Blue Ice Dying In The Rain

by Jim Craig

We watched the door and saw a movement. Somebody was trying to get a look. I could see the rounded shape of a man’s head.

  “Greta!” Charlie screamed into the mike. When she didn’t answer immediately, he shouted louder.

  “GRETA!!”

  “What?”

  “They’re at the door! Tell them to back off or I’m lighting this place up. Tell them!”

  The shape disappeared.

  “It’s the food, Charlie,” Greta called over the radio.

  I started breathing again and turned to hold up my hands at Charlie. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Let’s go get the groceries. We gotta move fast before the gas fumes get us."

  He stayed in his crouch and motioned for me to go ahead of him. When we got to the landing at the top of the stairs, he took hold of my belt with one hand and pointed the gun at my head.

  “Hey,” I objected. “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Not an inch.” He shoved me forward. “Okay, real slow. Move the gas cans.”

  While I worked to clear the doorway, Charlie kept hold of me and pointed the gun at the window.

  “Okay, now open the door and get the food. And if you try anything or if anybody else tries anything, I’ll blow your head off. You understand that?”

  I nodded, bobbing my head up and down and holding my hands up. He shoved me against the wall and leaned over me to unlock the door. Even with smell of fuel around us he reeked of rancid sweat and bad breath.

  When he moved back behind me again I moved up to look through the window. I peeked through, but just for a second, then Charlie pulled me back. I felt like a Chihuahua on a short leash.

  “What did you see?”

  “Nothing. Let me look again.”

  He let me move forward again. I stretched my neck to the glass and looked all around. Charlie pulled me back after a couple seconds.

  “Who’s out there?”

  “Nobody, I couldn’t see anybody, but there’s a food tray down there.”

  “Okay, open the door real slow and look again. No funny stuff.”

  I dropped to my knees and pulled the door open a few inches. Fresh air rushed in, a welcome burst of relief. I tried to peek around the corner, but I couldn’t move. I looked back at Charlie. The gun was only inches from my temple. His eyes were bouncing again. I wondered how he could focus with his pupils doing that frantic dance.

  “C’mon, Charlie, give me a little slack.”

  Slowly, he relaxed his grip enough to let me move ahead. I peeked around the corner. The hall was filled with guys in dark clothes, baseball caps and weapons all pointed right at me. One of the hats said SWAT in gold letters on the front.

  I tried to keep from reacting, but my head recoiled from instinct, ducking the bullet I was sure was coming my way. Charlie jerked me back through the door. Everything went quiet. No bullets, no noise, no nothing. The door still stood partially open and the crowd out there was still as death.

  “Who’s out there?” he demanded.

  My collar was choking me and cutting off my breath. I had to gasp in some air before I could answer. “Let up, damn it! I can’t breathe. It’s just one guy from the kitchen,” I lied in a loud voice. “And he’s ten feet back.”

  "Why did you jump like that?" He had the gun in my face and I could see his trigger finger trembling. The gas fumes were bad.

  "No reason, no reason. I'm just a little nervous, ya know?"

  I could see his suspicious eyes working, worrying over the danger. But his mouth was moving too.

  “There’s huge sandwiches, Charlie. And beer. It’s okay, alright? Can you take the gun out of my ear and let me move?” He thought about it, then licked his lips and nodded.

  “Okay, out there,” I announced. “I’m going to reach out for the food now. Stay back and be cool.”

  I heard some shuffling in the hallway. And a high pitched male voice said, “Okay, okay, I’m back.”

  I moved forward again and Charlie shifted his grip to my ankle. He held on tight and glancing back I could see the gun still pointed at my head. Leaning forward the metal edges on the bulkhead cut into my arms, but I pushed ahead and extended them through the door toward the tray.

  Around the corner where Charlie couldn’t see, I pulled the scrap of paper out of my sleeve and dropped it toward the group of men five feet away. Six serious faces and six gun barrels stared back at me. I gulped but managed to give them a thumbs up, then grasped the edge of the tray and pulled the food through the door slow and careful. There were two big sandwiches wrapped in white paper, two beer bottles laying on their sides and a bottle opener. I set it all down on the landing.

  I nudged the heavy door shut with my shoulder. Charlie leaned over me again and relocked the door. He motioned with the gun for me to pick up the tray. While I took the food down the stairs he replaced the gas cans in front of the door and followed me.

  When he rejoined me he kept his gun pointed at the door and waited several moments listening before he checked out the food. The group outside the door didn't make a sound. When Charlie was satisfied he held me in front of him again and walked us backwards back to the TransAm. He kept the handgun resting on my shoulder and pointed at the door. As we shuffled awkwardly together the fumes swirled around us. I had to concentrate with all my strength to balance the food tray with my coat up around my face and my eyes streaming.

  When we finally got back into the better air, Charlie let go of my collar and sat down. It took us both a couple of minutes before we were breathing normal again. We stared at the door in silence. I halfway expected it to fly open for the Swat team to charge in, but it stayed shut and nothing moved in the window.

  I wanted to distract Charlie in case something moved over there. I could feel the mental gears grinding out in the passageway as they read my note and discussed their plan.

  “This is going to taste great,” I said picking up a sandwich. It was sliced turkey with lettuce and tomato in a thick roll. I took a huge bite wishing I had some mustard. Geez, listen to me, I thought. Probably eating my last supper and I’m craving condiments.

  Charlie unwrapped the other sandwich and sniffed at it suspiciously. He opened the roll and examined the contents.

  “You don’t suppose they put anything in these, do you? Like poison or something?”

  I stopped chewing and thought about it. A possibility, I supposed. Screw it. I was beyond caring. I took another bite.

  “Nah, I ain’t worried about it. Tastes okay to me,” I mumbled through a mouthful of bread and meat.

  Charlie took a bite and swallowed after a minute. He was quiet, chewing and thinking.

  "They're coming, aren't they?" he asked after a few more bites.

  “Whattaya mean?” I looked at him and wiped mayonnaise off my beard with my sleeve.

  “The cops. You saw something out there.”

  I focused on the food and tried to act normal. "Nothing special. Just a cook."

  I could tell he didn't believe me. "But he had a gun. That's why I jumped," I added hoping it made a better story.

  "Well, I know they're coming."

  I stopped eating and set down the sandwich. “Yeah, I'm sure you're right. Shooting cops draws attention. No way around that.”

  I glanced at him. He was looking straight at me. "You know, don't ya?"

  "Know what?" I wasn't sure where he was going.

  "About the troopers." His eyes bored into me, and I looked away and shrugged but he didn't let up.

  "You ever been in trouble?"

  "No," I shook my head. "Nothing like this. You guys set me up really good."

  Charlie let out a big sigh and waved one hand. "Yeah, but they'll figure it out. I know that. Greta and me both got records."