Follow Me Down

by Gordon MacKinney

  “About what?”

  “What you’re thinking. The only thing I know for sure is that you’re pissed off.”

  “Alfred might die. Of course I’m pissed off.”

  “Why?” I was goading, but I needed to understand the caustic coexistence between Tricia and her grandfather.

  She shot me an icy glance.

  “He asks you about the register receipts and you hand over your order list, and that’s about the extent of your relationship. Ever ask him about his day?”

  “Do you?”

  I scowled. “He’s not my grandfather.”

  She seemed to thaw a bit. “Relationships are more than what people say to each other. There’s family history too.”

  “You told me about Richard, remember?”

  “That doesn’t make you family.” She rose from the bed, her back to me again. “What does it matter to you anyway?”

  I huffed an audible sigh. “Okay, I get it. You don’t trust anybody, and maybe that’s for good reason. But we’re both taking a big risk for that old man, so maybe you can trust me.”

  “Some things are hard to talk about.”

  “Fair enough, then I’ll go first.” She stood motionless, waiting. I reached into a black pit of memories and retrieved a terrible truth. “I once blamed my mom for my dad’s death. Somehow I convinced myself if she’d finished her degree and landed a better job than switchboard jockey, he wouldn’t have had to paint missile silos for Drax.” I stopped to let the guilt wash over me and drain away. “Thank God I never said anything to her.” I swallowed. “Now it’s your turn.”

  She rotated to face me, stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets, and pressed her arms against her body as if deflecting a chill. “Nobody ever believed in me, and I’m not asking for a pity party, okay? It’s just the truth.” She caught herself. “Oh, a friend or two maybe, but they were clueless. No family member—not my parents, not really. But Alfred believed in me, the only one who did. Want to know why?”

  I held my attention on her face.

  “Because he saw himself in me, another person who didn’t quite fit in. He’s been an outcast in my family ever since he told the truth about Richard. And I’ve been an oddball ever since… forever.” I leaned forward, ready to counter her self-flagellation, but she cut me off. “When he walked me into that shop and handed me the key to that cash register, everything changed. I finally fit somewhere.” Memories softened her eyes. “He’s a pain in the ass, but that doesn’t change what he did for me.”

  I let a moment go by, and then said, “We can rebuild the studio and your shop.”

  “Not without insurance money. Alfred broke every fire code.”

  So she knew. “When I saw Alfred at the hospital, he understood everything I said.”

  She gave a sad smile. “Thanks for the pep talk, Lucas, but I talk to the doctors every day.”

  Two soft knocks sounded from the vestibule. I stood and took a step but she cut me off. “So yeah, I’m pissed off. The only person who ever cared is teetering on the edge, and it’s Drax’s fault.” Her eyes radiated heat.

  There was so much more I wanted to say to her. Instead, I stepped sideways and opened the door.

  . . . . .

  We emptied our three backpacks into separate piles on the bedspread. Tricia’s pile included the sepia photo, minus the frame and soot-smudged, of Alfred and Richard receiving their trophy cups at the Enquirer’s gala. Perhaps she considered it a reminder, or a tribute—I wasn’t going to ask.

  Reuben pushed up his glasses and held a hotel pen against a list of supplies. He read slowly. “Three spot flashlights… lantern… camera… film… laser with spare battery pack.”

  As he read, I shifted a few items among the three piles based on weight distribution and who needed what.

  “Electrical tape… rope… lanyards with penny and whistle.”

  “Hang on.” I snatched up and doled out the lanyards.

  Tricia looped the lamp chain necklace over her head and flipped her hair clear. “I understand the penny, but why the whistle?”

  “In case we get split up,” Reuben replied. “The sound carries further than a shout.”

  “Walkie-talkies don’t work?”

  “In buildings, but underground range is only a few hundred feet.”

  “That sucks.” But she didn’t seem concerned.

  I settled the new copper coin and chrome referee’s whistle against the outside of my shirt, remembering our encounter with Hard Ass and Charlie Brown in the train station. “It might suck for Drax. Their security guys stumble around without their radios. Could work to our advantage.” Tactical advantage, Alfred would say.

  Reuben poked the inventory list with the pen. “Probably better keep going. We need to be belowground before midnight.” He looked down. “First aid kit… compass… Swiss Army knife.”

  Tricia picked up the red gadget with its distinctive plus-sign logo. “Not much of a weapon.”

  Reuben frowned. “It’s a tool, not a weapon.”

  Tricia released the knife with a dismissive flip. “Did you guys consider something bigger?” For a moment, our planning efforts seemed as puny as the knife on the bedspread.

  Reuben stuck out his chin. “They carry firearms and we’re debating blade length?”

  “Maybe we should carry firearms,” Tricia said, mocking Reuben’s choice of words. I’d been worrying about keeping her safe from Drax, but not about keeping Reuben safe from her.

  Your turn, Reuben told me with his eyes.

  “Our best weapon is up here.” I tapped my temple. “We know the underground. Drax doesn’t.” Indeed, I’d memorized it all, every main tunnel, service passage, and concrete vertical tube to a street-level portal, all welded shut except for two. That reminded me. “What about escape override?”

