, not dead, passed 'out, his breathing light and slow. I went to get a towel, soaked it in cold water-then let him have it right in the mush.
His scream turned to a gurgle as I stuffed the towel into his mouth.
"I'm a generous man, Willy, that's how lucky you are. I'm not going to kill you." My whispered words seemed to reassure him because I felt the tremble in his body subside. "You are going to help me. If you do that you will come to no harm. You have my 'word. Now prepare to answer my question. Think careftilly about this. You are going to whisper just one thing. You are going to tell me the number of the cell that Stinger is in. Nod your head if you are ready. Good. I'm taking the towel away. But if you try any tricks or say anything-anything-else, why then you are dead. Here goes." "...231B..." . This same floor, good. The towel went right back in. Then I pressed hard behind his right ear, applying continous pressure to the blood vessel that leads to the brain. Six seconds unconsciousness, ten seconds death. He thrashed then went limp again. I released my thumb on the count of seven. I do have a forgiving nature.