“Don’t worry about it.”
THE APARTMENT building may have been condemned, but it certainly wasn’t vacant. Homeless people were sleeping on the floor, some with blankets, some with newspapers. Several fires burned in coffee cans, providing some light and warmth, but not enough of the latter. A couple of the inhabitants rolled over and groaned as Thomas shone his flashlight around the room, which had obviously been several rooms back in the days when it had walls. A pair of youths, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years old, were sitting on the stairs, ignoring us as they shared a hypodermic needle. I won’t even discuss the smell.
“Should we double-check the address?” Roger asked.
“Quiet!” Thomas whispered, prodding us to move forward. There had to be at least forty people on the ground floor alone, sleeping or huddled together. Most of the ones who were awake watched us closely.
Thomas slid his foot along the floor, wiping away some shards of broken glass. “Kneel here,” he said.
We did so without a word, and then waited.
A grey-bearded man under an Indian blanket rolled over on his back and began sobbing in his sleep. The man next to him kneed him in the side and he went silent.
“Place looks like it’s about to collapse,” muttered Thomas, a definite hint of fear in his voice.
We waited for a good ten minutes, not saying a word. My hands were freezing. I wondered if the kidnapper was in the room right now, watching us.
At the sound of footsteps, Thomas swung his flashlight toward a man in a dirt-covered, formerly yellow raincoat. He looked about forty, with a thick beard that hadn’t been trimmed in months.
The man spoke when he was about ten feet away from us. “You’re n-not here for n-nothin’ good, are you?”
“We’re just minding our own business,” said Thomas.
“Okay, I know w-when I’m n-not wanted,” the man said, coming closer. “I’m n-not here to h-hurt you, I was j-just hoping you could h-h-help me out a bit.”
“Sorry, we don’t have any money,” Thomas told him.
The man broke out into a rotten-toothed grin. “Aw, s-sure you do. I don’t n-n-need a l-lot, just a quarter or somethin’, buddy.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t t-tell me you’re s-sorry. You’re not fuckin’ sorry. You don’t c-c-c-care about me. C’mon, buddy, one l-little quarter.” The man walked up right beside Thomas.
“All right, let me see what I’ve got,” said Thomas, digging in his pants pocket.
“J-just one quarter, I m-m-mean it’s not that b-big of a deal. Just a quarter.”
“Look, here’s some change,” said Thomas, holding out a small handful. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have important business to attend to.”
“Thanks, buddy, I d-didn’t wanna be a b-bother,” the man said, taking the change with his right hand. His other hand moved before I had a chance to shout out a warning.
Thomas’ mouth dropped open, a broken bottle sticking in his side. As Roger and I quickly got to our feet, the man grabbed Thomas’ gun and yelped with delight.
“Bitchin’! Awesome p-piece, man!” He took off running toward the exit.
Thomas wrenched the glass out of his side, cursed loudly, and began to stagger after him.
I did the necessary hand twists and the handcuffs dropped to the floor with a clatter. I started to run after Thomas, but my foot came down on a large piece of glass, making me lose my balance and fall to my knees with a gasp of pain.
“I can’t get these cuffs undone!” said Roger, desperately twisting his hands.
I pulled the piece of glass out of the bottom of my shoe. It stung a bit, but hadn’t punctured deep. Thomas and the man were gone. I got up and glanced around at the people in the building, all of whom were staring at us now. If one of them was the kidnapper in disguise, we might be in some pretty serious trouble. Actually, even if one of them wasn’t, our current situation wasn’t exactly joviality and high spirits.
“Give me your hands,” I told Roger. I twisted the cuffs the way we were supposed to, and then gave them a tug. They didn’t come undone. “Aw, great.”
“People are tryin’ to sleep!” a woman shouted angrily.
I twisted the handcuffs again, but they still wouldn’t open. “Okay, bit of a problem,” I said. “Let’s just get out of here.”
As we turned to go, I saw that the two junkies from the staircase were now standing in front of the door. This didn’t strike me as a good development.
We walked toward the door, hoping the junkies were just there to open it for us. Roger continued to struggle with the handcuffs while we walked. I noticed a couple more guys to our left were moving toward us, one of them holding a baseball bat, the other holding a strip of wood with thick nails in it.
“Happy thoughts,” I whispered. “Just think happy, happy thoughts.”
We were almost to the door, and it was clear that the junkies had no intention of letting us go. “Hi there, gentlemen,” I said in my most cheerful manner. “If it’s all right with you, we’d like to go help our friend. He was the one who got the broken bottle stuck in his side. If that helps.”
“You ain’t goin’ nowhere,” said one of the junkies.
“Oh, give me a break,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “You don’t really think you can take me, do you?”
The junkie pulled out a switchblade. He snapped the blade open and looked very pleased with himself.
“Oh, give me a break,” I said, trying to keep my pants dry. “You don’t really think you can stab me, do you?”
“I dunno,” the junkie replied, giving it a twirl. “What d’you think?”
“I think this is all ridiculous. We’re all adults here…well, not you two, but you’re close enough. There’s no reason for violence.”
“Not if you give us your wallets,” the second junkie said.
I reached for my wallet, and then my stomach took a plunge. “Okay, you know what, even though you did present an extremely valid, workable solution to our conflict, unfortunately I wasn’t really planning on making any purchases tonight, so I left my wallet in the motel room. Sorry.”
The guys with the baseball bat and nail-laden wood walked up next to us. I couldn’t see them clearly, but I was pretty sure the nails were rusty and would hurt going in.
“What ‘bout him?” asked the junkie, nodding at Roger.
“Mine’s at the motel, too. Right next to Andrew’s on the dresser. I was going to bring it but I thought, no, I’m going to be handcuffed, I won’t be able to reach it anyway.”
“Then maybe we sell your blood,” said the first junkie, waving his switchblade.
“Now you’re just being silly,” I said. “Nobody would buy my blood.”
“I said, people are trying to sleep!” shouted the angry woman. “Don’t make me come over there and kick your asses!”
“Let’s just kill ‘em!” whined the guy with the baseball bat. “Lemme break his head in!”
The junkie with the switchblade nodded. The guy raised his baseball bat, and then lowered it in surprise. “Holy shit! It’s him!”
“Who?” asked three different people at once, including me.
“Him! That guy! You know those death movies? Those things? You know?” He began slapping his palm against his forehead, trying to concentrate. We all watched him. A moment later, his eyes popped open. “Anthony Mayhem! That’s who you are!”
“Andrew Mayhem, actually,” I corrected.
“Yeah, yeah! Remember those messed-up dudes who were makin’ tapes of people gettin’ cut up an’ shit? He stopped ‘em! I saw all ‘bout that on TV! It was fuckin’ sweet!” He began gesturing excitedly. “Dude, tell ‘em what you did with that skull!”
“I’d love to,” I said, “but I really need to help my friend.”
“Your friend’s cool, dude, he didn’t get stabbed that bad. C’mon, tell about the skull!”