  “Alpha Portal has it,” Reuben said. “We can climb out there if we need to.” He jumped back to the list, hoping to get ahead of Tricia’s cross-examination. But he read off the last two items with veiled disdain. “Lock picks and bolt cutters.”

  Tricia raised her eyebrows. “Problem?”

  I leaned against the back of the desk chair. “If you’re captured with break-in tools, you can’t talk yourself out of it.” Then to Reuben, “But we’ve been over this. To hell with appearances. We need every advantage, and they already know we’re bad news.”

  Tricia hefted the bolt cutters and turned them over in her hands. Like a two-foot-long pair of pliers made of cast-iron pipe and hardened steel, the tool could snap any padlock or chain we’d ever encountered. “Now that’s a weapon.”

  Reuben squeezed his lips together before saying, “Can we load up, please?”

  I finished distributing our gear among the packs. Tricia wanted to carry the bolt cutters. No one objected.

  CHAPTER 24

  From the hotel lobby, we followed the service corridor and slipped behind the Emerson Hotel’s kitchen. My watch said 11:43 p.m., and other than the tympanic echoes of a handheld sprayer blasting a cooking pot, we encountered no signs of life.

  We dropped two floors using the staff elevator to the hotel’s basement—familiar territory to Reuben and me from two previous infiltrations. I’d been playing Come Go with Me in my head and the refrain was getting on my nerves.

  “That one.” I pointed at a steel door and stepped around a stack of collapsed buffet tables. “It was unlocked last time.”

  I twisted the knob, swung open the door, and slipped through to a stairwell lit in icy fluorescent. Reuben and Tricia joined me. The walls reeked of cigarette smoke, and a butt-filled cof
fee can perched nearby.

  “Useful fact for urban explorers,” Reuben said to Tricia. “Occupied buildings are more accessible than vacant ones because people get sloppy.”

  We tapped down the steps until the smokers’ landing, now distant, offered little light. We reached the utility tunnel and switched on our flashlights.

  Reuben continued his instruction. “This tunnel’s been shared for most of the century by six downtown buildings, including Drax.”

  Instead of showing irritation at Reuben’s lecturing, Tricia seemed distracted by our surroundings.

  I lit up a straightaway with my flashlight. “Drax is down that way.”

  “You sure?” Tricia asked.

  She could be forgiven a little skepticism. “Never hurts to verify,” I said. “But in this case, yeah, I’m sure.”

  No wider than a car, the concrete passage was lined with all manner of pipes and conduits bolted in place to survive the apocalypse and colored red, black, and bare metallic, carrying water, gas, electric, phone, and sewage.

  We walked single file with Reuben on point, Tricia second, and me at the rear. I sniffed and picked up hints of concrete dust, oil-based paint, and animal decay, probably rodent. But I detected no moisture, not that I expected it. Unlike the subway beneath our heels, utility tunnels received occasional air, visitors, and maintenance.

  We arrived shortly at the locked gate separating the Emerson from the old Carmichael office building. With lightweight chain-link and a corroded dime-store padlock, the barrier would’ve passed a lazy inspection, but not kept out intruders. I scrambled for my picks but Reuben extended a hand and gave the lock a forceful yank. It snapped open.

  “Things aren’t always this easy,” I said to Tricia.

  We heard something like fingertips brushing a grocery bag. I shifted my beam toward a fat rat waddling with purpose along the wall. Tricia dragged her index finger along a pipe and squeaked the chalky residue against her thumb, exploring the texture. As space is canvas and sensation acrylic, wrote N. Jefferson Chapel, let curiosity fill your palette. I found myself hoping Tricia’s senses were excited, that she’d feel Chapel’s la vive émotion.

  The gate separating the Carmichael from Drax property was built of wrought iron with bronze fittings and a combination lock twice the heft of the gym locker variety. Chapel boasted that he could spring combos like a safecracker, his ear against the back, listening for hiccups in the mechanism. I’d tried once or twice but heard sound as steady as snow tires on asphalt.

  Reuben and I exchanged glances. We had reached a key decision point in any infiltration.

  Tricia was already retrieving the bolt cutters. She held them suspended, and then noticed our hesitation. “What now?” she said irritably.

  “We’re a democracy, right?” I asked.

  Tricia waited for further explanation.

  Reuben directed his flashlight straight up to give a lantern effect. “If we cut the lock, there’s no more leaving without a trace. Then if we have to abort, for whatever reason, they’ll know we made it this far and block any other attempt.”

  Tricia looked annoyed. “Should we give a little speech or something?”

  I winced.

  “I’m just saying,” Reuben replied, deflated. “Little decisions can have big effects.”

  “Fair enough,” she said without generosity. “It needed to be said and you said it.” She wriggled the tool’s hardened steel blades over the shackle and scanned our faces. “Any objections, voters?”

  There never was a choice. The padlock was a reality to be dealt with. Reuben and I submitted. Tricia squeezed the long handles together. The lock spasmed and settled limp against the hasp.

  The significance of entering Drax territory registered in my stomach with acidic churn. I counted paces down a straight tunnel until we reached a metal door on our left. Just beyond, according to my reconnaissance photos, lay the standpipe valve I’d “inspected” as Junior Fire Marshall.

