Retribution
Page 9
Chapter Five
Johnny’s work papers blurred before his red, strained eyes; the equation turned from numbers to little gray blobs. He forcibly shut his eyes and held them tightly closed for an instant before he opened them again to look up at the clock. Through the foggy, throbbing ache of his head came the resurging dull pain of his right leg muscle, that pain which had made itself a constant companion over the last decade. His mind stopped from its tour of past memories and focused instead on present time. Only two thirty. An overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia enveloped him so strongly he felt he had to break free.
His mind screamed for fresh air and nicotine. Grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the top drawer of his desk, ignoring the questioning look of his boss and making no attempt to disguise his limp, Johnny stepped from his office and briskly headed for the little door in the interior face of the brick building. The one which led to a narrow fire escape beyond.
Even the small, narrow platform clad in cold steel was a welcome change to the stagnant and suffocating calm inside the office. From beneath drifted up the noisy honking of car horns, muted by the twenty stories that separated him from the street. He took a long drag on his cigarette and slowly blew out the smoke and all thoughts of his work. In his mind he reran the picture of a trapped rat in a cage, a rat going round and round on a little wheel, never getting anywhere, never resting. And in his thoughts, he was that varmint.
“What’s gotten into you?” The voice of his supervisor broke Johnny’s thoughts. The wheel stopped. Jerry Weinman’s small frame joined his taller, thicker one on the narrow platform, forcing Johnny to create space by moving against the flimsy metal railing. Jerry was a short man who made up his lack of height with attitude. His hair always looked a little too shiny, his movements a little too snake-like. But he and Johnny had been cohorts for too many years now, joined together with unbreakable bonds. Jonathan had gone to jail for a small-time robbery that was Jerry’s genius, but Jerry had later saved his life in South America.
Johnny raised his shoulders in a shrug. His boss’s close proximity made him uneasy. The cold, steel guardrail digging into his lower back added discomfort. His hand shook slightly as he held a black lighter encrusted with one small diamond in the upper right corner to his cigarette.
The flame died once, then again as he flicked his fingers quickly across the lighter’s knobbed wheel until finally the flame grabbed hold and stood like a tin soldier under his smoke butt.
The curling of the ember-holding paper as it burned up was the only response Jerry received. Weinman’s eyes narrowed as he studied Jonathan. “Not getting cold feet, are you?”
“No. Of course not.” Johnny’s eyes remained adverted from those of his boss as he smoked nervously. “Just can’t be in that room anymore today. Can’t take it anymore.”
The hard steel in Jerry’s eyes turned instead to wood. “You’re due for a break, kid. I know it gets hard sitting there all day. It’s hard for me too. Take the rest of the day off. Go call your girl. Have some fun. I’ll call you in the morning.” Johnny partially turned his back towards Weinman, trying to block out his voice.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Jerry asked with a tinge of irritation, as Johnny made no response. “Get lost!” He paused a moment with the door open until Johnny finished his smoke and tossed the glowing butt between one of the railing bars. Jerry spoke again, his head looking over his shoulder at Johnny. “Do what you need to do to pull yourself together. We’ve got an important job to finish up.”
Keeping his back to Jerry, Jonathan said, “I’ll get it together. Call me tomorrow when you’re ready.”
The clanging of the closing door was his cue; Johnny turned to face it and his eyes quickly assured him Jerry was gone. His fingers felt in his breast pocket for another cigarette. None. A panicky feeling gripped him; his mind grabbed for a thought to stop it. He had another pack in his car. If that failed, he had them at home. The street seemed to be moving beneath him as he looked over the rail into the depth below.
He closed his eyes and allowed his other senses to heighten, his mind to run free. The breeze pushed against his face, the smell of hot asphalt against his nose, the noise of the traffic below became a calming river of notes urging him to join them. He imagined his body falling weightless through the air; gravity ceased to hold him as the chains of life snapped.
Suddenly Katherine’s face appeared and with it a hope for life, and he reached for her, for the best part of himself—he had to see her, to be near her. “Katherine, help me,” he whispered through clenched teeth. “Help me, please.” Death’s fingers brushed his eyes as he opened them with a resolve not to give in yet. Full of numbness, he gingerly swung his legs back onto the platform from where he’d crawled to balance precariously on the top of the flimsy bars.