  “Once through, stand with your backs against the near wall. There’s a security camera but a stack of boxes gets in the way.”

  “What if someone moved them?” Tricia asked.

  Good question. “Everything was caked with dust, so I figure they were stored for the long haul.”

  She seemed to accept the logic. I dug out my lock picks and got busy as she watched on. A minute later, the doorknob spun freely in my hand. We doused our lights and squeezed into a hallway barely lit by an exit sign. I exhaled.

  To determine the portal’s location, I’d had to triangulate across three sources of information: floor plans from county records, the subway map where Tricia had marked the underside of the portal, and my recon photos. All of these I’d spread out in a private meeting room at the Xavier library and attacked with pencil and ruler until the answer emerged.

  Tricia and Reuben stared at me as I slid my conclusion from a pocket and reviewed the notes.

  I poked my index finger toward the exit sign. “Stay upright but hug the wall. When you get to the T, drop to a crawl to avoid the camera and turn right. Go about thirty feet to a door on the left. Big storage room. We regroup in there.”

  The long hallway had picked up a few more storage items since my last visit, but nothing we couldn’t crawl around. As we did, a door slammed somewhere out of sight. Nerve endings seemed to sizzle throughout my body. Reuben dropped to his belly like a soldier under fire. Tricia followed his lead. I pressed my finger to my lips, a pointless gesture; we were too scared to breathe, let alone speak. I heard blood rushing in my ears. Hard-soled shoes clopped down an unseen hallway. Still as statues, we waited and listened. The footsteps grew fainter. Another door slammed, more distant this time, leaving us in silence.

  “Clear,” I whispered. Our hands-and-knees parade continued, each of us doubly aware of the audacity of our trespass.

  Chapel’s best advice for avoiding capture was to infiltrate when your presence could be explained as innocent. You might claim to be a tourist to a museum or historic site who took a wrong turn in search of the restroom or parking garage. But at three in the morning in the dark recesses of a private company, while toting burglars’ gear, Chapel’s advice meant nothing. The greenest guard would call the cops or the director of security. I compared those two possibilities. Landing with the police would complicate my legal woes, but landing with Valentine… I shuddered as a shadowy image filled my mind: three corpses vanishing under tons of dirt as Drax relinquishes the first subway tunnel to Mother Earth.

  Once inside the storeroom, I scrambled to my feet and clicked the door behind us. I’d seen the contents only in passing during my earlier visit. Now I took my time, swinging my flashlight in a slow arc to reveal the props of self-promotion, including giant banners stored in rolls. I imagined their headlines: Coming Soon, Grand Opening and the ubiquitous Let Your Dreams Take Flight. Portable staging lay nearby in tidy piles, ready to give Walther or Rudolph a platform for speeches and ribbon cuttings.

  I swung my light further and my heart lurched in my chest. Bright, sky-blue eyes peered back, fixed and framed in a perfect face with lips the color of watermelon flesh. She was ready for the office with a bell-shaped hairdo and pink two-piece suit, apparently delighted to see me. And she’d brought her fun friends.

  Tricia strutted to the klatch of mannequins—men and women, all adorned and attentive—as if challenging them to a brawl. “If I’d known this was a formal party.”

  My lungs decompressed while Reuben shrugged off our plastic companions. “Drax is building the Northridge Mall. Must use them to stage in-store displays.”

  Tricia lit up the face of a Jane Fonda look-alike. “You know what really creeps me out? You could drench her i
n gas and strike a match and she’ll keep right on smiling.” She held her gaze on the mannequin for a moment too long, appearing lost in thought. Then she slowly lowered her hand to her side and followed the flashlight’s circle to the floor. Her shoulders slumped.

  I risked a hand on her forearm. “They’ll pay for what they did to Alfred.”

  “They better,” she replied without looking up.

  Was that a challenge to me? No time to think about it. My light struck a steel door at the far end of the storeroom. “We’re close.”

  A stubby hallway ended with one more door, locked but easily picked. We crowded into a compact utility room that smelled of solder and burnt flux, with wall-mounted conduits running vertically and horizontally. Whirring machines on a raised platform displayed the Ma Bell logo.

  “Code violation,” I said, “putting power and telecom so close to a water line.” I remembered something Alfred had said about corrupt inspectors. Drax doesn’t manipulate the system. They are the system.

  I took a few steps to the edge of a square in the floor, a steel plate, four feet on each side, with raised crisscrosses, secured with hasp and padlock along one edge. Tricia produced the bolt cutters and snipped like a seasoned pro. Reuben cast aside the fragments and yanked skyward. I readied my light, my heart accelerating.

  All three of us peered into a concrete shaft almost identical to the passage leading to Alpha Portal. Thick rebar rungs cast into one wall descended into darkness. I redirected my light straight down. Ten feet below lay a circular hatch in the floor. At its center was a wheel-like locking mechanism resembling those I’d seen in submarine movies.

  Tricia flopped to her belly with her face over the edge. “No combination lock.” She twisted her head to find confirmation in my expression.

  “Doesn’t look like it,” I said, “but let’s make sure.”